Daniel Broken Hammer

[Gabriella Bellamonte] In the past several days, Gabbie had made some curious observations. She realized that if you dressed like you had no money and toned down the wealth of your speech as well, you tended to go overlooked. She rediscovered that no matter where you go, no matter how you try and hide, they will always find you. She learned that all it took to keep her sister at bay, to keep her from dragging her back by the thick hair close to her scalp was some sharp words and a lack of courtesy restraint.

Also, every single motel room in Chicago was laid out precisely the same.

Doors opened into short hallways, where immediately to the right there would be more doors, one for a bathroom, one for a closet. The hallway would end with a large room that was some strange hybrid of bedroom and living room. There was a bed, a dresser that doubled as a television stand, a table with a coffee maker, a mini-fridge tucked away somewhere, and a stiff-backed armchair that never reclined and always had a lamp nearby. Poor quality soaps and shampoos were replaced daily if you stayed longer than one night. And the parking lots always felt iffy.

Gabbie stepped out of a generic four-story affair, on the higher end of motel and the lower end of hotel, wrapping her heavy black coat around her, nimble artist's fingers working up the front to fasten buttons. Her hair had been twisted secure and put down the back of her coat and a plain black winter hat was pulled onto the top of her head. Face was void of make-up, earrings of jewelry, but no matter the steps she took she couldn't cover up the blood that thrummed persistantly in her veins. She could only hope, while pulling gloves on once those hands were done working buttons, that no one would come around to notice that.

[Daniel] Daniel, underdressed for the bitter cold as always, unmindful of it as always, is at a bus stop at the corner. It is already dark. Winter days are short and grey; the nights long and black. The Forseti is alone: a slightly stoop-shouldered figure, not terribly tall nor terribly imposing in breadth or mass, but hardfaced, tough in his thinness, with lean gaunt cheeks and deep-set, black eyes.

He is not afraid to be alone after dark. He is not afraid of the dark and the things that live in it. No warrior of Fenris would be, and that is exactly what he is.

A girl like Gabriella, though; that's another story. Sheltered, living the life of a princess or a caged nightingale -- the lower-middle suburbs here at the edge of Lakeview must seem a world away to her. To be sure, she's wandered unsafe streets in the past, but that was before, when she could always count on the protection of her brother and sister and their pack, both physical and by force of intimidation, by weight of their very existence and claim.

With emancipation comes self-reliance, though. Gabriella has nothing more threatening behind her than -- perhaps -- a can of mace in her purse when Daniel turns his head, sudden and hawklike, to fix directly on her. His chin lifts; his eyes narrow. He actually scents the air, nostrils flaring.

"Daughter of Falcon." The Forseti moves with an easy, controlled grace, smooth and lightfooted. He turns to face her fully. "I was not aware your people held a claim in this area."

[Edward Bellamonte] (Today I feel . . .)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[Gabriella Bellamonte] You know what they say in Minnesota about being unable to throw a rock without it plunking into a lake?

The girl with bone structure that defied the Lee Riders jeans and off-brand shoes she was wearing swiveled quite as suddenly as Daniel had done, twisting to face him with the same sharp movements, but with the feeling of the doe or mouse that realized something was amiss rather than the hawk that spied its meal. Her lips rubbed together, meshing recently applied chapstick into them, and a nervousness/uncertainty found its way into the lines of her face.

The address was immediate, to the point, and there was something in the man's weary and hardened face face that struck familiarity in her. She couldn't place it, but she knew she'd seen it before and that she'd been unsure of it then too. Her posture stiffened some, back straightened and shoulders squared, and she stood her ground rather than approaching. She was hesitant, and that was as obvious as her breeding.

"Then you may well have been residing under a rock, sir. The numbers grow monthly, it feels."

[Daniel] Daniel straightens a little, sharp, dark gaze flicking around the street and its threadbare gentility. This is an area that was nice a few decades ago, but has gradually slipped farther and farther away from the median. In another few years, it'll be the beginnings of a slum.

"A Garou of Falcon claims this territory, then?" The Forseti's eyes return to the girl, utterly unwavering, intense in their scrutiny. "Strange lands for a prince of wolves to claim."

[Edward Bellamonte] "And they shrink as rapidly."

Edward pulls himself from where he'd been standing, quite literally invisible, leaning against the wall of the hotel-motel thing; however he might feel about the situation at hand, he doesn't say, but it hardly does to leave one's sister alone and unguarded all the time. Particularly when said sister is prone to foolishness and has a disregard for her own safety, let alone the honor of her family, of the sister who protects her, the brother who loves her.

"Daniel," he says with a nod; he is inscrutable, tucked in upon himself. "There is much to be said for reclamation, for bringing a thing from squalor into the light, don't you think?"

[Gabriella Bellamonte] His scrutiny garners him little of surprise, save perhaps for the fact that she is unescorted. Yet in Chicago that shouldn't be so surprising to him anymore, given how many Kinfolk seem to be traipsing about the city with no one to keep track of them or hold accountable for whatever these vagrant Kin might do.

The answer he receives probably isn't what he was hoping for. Perhaps he thought there would be some insight, some valuable little nugget of information that would explain why the Lords of Garou were so interested in this suburban district of Chicago. All that he gets, however, is a shrug and lips that part just enough to show that she'd had words to speak that were cut off before they could be uttered. Edward spoke up, and Gabbie's voice died at the back of her tongue.

As she had done with Daniel, she turned to view her brother quickly, sharply. This time, however, the apprehension was a different sort, deeper and more invested than the half-curious half-uncertain way she'd regarded the Foresti. She slipped her hands into her pockets in a way most cautious and shifted her feet inside sneakers that were too new, too poorly made to be comfortable and broken in yet, sliding back and away the equivalent of a step and a half.

[Daniel] Daniel's brow furrows. He turns to Edward now, whose very face -- let alone blood -- proclaims him a relative of Gabriella's. A warder, most likely. The Forseti's eyes move from the girl to fix on the Garou; after a moment, he recognizes him, and nods.

"Rhya." A pause; then the question again, straightforward. "Is this your land?"

[Edward Bellamonte] "It is, yes." And thus Gabriella's returned to roost, more or less - to land claimed by the Unbroken, at least. And there is no move to step closer; her half step away is noted, and respected. Where normally [before] there would be a hug and pleasure to see his youngest sister, right now there is no sign of either around the Ragabash. There is, in fact, little sign of anything.

His hands are in the pocket of a navy wool peacoat, and though he did look at Gabbie briefly (a look as measuring as Kate's, in its way), most of his attention is on the Fenrir. "This is Gabriella Bellamonte. Gabriella, this is Daniel." There is no claiming by way of 'my sister' - just a name. It's different. Maybe it's what she wants.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabriella had returned to land claimed by The Unbroken, and that could be read into as a sign that she actually sought their protection, their company and claim, but for some reason she was refusing to admit it. Otherwise it could be that this was simply the neighborhood best suited for her to set up in a motel. Most others that she checked out were far too expensive for her purposes, or the likelihood of her finding some forgotten or abandoned stash of methamphetamine under the mattress and encountering its previous owner returning to seek claim was entirely too high.

Neither sibling went toward the other, it was as though they were acquaintances at best. An introduction as formal as any was offered, and Gabbie's gaze crawled uncertainly away from Edward to settle onto Daniel again. Another survey was taken of his face, and a scouring of her memory came up with something a little easier now that there was a name attached to it.

"We've met," she announced blandly. "You're with Taggart."

[Daniel] (okay, to resolve conflict: do you guys want to assume this is actually near the Loft?)

[Edward Bellamonte] (Sounds good to me, if it's cool with Kenna.)

[Gabriella Bellamonte] (Sure?)

[Daniel] (okay! onward! i'ma be a bit slow as am doing challenge in other room)

[Daniel] Daniel studies Edward for another moment, then looks about the street again. Then he nods. "Pardon my intrusion; I was not aware your pack claimed this area. I saw your kinswoman alone and thought it was unusual that a wellbred kin of the Silver Fangs was wandering in such a neighborhood after dark."

Then, turning to Gabriella, he offers his own introduction. "I am Broken Hammer, Gabriella of the Falcon. Cliath Son of Fenris, and of the Half Moon. Buried Hatchet-rhya is my Alpha."

[Edward Bellamonte] (I'm also slow! And extra so, cos it's ZOMG COMBAT. My bad. =\ )

"But she wasn't alone," he says, without the characteristic flicker of amusement with which such things are usually delivered; it's actually almost tired. "Easy enough mistake to make, though. And it means I was doing my job properly."

For once. Maybe. A little. Depending on what he considers his job, and the price of tea in China, and . . .

"You're forgiven." That, however, is with just a tinge of humor. "Exploring is an important part of things - knowing where boundaries are, and which can be pressed, or passed through, and where one might find friends."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Once upon a time (actually, it was maybe a year ago, but it felt so much longer), Hatchet and Edward had come to learn that each had arrived in Chicago with their respective packs in tow, and old rivalries apparently were renewed. It was based in something stupid from years ago, something involving her, maybe, involving a poorly timed incest joke, involving the deliberate and mechanical intent to disassemble the honor of the pack while masking it behind faux ignorance and jokes.

And now another from Hatchet's pack was present, a gang of completely new faces that Gabriella couldn't dredge up from any memory beyond very recent, and Edward found himself standing stale and haughty (like any good Fostern Fang ought to!) before him. There was a proper introduction to tell her what she was pretty sure she already knew, and she nodded slowly to Daniel, then glanced to Edward and creased her brows, just a little.

"Don't you have anything better to do than lurk outside my door, Ed? No corrupt corporations to defraud? No beasts to pull apart limb-from-limb? Surely you have your responsibilities to uphold."

[Truth's Meridian] The moon is low.

She's but a shadow of herself and this bodes better than it had on the last occasion Katherine and her sister had met. The Forseti, No Moon and Kinswoman are not so distant from the Half Moon's Loft. They are some streets distant, but Edward's claim is not so easily disputed, for Truth's Meridian had indeed marked the Umbral landscape around her building with the nominations that it was claimed by the Silver Fang tribe, and more particularly, the property of the Unbroken.

The Philodox herself, has, in fact, been observing this little scene for a few minutes across the Gauntlet as a snowy white wolf, sitting quite still with her pale eyes fixated not on her brother, or the Fenrir she knew vaguely as one of Buried Hatchet's own pack -- but on her sister. She flicked her ears and, for a beat, lay her snout down between her paws, whining. Had any been present to witness this act, they might have comprehended the noise as one of pain -- the wolf did not wish to proceed.

She nipped at her front paw, raised her muzzle and howled; a long, lone note rising up into the Umbra.

Then, she shifted forms, and as the tall figure of Katherine Bellamonte, crossed into reality -- appearing several paces behind Edward.

[Edward Bellamonte] (Blissful ignorance for earlier reappearing act!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
to Daniel

[Daniel] (for the record, ToG!)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Sinclair] Katherine has a shadow tonight. A shadow with less rage and yet more cheer. A shadow whose pale hair and blue eyes may match the Philodox's, but who does not wear such fine clothes and who has begun over the past few years to cover her flesh with markings of various sorts for reasons meaningful primarily -- and sometimes only -- to her.

But cheerful or not, Sinclair isn't smiling when she steps through the Gauntlet after Katherine. She was never in lupus, even as the Fang was. She is, as she was in the penumbra, in her birth form. And she was there to witness Katherine's reaction to seeing her sister, her reaction a silent hand on the top of the wolf's head for a moment.

"'Sup," she says, to both her packmate and to the Fenrir. And, presumably, to Gabriella.

[Daniel] Daniel's eyes narrow on Edward for a beat, attentive. Whatever scrutiny the Ragabash was subjected to, he seems to have passed. The Forseti's brow clears; he nods.

"It's wise to keep your kin close and warded," he says, "particularly one so wellbred as your sister. There are many who would want her for their own, and of their number, a Garou of a different tribe sould be the least of your worries." A glance at her as she suddenly snaps at her brother -- "Though most kin would be more grateful for the protection. The streets of the Scab are dangerous, young kinswoman."

His eyes flick past Edward to Katherine who, curiously, receives a deeper nod of respect than the Fostern had.

"Elder of the Philodoxes," he greets her.

[Daniel] (sould -- should. wtf.)

[Edward Bellamonte] "Gabriella is not most kin," Edward says, deadpan, and still the distance is respected. Still, he's dreadfully difficult to read. And he doesn't bother to answer the beligerance of a spoiled brat, not at the moment, when to do so would surely put him at a disadvantage.

It is terribly near his moon, after all - another day, maybe two, and it will be there.

Kate and Sinclair cross the Gauntlet, step into this world just behind him, and there's a hint of relaxation, a sense of pack that comes over him. His sisters, both by bond and one by blood.

"But yes, it is wise to keep them warded and cared for. Even when they would go against everything they are to be on their own, ripe for anyone's - anything's - picking."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Oh good, reinforcements.

The Kinfolk drew in a sharp breath through her nostrils, jaw tightening and chin lifting when Katherine and Sinclair seemed to appear from nothingness, the same type that Edward had manifested from, and in all the irony, for some reason she didn't quite grasp on her own accord, she found herself thoughtlessly shifting her stance so that she was edged a little closer to Taggart's Fenrir packmate. There was a hard blink, a gloved hand reached up to scrub cloth-covered fingers over closed eyelids, and the girl spoke quietly, her voice more of a garbled mumble than truly coherent.

"Be out now. On my way."

And with that stated, she took another step back, straightened the cheap cap on her head, and moved to re-enter the inn she'd just stepped out the front doors of.

[Sinclair] "Hey!" Sinclair calls after Gabriella. "Wait up a sec," she continues, and strides after the girl.

[Truth's Meridian] "Gabriella Bellamonte, hold yourself still."

Don't kid yourself, Gabbie, that was an order of the highest degree. Truth's Meridian glances at Broken Hammer as he bows slightly in deference to her, she offers him the tightest of smile, and a tiny nod, before looking to Warcry, then turning her head toward her brother. It's unspoken, what she wishes from them -- but she knows they comprehend it on some level.

"I wish to say some things to you, girl. You will do me this final honor, if you will refuse to do none other that I request of you as your guardian in this city. Broken Hammer-yuf, do me the honor of standing as witness to these events."

There's a detachment to the Half Moon's features that hasn't been present since she stood in judgment with her brethren at the last Moot and stripped a Garou of his wolf as punishment.

[Sinclair] That catches Sinclair's attention. The order in Kate's voice, the authority. She turns her head and pauses her steps, peering back at the Philodox with a pair of eyes that stand out in her features because even in winter, even without the sun beaming down on them on a daily basis, her skin is still tan enough to make those pale eyes seem to shine. Her hair, getting longer and unbound now and uncovered, blows lightly around her cheeks, bits of metal glinting through the strands from her ears.

She looks at the Philodox for a moment, then straightens a bit, looking at Daniel, then at Gabriella.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabbie's gloved fingers slipped off the handle of the door when two things came together in her ears-- a suggestion to wait up, and an order to stop moving. The girl let her head duck, just a little, chin bobbing some to show the internal fight between submitting to will and walking away like she told herself she would. Her chin sunk a little more, her teeth found the tip of her tongue, and with a sigh she dropped her hands into her pockets and turned.

She didn't face her siblings, her siblings' packmate directly. Rather, she gave them a three-quarters profile, most of her right shoulder and no eye contact.

Fine, she thought. Get on with it.

[Daniel] Broken Hammer had begun to step back toward his bus stop when the pack began to close around their -- what he thinks is their -- kin.

He pauses now, turning, bearing silent witness.

[Edward Bellamonte] The Bellamonte siblings have ever been close - Edward to both, almost always, but not so much the two sisters to each other. It's a given when he steps closer to Kate, hearing something in her voice, to give her his support. Daniel was asked to bear witness, marking this as something especially important, and that's not lost on the eldest Bellamonte at all.

He knows what's going to be said, or at least suspects, and where normally he would play the peacemaker? There's no move to do so now.

[Truth's Meridian] She doesn't hesitant for a moment, her eyes level and cool as the ice on the ground.

"You do not wish the interference of your own flesh and blood in your affairs, Gabriella, then you do not warrant the protection of any of the Silver Fangs within this city. If you persist in this course of action after tonight's moon sets, than you are hereby renounced as a Kinfolk of my tribe.

No haven.
No wardship.
No financial aid from your siblings, or your mother. For she too is a Kinfolk and she answers to me, or to Edward indirectly. I have given you much leniency Gabriella, for you are my own flesh and blood but no more!"

She takes a measured step closer, regardless of whether or not Gabriella turns to observe her, she pins her like a butterfly to the wall with her stare. "I leave the decision to you, girl. But understand me when I say that a Kinfolk who turns her back on her own tribe will not find easy comfort in the arms of any other with an ounce of honor to their name.

Now you may do as you wish, for I am done with you."

Truth's Meridian nods at Broken Hammer, and turns on her heel to depart.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] "Y--..."

The syllable's bitten off at first, chewed like bitter tasting taffy. Gabriella listened to Kate with her eyes cast aside like an Omega, like the docile Kin she was shaped to act like, even when she stood defying her own so blatantly. Her tongue swept slowly over lips that were set determined, teeth ground together to ensure that her jaw didn't lock completely or begin to tremble. She shivered, glanced aside, and tried again. "You've grown so..."

Another failure, this time a case of the words dying on the flat of her tongue rather than being forced to stop. The will to shout, to bellow and fight and show venom and hellfire was gone. She just wanted to escape and to rest. To argue would do nothing but prolong the encounter and risk bringing the wrath of any of this number of Garou down upon her head. Katherine had withheld her Rage last time, but Gabbie couldn't count herself certain or lucky any longer.

The Philodox Fang turned to depart, and much slower, as though moving through half-frozen mollasis, Gabbie moved for the front lobby of the inn once again.

[Sinclair] Notably, Sinclair does not move from where she stands, midway between Gabriella and Katherine. Her attention is primarily on the Philodox, but she still holds that ground, turned slightly so that one shoulder faces each of them. She remains there as Daniel stands aside, witnessing, and as Edward moves towards the older of his two little sisters.

She stands witness, too. But she always is: that is what she does. That is her moon, and her duty.

And there she remains, for a few beats after Katherine has spoken and turned to go. She leaves Katherine's escort to Edward. She looks at Daniel and gives a small nod of gratitude -- and conclusion. But Gabbie stammers, and Sinclair just looks at her, shaking her head in warning. "Don't," she says, and moves to follow Kate as well.

[Daniel] Broken Hammer has not a drop of purity in his blood, but everything else about him is Fenrir, utterly so. His cheekbones are high, his cheeks gaunt, the orbits of his eyes deepset, the angles of his jaw sharp. There's almost no waste to him -- what's exposed of his body is skin over muscle over bone, and all of it tough as sinew, tough as nails.

He's fairskinned, too, and sandy-haired. Right now, he's outright pale with shock, his dark eyes flicking from one Bellamonte sister to the other, occasionally touching on Edward, on Sinclair.

He has no fucking idea what's happening here; no idea what could cause such a schism between a tribe and its kin, particularly one so purebred as Gabriella. That much is all but written on his face.

Daniel doesn't say a word, though. Not when Katherine issues her ultimatum; not when Gabriella starts to stammer a response; stops. Not when Sinclair warns her, and not when the Unbroken turn to leave.

[Edward Bellamonte] Edward gives Gabbie a last glance, as he walks away with Kate - hands still in the pockets of his peacoat, hair wind ruffled and coming close to needing yet another cut. He hadn'd bothered to shave this morning, and it shows. But mostly, there's the difficulty in reading the brother who most often shouts celebration with every breath.

"Drinks?" That's murmured, quiet, as he takes one hand from his pocket to link the arm through the Philodox's. He could use a couple.

[Truth's Meridian] She does not turn around.

Edward takes her arm but she does not feel it; her footsteps feel wooden and unreal to her.

Not until she crosses the Gauntlet, at any rate. The Umbra swallows her whole, and the Philodox drops to her knees where she lands with a horrific, heart-rending cry and claws the earth beneath her; gasping as if she could not, truly, manage a single breath.

"What have I done? What have I done?"

She sobs, and lowers her forehead to the ground; her Rage trembling her so that fur sprouts and recedes as if like a wash, crashing against the shore. They have never seen Truth's Meridian weep before. Indeed, many question whether or not Katherine was even human enough to recognize the emotion.

But then, she'd never had to sever herself so finitely from someone she loved, either.

The noises she makes now, however, are as primal in her human skin as any she might have made as a wolf.

[Truth's Meridian] (a wash? *sigh* wave)

[Sinclair] "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Sinclair snaps at Katherine when they're across the Gauntlet, as she slinks to the ground and starts crying.

Her eyes are glittering with fury. "Stand up," she lashes, taking a couple of steps forward and grabbing at Kate's arm to, if necessary, haul her to her feet.

[Edward Bellamonte] "Shh."

Kate doesn't feel his touch, feels wooden and heavy, but for the moment, Edward has divorced himself from emotion - perhaps they've switched places for the night, slipped into each other's more natural roles. He kneels beside her . . . or starts to, and then Sinclair is snapping, impatient, or . . . well. Whatever.

Ed's said and thought 'whatever' a lot today - it's that kind of day.

So, Sinclair does her hauling and Edward watches, impassive, paused mid-motion, then straightens and pulls back his hand. Maybe Sinclair's way will be more helpful than his.

[Sinclair] "Don't fucking shh her!" Sinclair yells at Edward, so aghast that she forgets, for a moment, that technically he outranks her. "She's not a goddamn child with a bumped head!"

[Truth's Meridian] A snarl leaves the Half Moon's throat and she shoves at her pack-mate as she's unceremoniously hauled to her feet, eyes flashing, she does not even consider the foolishness of the decision -- she is aware that she is no match physically for Sinclair, but at present, she does not care.

She strikes Sinclair across the face.
Not a girlish slap of temper with a stamped foot.

But a fist.

[Sinclair] [+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Truth's Meridian] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Truth's Meridian] [Punch Sinclair! "RAR EMO RAGE]

[Sinclair] [1a. Block
1b. Grapple. Called: pinning Kate's arms behind her back]

[Edward Bellamonte] "She is my sister in more ways than one, blood of mine, and I will treat with her as I see fit," he says, low and unemotional, and then steps out of the way when fists fly. He's not going to get his ass handed to him by a packmate if he can help it.

[Truth's Meridian] [Punch Sinclair: Dex + Brawl]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Sinclair] [1a. Switching to Grapple. Strength + Brawl + Perun -2 (split) // diff +2 (called)]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 8) Re-rolls: 4

[Sinclair] There are times when their Alpha moves to fight, the gift of his moon and rank giving him speed beyond what any of them can hope for...

...and Sinclair is barely half a heartbeat behind him.

She is an excellent fighter. She is a warrior by nature, it seems, so much so that one of her own tribe thought she must have been raised like some Modi are, taught from early childhood how to do what they do so very well. This is not the case. Sinclair's never talked about her training, her fosterage, how she became like she is now.

Maybe when someone is on the receiving end of her skills, they don't much care how she got them.

This is what happens, and it happens in perhaps two seconds: Katherine snarls and shoves at Sinclair, who simply moves her hips and avoids the push. Kate, hauled upward, lashes out with a tight fist towards Sinclair's face. The Galliard does not seem to sidestep it so much as tip her head back so the badly-aimed, emotional punch whiffs past her jaw. She doesn't look angry anymore. She looks oddly calm, in fact, and then she threads her arm in the crook of one of Kate's.

And twists it behind her. And takes the other arm as well, yanking them back and up. If she were to start appying pressure she could break Kate's arms like this. She isn't. She isn't going to, either. She holds Kate with an amount of skill that makes the brutal hold almost gentle, now standing behind her, close enough that she can maintain her grip... but far enough back that Kate can't simply stomp on her instep or headbutt her backwards.

"No," she says softly, perhaps to Kate. Then, looking over at Edward. "No, you will not. I have spilled blood for her and with her. I have submitted to her judgement and I have dominated her in combat. And I will treat her as she needs, not as I will. If you love her, you will do the same, rather than treating her with the same coddling and selfishness that led to your other sister turning into the ungrateful, spoiled little brat she's shown herself to be.

"And if you do otherwise," Sinclair says, her voice losing that gentility and softness and becoming a bit harder, "if you attempt to ruin my sister because you want to be the comforting big brother, then you and I are gonna have a lil'bit of a problem, Eddie."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Three backs turn, one at a time. Katherine goes first, Sinclair next to accompany like the sentry, the support of the pack ought, and then Edward, with a blank look, slow turning, and a murmered request for/invitation to drinks. Gabriella had disappeared inside the motel, and Daniel was left shocked, staring after a ripple of spiritual disturbance in the shadows, wondering what he just bore witness to, what he'd just agreed to judge, to carry weight of.

If he stood for any longer than three minutes, he would encounter Gabriella once more. While a pack tussled in the the Penumbra, an exiled Kinfolk left a motel room in disarray, drawers pulled out, table upturned, lamp knocked over, with a few articles of clothing forgotten in the haste to be gone. She had a dufflebag over her back now, strap crossed over her chest, and had some kind of instrument case in her hand. Her cheeks were red, nose and eyes rimmed the same color, and she seemed in quite the rush to get away.

Escape.

[Truth's Meridian] The Half Moon registers dimly that she's been mastered by her pack-mate long before her arms are physically pinned behind her back. She does not struggle against Sinclair, or do more than stand there, head lowered, strands of pale hair falling over her cheeks; mouth. Her chest rises and falls in rapid succession, and then as the seconds tick past, slows.

"She is right, Edward." It's faint as a whisper, just audible. "This does nothing. What is done is done and has been a long time coming. I must ... reconcile myself to my decision." She raises her face, her ashen cheeks stained with drying tears. "It is what she has been longing for, anyway. Her freedom has been granted."

[Edward Bellamonte] .....a lil' bit of a problem, Eddie.

An eyebrow raises and he speaks coolly, distantly. "Of course, what was I thinking? Surely you must know better than I. Because you've known her for her whole life." But then Kate speaks, eyebrow lowers, and Ed shrugs. "As you wish," he says, detached, as if none of it matters. Hands are again stuck in the pocket of his coat and he turns - there's no ire in force of step or set of shoulders. There's just . . . nothing.

"See you later," he says over his shoulder, and ambles off.

[Daniel] When the Unbroken disappears into the Umbra and their (ex?-)kin disappears into the motel, the Forseti simply -- after blinking for a moment -- returned to waiting for his bus.

When Gabriella reemerges, he's still there, hands in his pockets now, head turned in the direction the bus would come from. Sunday night buses rarely run on time.

He turns again, though, when the girl's unmistakable purebreeding shivers through the air. The Forseti's dark eyes take in her state; her bag. He debates a moment before he calls out: "Going home, then?"

[Sinclair] She lets go of Katherine, when she feels the Philodox unresisting -- almost limp -- in her arms. Stepping back, then to the side, she brings up her palm and places it between Katherine's shoulderblades, surreally warm despite the chill that permeates even the penumbra. The city shifts around them, slowly mutating in the umbral mists and change of emotion and meaning back and forth across the gauntlet.

"Grieve for your loss," Sinclair says quietly, "both of you. But grieve first that she chose to turn her back on you. Do not grieve being strong enough that you would not tolerate it any longer."

Ed speaks up, and Sinclair rolls her eyes, her hand sliding away from Katherine. "You will stop and face me," she says.

[Truth's Meridian] Edward detaches from the entire scene as he has done plenty of times before, and his younger sister -- his only, now, if things do not alter by sunrise -- sighs, as she's let go off by Sinclair and feels the blood rushing back into her arms. She flexes her fingers, and bows her head a little at the wisdom in the Galliard's words.

It does not quite quench the ache surrounding her heart, but it dulls the agony just enough for Truth's Meridian to raise her chin, and direct her gaze after her brother as Sinclair directs him to face her.

What she expects the Ragabash to do, however, is mutable, just like his nature.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] And of course the Get of Fenris had to be there still. The bus couldn't have come and swept him away and left her to stew alone. She was used to alone, it was wrenching and cold at times but at least it was comfortable, at least she knew what to expect from it. If it were a cluster of humans standing at the bus stop she could cope as well, they weren't interested in her, weren't invested in her well-being, simply concerned with themselves. Garou, however, just couldn't be escaped.

Looked like she was walking tonight rather than taking the bus.

She sniffled a bit, swiped the heel of her hand over her left eye, and paused to glance back to Daniel when he called out to her. She was partway across the parking lot, moving to pass by the bus stop and keep moving up the sidewalk. This set it to look like she was approaching, for the moment at least, while she snapped a response with a voice that had grown husky with struggled control.

"What home?"

[Edward Bellamonte] "I will," he says, almost (but not quite) a question - he slows, to see if she has something to say that's worth hearing, but he does not turn fully - just enough that the two women can see his profile. "And why would I do that?"

Ed listens to reason - well, usually. Even from uppity Cliaths who issue orders to Fosterns, if the reason is good enough, sound enough. Some days, he's more easily persuaded than others, and some days, he's practically begging to be reminded there's a reason for things, that something matters. Some days, he's impossible to read even for the sister he's known for his whole life (unless she's trying mighty hard). Regardless, he's stopped, and listening.

[Daniel] Daniel is silent for a moment, his stare implacable, black.

Then, "I don't know your past, or how you came to this pass. I know what I heard. You've turned your back on your tribe and so they are turning their back to you. You've until the moonset to return to the fold, or you will be cast out forever."

A small pause, and then the Forseti adds, a touch of wryness in his tone now, "Seems to me like you've still a home, or the possibility of one."

[Sinclair] "Because we are both honorable Garou," Sinclair says slowly. "And just as I will not attack my pack brother from behind, you will turn and face your sisters. You are a pathetic excuse for a brother if you have no support to offer her except that which bolsters your own ego and self-image. She does not need you to coddle her, but she still needs you. And you walk away with a passive-aggressive snitfest because you didn't get to do it your way."

Sinclair steps to the side away from Katherine, steps forward once to Edward. "You are weak. You are selfish. And as your packmate, I'm calling you out as a brittle link in our chain. And you will correct this bullshit immediately or be punished for it."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] More roughly this time, Gabbie swiped her hand over an eye, pushing the tears away before they had a chance to actually fall, unconcerned with smearing make-up or dragging fingertips delicately at the undersides of their lids so that their mascara would not run and their eyeliner would not bleed away. She came to an abrupt stop before the Get of Fenris, half-glaring up at him, and peeled her gloves off to shove them into her coat pockets so that if she decided she needed to rub her eyes or face anymore she wouldn't be scratching it with the cheap fabric of the gloves.

"And what when I return home, hmm? Back to my room? Back to silence, to being set aside, overlooked, ignored, forgotten? And what if I grow tired of non-existence? What if I decide to speak? To try and live? Then I am scolded, called selfish and a child, informed that I am not doing my duty, and threatened with abusive husbands and the fall of friends until I return to silent obedience!

Fuck that. I chose the streets."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] (( choose** ))

[Daniel] The only response Daniel betrays is a faint, puzzled furrowing of his brow. There's something deeply inhuman about the cagey Forseti: something about his direct, unflinching stares. Something about his leanness, the taut stretch of his skin over his hard bones. Something about his silences and his motions, so liquid-smooth, so hawk-quick.

He stares at the girl as she rails out against her past, her existence. When she declares her choice -- the corner of his mouth turns up. The expression is there for a second before it's gone.

"Then I wish you the best, Gabriella, kin to none."

[Edward Bellamonte] Eyes narrow slightly, almost imperceptibly, and Edward turns to face them both fully; hands are still in his pockets, his collar up around his ears, hair windblown, in need of a cut. "You. don't. know. me." That's said first - there is the totem link, and what Edward allows across it, but that's very little. For all that they're packmates, he can count on one hand the times he's spoken with Sinclair. They've been together more often, no doubt, and she's seen him in all sorts of moods - from bouncing off the walls to miserable and everything in between, no doubt - but she hasn't been let in any further than is strictly necessary. Edward is very careful about that; those he lets in now are few and far between.

"I would say they're amusing, the conclusions you draw, but my sister would, no doubt, know me for a liar. Thank you, though, for being so quick to point out my flaws. I do hope you'll forgive me for waiting to get to know you better before I point out yours."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] She had nothing to say to Daniel after getting that off her chest, it seemed. His mouth quirked, the first variance aside from furrowing brows and hardening stares, and he wished her the best, though whether he meant luck or life she wasn't sure, and she imagined it didn't really matter.

Another angry scrub at her face with the palm of her hand, she shook her head, and started walking again. A hand lifted in something that could be construed as a farewell wave, something of thanks, of acknowledgment, and the girl was off, up the sidewalk, to God Knows Where.

[Sinclair] "I'm doing my duty, Silver Jester." She does not say rhya. This is probably not surprising, to either of them, at the moment.

"You can dismiss what I have to say, you can mock it, and you can disagree with it, but it does not change the fact that I mean it." She speaks deliberately, and very clearly. The fact that her rage is flickering is clear, as is the fact that she is exerting firm control over her temper. "You will adjust your behavior. You will strive to overcome your obvious weaknesses, as Katherine does on a daily basis, or you will be punished for it."

Her head tips a bit to the side. She does not hesitate in what she says next, though she is for all intents and purposes speaking for the entire pack without consulting them over totemphone or in committee. "If you continue to wallow in your failings and dismiss attempts at correction, you will eventually find that there is no place for you in the Unbroken."

Sinclair straightens a bit, and takes another step forward. "And I warn you again because we are bound by spirit, Edward: the next words out of your mouth should be acceptance of the advice of your pack's Galliard, spoken with sincerity and respect, or I will make you submit."

[Truth's Meridian] Katherine has been quiet, dare one say sullenly so, reflecting on her own self-imposed wounds and licking them, at least, theoretically, even as she stares after her brother and continues to watch him, albeit through distant, seemingly empty eyes. She shakes her head a little, and cuts a hand through the air between Sinclair and Edward.

"Enough, Silver Jester-rhya, Warcry offers you advice as your pack's Galliard, she does not seek to arbitrarily dismiss your ranking or your honor, brother but rather show you ways to alter your behavior's pattern, as she has offered myself on numerous occasion. Heed her words, Edward. Listen, and be not afraid to show her weakness, so that she can help you mend it.

We are pack.
We are bound.
We show one another every side of ourselves," she breathes, deeply. "Every moment of fear, so that there is nothing that holds us apart. So that we are as one in battle."

[Edward Bellamonte] "Right," he says with a shrug. "Sure. Fix me, please." It seems like there should (no, not should, but would) be sarcasm in those words, but there's not - it's guileless, spoken as his eyes move from Kate (who'd stolen them from Sinclair when she spoke) back to Sinclair. "Mold me into whatever you like. But in the meantime, who's molding you?"

Because he's heard stories, of course, knows of the Stone of Scorn, knows he is (or has been) as violent as any Ahroun, has been skin-ridden, tainted.

"I will say this: I do not fully disagree. I am selfish, as much so as anyone else and more so than some. In some ways, at some times, I am weak. As are you, Warcry. As is everyone. And yes, I will listen. And I will heed your advice, when and where it applies, as I would the advice of anyone I value. But I would suggest that, before you go based on assumption, you make sure your assumptions are correct."

[Sinclair] [perception + empathy: you bullshittin' me, boy?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Sinclair] "Lukas Wyrmbreaker-rhya," Sinclair says immediately, albeit a bit flatly, when Edward asks who is 'molding' her. "Katherine Truth's Meridian-yuf. Theron Eyes of the Oncoming Storm-yuf. The memory of Arthur Strikes With Valor in His Heart-yuf. The memory of Regina Failsafe-rhya, Adren Glass Walker Ahroun. And the sight of every warrior who behaves with honor and glory and wisdom, as well as the sight of those who do not."

She walks forward to Edward until they are little more than a few inches apart. Her rage hasn't dimmed, though nor has it spiked out of control as it would have had she detected the slightest trace of his earlier flippancy.

"One of the many differences between us, Edward, is that I have faced my weaknesses and failures with total submission and utter sacrifice, whereas you are still defending yourself on the mistaken basis that what I have to say is formed on assumption. It isn't, brother. It's what I've seen every time I've been around you, heard through the link our totem gives our minds, watched you exhibit in the last ten minutes." She rolls her head on her neck once. It is an obvious sign of limbering herself up, even as she swivels her head back to face him, pale eyes flickering.

"I will adjust your pride for you now," she adds, very softly.

[Inits!]

[Sinclair] [-1R snap-shift to hispo
+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Truth's Meridian] Katherine does not get between the two pack-mates. This is not her fight, yet she will stand in place as mediator should the need arise. She was, after all, the acting Mistress of the Challenge. She swarms up into her Hispo form, and moves to sit to one side, watching.

The silent witness.

[+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[Edward Bellamonte] [-1R snap-shift to hispo
+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5