[Fabienne Bartelle] *The Brotherhood. That entirely inappropriate melting pot of kin and garou of all manner of tribes. She'd stopped in downstairs to converse with the owners of such an establishment. Polite greetings and introductions were made, before Danny was left with her to spin rumors and entertain her with grinning banter. The banter soon patters out, one way as its wont to be, Fabienne reconsidering her reasons for being here. Danny makes to go about his duties, and the silverfang kin smiles mutedly before revisiting the note she'd intended on putting up. Thin blonde brow knitting slightly. Perhaps not.*

[Daniel] There's a feel even relatively unperceptive humans get when they're being watched for extended periods. It's a sort of prickling at the back of the neck, a tightness of the skin, the sense that they have been singled out from the crowd somehow. Are being observed.

That's the sort of feeling Fabienne gets before long. It takes a while to pinpoint it. When Daniel stays still, he all but fades into the background. Strange Half Moon, him. Quiet as a Ragabash sometimes. Sharp of senses, too.

Even from across the room -- because that's where he is: across the room, in one of the booths out of the way, leaning back with an empty bowl in front of him -- the Forseti's eyes are intimidatingly dark and direct. He stares the way animals stare, unflinchingly, with no sense whatsoever that this might be impolite.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *A growing tension in her spine is apparent in Fabienne's slowly stiffening posture. Her note is slowly folded, and tucked away in her handbag. Nothing at all smoothed off the sleeve of a lacy rose colored blouse, brushed off the knee of a grey pencil skirt. Once everything is in order does she turn, and make brief eye contact with the man staring a hole right through her. Direct as well, though far softer, politer, less intense. Grey eyes unflinching, the act too measured to be fear as she dips her head so as to break their shared gaze. She raises an eyebrow in silent question, deceptively delicate hand coming to her collar. Its undeniable, she's every inch a Silverfang.*

Yes?

[Daniel] Caught and -- more importantly -- so directly addressed, he reacts the way animals do as well: his eyes drop for a measured moment, then return levelly to Fabienne. There's nothing embarrassed or uneasy about him. Daniel stands smoothly and silently, leaving his bowl where it is.

Crossing the room, firelight from the mantle catches him, then releases him. As he gets closer to the bar, the light on him is harsher, more direct: the spotlights behind the bar, near the bakery counter. The Forseti is rawboned, angular, almost gaunt in his leanness. Very little can be see of his body beneath two layers of hoodies and two more of shirts and undershirts, but his face is skin tight over tense muscle over hard bone. He looks like he doesn't know the meaning of relaxation.

"Your breeding. It's unusual even for your family. Forgive me for staring."

He doesn't stop, though.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Her head tilts to the left slightly, listening carefully. Ah, the "breeding". Of course. Her lips quirk into a smile as she nods.*

Of course. Fabienne Bartelle.

*The kin looks Daniel over frankly, offering her hand with due decorum.*

A pleasure.

[Daniel] Daniel looks at the proffered hand for a moment. He is a feral creature, not wolfborn or sinborn but feral nonetheless; born amongst Garou, amongst beasts far from man. Men would not want to know what he thinks of sometimes: blood and meat and mating and

guilt. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Oh the things he's done.

Back to the present, though. He takes her hand in the manner of humans, shakes. Slender bones. Delicate articulations. So easily broken. He knows just how easily; ask Izzy. Pure blood in those veins, though, more even than that unfortunate kinswoman's. The promise of trueborn cubs, a whole generation of heroes for the mad kings. Strange that such strength is couched in such weakness.

"I am called Broken Hammer. Forseti of the Fenrir, and of Bear."

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Her hand is taken after a long pause. Not an awkward pause. No, She'd not allow that. Fabienne, despite her lack of a leader's glowing charm, has politeness in spades. Finesse faked exceedingly well. This close a lupine creature like Daniel can note the slight tenseness of a fine boned jaw, the dilation of pale grey eyes. Rage was offputting, especially when the moon was so full.*

Broken Hammer. Do you live here sir? Or simply dining out this evening?

[Liadan] The front entrance of The Brotherhood's dining facilities opens and in steps not just another patron, but a young woman who is familiar to the staff. Without the easily recognized hue of her hair visible -- at present it's damp, frozen in places, twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck and mostly hidden beneath a grey woven fedora -- it would be easy to think she is just another Chicagoan.

But the Coltranes, Danny, Joaquin and all the rest know her. Líadan Whelan is Buried Hatchet's kinswoman. For a while she was the lover of Curata the Grim Heart. She's been in Chicago since the end of March last year, and she is mated to known. She fights when her life is in danger, defends kinfolk with a passion that is almost suicidal.

At the door she unbottens her coat, looking around the room in the hopes of finding an empty booth. Or a seat at the bar. She could use a drink. So that's where she goes first, at least. Her coat and leather messenger bag are removed, set onto the stool beside the one she chooses.

Lee greets the kinfolk working the bar today warmly enough. She recognizes Daniel from another night, knows that he's Taggart's packmate. She smiles a little, offers him a wave, then leans forward onto the bar, resting her weight on her elbows.

[Daniel] Daniel cocks his head to the side. "Do I look like I dine out?"

He drops her hand. When he sits up on the barstool, there's something savage about that, too: like an animal crouching on a rock outcropping.

"What are you doing here? Fangs don't come here much." His eyes drop to the flyers. "What are those for?"

[Daniel] (oops)

He's finishing his sentence when movement and familiarity and -- yes, purity of blood -- draws his eye another way. Daniel's head turns smoothly. He registers Liadan's smile and wave with very little response, though one supposes the single slow blink he gives her is a sort of acknowledgment and greeting.

[Fabienne Bartelle] It would hardly be proper to assume.

*Responds the fang kin with aplomb. Daniel looks to where she'd tucked her letter away, and Fabienne raises an eyebrow. Leave it to the Get to put little stock in manners. Which really is more or less the reason for her keeping said letter in her handbag. A glance to the redhead and a quirk of pale lips. Pleasant enough in passing.*

I had intended on offering my services as instructor in classical fencing to the residents here. However, I have decided it would be unwise.

[Liadan] Lee attempts to greet Daniel without breaking into his conversation with the lovely blonde woman. He blinks slowly at her, and Lee turns away. He's forgotten who she is, which is understandable. Except for her height and her hair, she's plain and easily forgotten. The blonde woman looks her over, and her look is ignored.

Until she says she had intended on offering her services as a fencing instructor. Lee turns back to them, curious despite herself.

"I'm sorry," she says by way of interjection. "Why would that be unwise?"

[Fabienne Bartelle] Oh.

*An interruption from the strange redhead gets a slightly surprised expression, before Fabienne lifts her chin and responds crisply.*

Given my experience with Chicago's kin, and the information I've received from Danny, I think it would be a rather irresponsible thing to offer lessons indiscriminately to the.. general population.

[Daniel] "Afraid they'll run around trying to run Garou through with swords?" It's impossible -- or at least difficult -- to tell if Daniel is making a joke.

[Fabienne Bartelle] Or something similarly insensible and unpleasant.

*Concedes the regal blonde, waving her hand idly at the thought. She'd heard rumors of kin shooting garou on more than one occasion. Another dead from attempting to stab a trueborn. Fights broke out in coffee shops here. Kin ran their mouths as though they had death wishes. No respect at all for their betters, tribal or trueborn. Chicago so far was anarchy and barbarism, with few notable exceptions.*

[Liadan] "That could be a valid concern," Lee responds to Daniel first. He might be thinking of Garou like himself, or the others that live within the confines of The Brotherhood's second floor. Lee is thinking Spirals, or those on their way to the dance. "Garou aren't the only ones who have to fight. And warders and guardians can't and shouldn't be expected to babysit us. Fencing might be a little unorthodox, but it would be something."

[Daniel] "A kin that knew how to fight," Daniel says, "might have a slighter higher probability of survival should the Great Serpent seek to prey on him. But given the nature of the kin of Maelstrom, it's far more likely he'll die twice as fast because he'll decide to fight when he should run. And that doesn't even take into account the likelihood he'll decide to turn his weaponry on a Trueborn cousin."

Not joking, then.

[Fabienne Bartelle] I regret to admit, that was rather my line of thinking, sir.

*Her expression is mildly rueful. Apparently the kin here were all shining beacons of purebreed, who'd entirely lost their minds. Her hands fold on her lap as she considers the implications of such a phenomena. Displeased.*

[Liadan] Lee arches a reddish brow at the pair of them. "I can't speak for the other kin of this sept," she says. When a mug of stout is slid her way, she turns away from them, leaving them to their conversation, such as it had been before she interrupted.

[Daniel] "You disagree for yourself then, kinswoman of Stag?"

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fabienne watches the interaction between Broken Hammer and the un-introduced redhead with muted interest. Simply observing for the moment. A picture of politeness.*

[Liadan] "I do," she says simply, truthfully, because she has no reason to lie to these strangers. "For me, fighting isn't about glory or honor or renown. It's about trying to make it to tomorrow. As for the rest," she shrugs, "I haven't met a True Born I wanted to attack. I think it would be stupid to try for anything less than, I don't know. Murder or rape or something."

[Fabienne Bartelle] *What a terribly unpleasant turn the conversation has taken. Fabienne straightens the sleeve of her lacy blouse, and folds her coat over the same arm, drawing to her feet.*

A pleasure to meet you Broken Hammer ryha. Miss.

*The subtle incline of her head to both in turn.*

[Daniel] Let's be honest: while Broken Hammer largely converses with the Fianna, his eyes have been fixed almost exclusively on the Fang. She's more beautiful -- there's that, of course, but that's not the whole of it. She's better bred. Her blood all but sings of heroes and mystics, possibility, potential. What a pity she was born to a lineage falling to weakness and madness -- Daniel turns away, to Liadan.

"Pretty words, Stag-kin, but look me in the eye and tell me you have never, not once, fought when you could have run away."

Then there's movement, which catches the predator's eye. Daniel's head snaps 'round, quick as a hawk's. He watches Fabienne rise. "Come again," he says, which is not a politeness but an open invitation. Then he frowns. "No. Don't. Stay amongst your own, kin of Falcon."

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fabienne arcs an eyebrow at Daniel's own contradicting orders. A quirk of her lips in amusement, before she responds crisply, slipping her coat on in one fluid sweeping motion. Dove grey eyes hold the predator's gaze as she does up her buttons.*

I'll do that.

*Come again? Stick to her own? She's as vague as he is contradictory. Purse gathered in hand as she moves to the door, pulling on kidskin gloves worth more than most people's entire outfits.*

[Liadan] Lee's eyes drop to the wood of the bar. She's thinking over the many altercations she's had since she came to Chicago.

Which is when Fabienne is rising to take her leave. Lee straightens, nodding her head when she's addressed. Names aren't given or asked for. Lee knows when she's beneath someone's notice, which is very nearly all the time.

The fact that Daniel continues to ply her for conversation is odd to her, especially when his attention is more focused on the other woman.

She turns to him, meets his hard dark eyes with her own soft brown ones.

"The only times I haven't run from a fight and I probably could have, are when I'm trying to get other people out, or when someone who might be weaker needs a shield."

[Daniel] "How convenient an explanation that must be," Daniel replies flatly, and stands. He doesn't bow to her. He doesn't nod. He merely adds -- and this, only because humans seemed to need signals of conversations ending more than Garou do -- "I'm going upstairs, kinswoman of Stag."

[Liadan] Lee doesn't need a conversation closer. "Thanks for the update."

[Liadan] [thanks for the scene!]