Time/Date : It is currently 14:01 Pacific Time on Mon Apr 14 2008.
Place : Brownstone: 4th Floor Apartment
Weather :Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 9 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.97 and falling, and the relative humidity is 73 percent. The dewpoint is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)
Moon Phase :urrently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (60% full). B
Brownstone: 4th Floor Apartment
This two-bed apartment is plainly inhabited, but equally plainly, whoever lives here is either very poor or just hasn't gotten round to putting much furniture in. One bedroom has a dirty mattress on the floor, the other is stone empty. The main living area has one ratty brown sofa with the stuffing coming out of the arms, likely a sidewalk trophy, a small portable TV set, and a few packing crates and cardboard boxes, one of which seems to be serving as an impromptu laundry hamper. Out of place among the junk, a guitar case rests against one wall next to a Laney amp and a portable mixer and effects board.
Now in her early twenties, KL has lost much of the teenage stroppiness that characterised her younger self. It has been replaced by a slower burning, though still as fierce, intensity. She is still on the short side, standing perhaps 5'2" tall in her bare feet, and has a slightly built and slender frame, with a tight musculature that speaks of plentiful exercise. When she moves, she displays a compact grace, poise and balance. Even if she still occasionally slouches.
She has long, mid-brown - uncharitable people would say mousy - hair which she usually wears in a long plait that falls down between her shoulder-blades, secured at the top and the bottom with wide black leather bands. She's really quite attractive, perhaps not a pin-up, but far from ugly, with a cute upturned nose and wide expressive hazelnut eyes. There's something off-putting about her, though - she has an aggressive posture, a tendency to glare at people - particularly people she doesn't know, and an air of barely-restrained violence.
She has pale skin decorated in two places - on her left upper arm is a largish tattoo of something that looks a little like a bear, with its jaws spread wide and slaver falling in droplets. It has the words "No Mercy" written with gusto beneath it. On her right shoulder-blade, if visible, is a second tattoo, two-inch-square, of a winged horse.
Unless obscured by clothing, visible across her throat is a fairly horrendous scar, an angry stripe running from the bottom right corner until it terminates just below her jawline on the left side. More likely to be obscured is the scar in the small of her back, faded and older, but just as horrible.
She is currently wearing a pair of leather pants, so tight that they might have been spray-painted onto her legs, fastened at the waist with a black leather belt with a large buckle. On her upper half she's wearing a black vest top - if her jacket is off, the tattoo on her left arm is clearly visible, and the one on her back partially so. On her feet are a pair of ankle boots, also black, with about two-inch block heels. Over it all, possibly, is a rather snazzy black leather jacket.
Her ears are pierced, twice in each lobe, with small steel captive-ball rings through them. When she opens her mouth, it's just possible to make out a barbell piercing her tongue. Around her neck hangs a pendant, an oval disk made of some kind of bone. It looks like it's been decorated with carved designs, which are somewhat hard to make out on casual inspection. The pendant is hung on a leather thong. She's also wearing a pair of killer Lara Croft-style shades, which go some way to disguising the rampant hostility of her gaze. A bit. Maybe. Finally, in an effort to hide the scar on her throat, she has a dark-blue silk scarf tied around her neck, the ends thrown back over her left shoulder.
A short, tough-looking woman standing only five feet one or so in height, usually dressed in an urban-grunge style with ripped jeans, kicker boots, and a truly ancient leather jacket which looks -- and smells -- as though it's been slept in multiple times by multiple people, not necessarily one at a time. The back of the jacket has a Phranc logo stencilled onto it and one arm boasts the words 'Kate Wolf Lives'. She smells as though she, and all her clothes, could do with a thorough wash and scrubbing. Her hair is trimmed short into a flat-top, and seems to be naturally a ratty blonde, though it shows signs of frequent short and long term artificial dyes. She has blue eyes, a nose too large for the rest of her small face, and comes across as a strange mixture of menacing and benevolent.
Afternoon, St. Claire. What passes for a pleasant spring afternoon outside, the sun cracking through the cloud layer with something approaching enthusiasm. There's a knock at the door of Viv's apartment, a firm and confidant knock.
After a pause, comes an indistinct shout from inside. And then the door opens up a crack and one eye peers suspiciously through. "Oh, hey!" And the door opens fully. "How'd you get in?"
"Two ways," KL says. "One, I've got keys, to the front door and the basement, th..still." She puts her hand into her pocket and pulls out a bunch of keys, demonstrating this fact. "Two, my... um...friend lives upth...upstairs." She appears to be having some odd trouble with sibilants. "Or, if you prefer, I could pretend to have battered the door down."
Viv gives a raucous laugh. "I don't give a fuck so long as you're here, anyway. Come in. Siddown. I got coffee or beer. Or water. And I was wanting to talk to you."
"Oh?" KL says, coming into the apartment. She's got a large rucsack trailing behind her. "Mind if I put thith...fuck, this, somewhere?" she asks, doing so without waiting for approval. "Just got back from holiday." She throws herself onto the sofa. "Saw your name on the list, thought I'd drop by and see if you were in."
"The doctor is in," Viv says blithely. "Toss that bag anywhere. Yeah, I was up late last night, with Mouse of all people. We finally managed to talk to one another without yelling and things are patched up. Which is good. Where was your holiday? Not many garou do the holiday thing..."
"Than...fuck San Fransisco," KL says, enunciating carefully. "With the whole Fostern and Elder thing, I wanted to blow of some steam. Sort of last chance to go a bit wild." She grins mischeviously. "Succeeded in that goal, anyway." She shakes her head. "I suppose I should talk to Mouth...Mouse at some point." A grim look at this. "I'm still annoyed with her."
Viv coughs slightly. "You picked up the local accent or did someone smack you in the mouth?" she asks. "And why're you pissed at Mouse?"
"I told you, it was a wild holiday," KL says, grinning and sticking her tongue out, revealing the tongue piercing. "I haven't *quite* got used to it." She pauses, then answers the question. "She...hmm... she was involved in an ambush that resulted in my former packmate getting kicked out of the Sept. I want to know why. What the Glasswalkers got in exchange."
Viv leans forward to see better, then whoops. "Go, girl!" she hollers. "Don't forget to get it dedicated if you haven't... Yeah, I heard about your packmates leaving. That was why I wanted words with you." She sits in the ratty old sofa and regards KL. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're pretty much high and dry packwise now?"
KL, sitting on the sofa next to Viv, rubs her right upper arm ruefully. "Yes," she says, simply. "No pack, no totem. Feels kind of naked." She looks at the Get woman inquiringly. "Oh and yeah, done the dedication thing already. One of the most useful things I know. Are you asking?"
"Asking what?" Viv says playfully, then laughs again. "Yeah, I'm asking. Bunch of us are trying to start a city war pack. Lots of Get, but none of the olde-schoole chain-you-to-the-kitchen-sink-barefoot idiots. I'm me, Poe's a poofter, and Gunther's just this big freaky sweetheart except when he gets a rage on. Plus there's Mick, the Glass Walker ragabash, because every city pack needs an urrah, really. And if you want aboard... I'd consider it an honor." Having delivered the invite, she sits back again and awaits KL's response, not without some tenseness.
There's a cheerful thumping on the door to the apartment- a thumping that sounds almost strong enough to take it off its hinges. "Auntie Vivvy? I'z bin makin' pancakes. Yez wan' some?" Comes a /deep/ voice from the other side.
"I've met Poe," KL says, with a grin. "He doesn't flinch even when you hold your claws an inch from his face. I'd be happy to pack with him. Mick...I'd want to talk to first. See if he's grown up since I last had dealings with him." She pauses, then looks at the door. "Auntie Vivvy?" she enquires.
"Speak of the devil," Viv says, standing up. "That's Gunther now." She opens the door again. "Come in, big guy," she says to the hulking figure on the doormat, "and meet KL. KL is a Black Fury, and a very noble Garou. I bet she likes pancakes."
'Big guy' being the operative phrase there. Gunther fills the doorframe almost entirely- 6'9" and almost 400lbs or so of puppy fat and tectonic-plate like muscles. There's flour spattered on his shirt, his cheeks- even in his eyebrows, and in one hand he's holding an iron frying pan stacked with pancakes even more deformed than he is. Their delicious smell /almost/ but not quite manages to blot out the aroma of 'dead dog on a hot day' that generally hangs around him like a teenager on a street corner. "Oooh.. She t'one yez were talkin' 'bout packin' wit'?" He asks with a smile, the hamster-wheel inside his skull squeaking badly as it processes this new information. Turning to the dimunitive fury, he dips his head a little. "'M Gunther. War-Bastard. Modi. Metis. An' I hit fings f'Gaia. V'ry hard. 'S nice t'meetcha."
There's also a faint hissing sound and a little wisp of smoke from where he grips the pan's handle. Evidently someone forgot to turn off their resist-pain gift.
KL is on her feet, almost immediately. If she was in Lupus, her hackles would be up. With a visible effort, she slams down control on her reaction, and when she speaks it's very carefully, her tone measured. "KL Cole, Rises Like Phoenix from Rage's Fire, or Raging Phoenix, if you're in a hurry. Fostern Ahroun of the Black Furies, Elder of the tribe in the Hidden Walk, until recently packed under Wolverine as part of HAVOC." Her eyes never leave the face of the man-mountain, tension oozing from every pore of her body, a quiver in her arms, her muscles almost, but not quite, spasming with the effort of control.
"Gunther, why don't you put the pan down? Just on the floor," Viv adds, before Gunther can put it down on anything (or anyone) more inflammable). "How many plates shall we need? I might even have some syrup in the cupboard." Viv's cheerful words don't mask the fact that she's alert and poised for action, watching both Gunther and KL like a hawk in case something snaps.
All of a sudden the tension in the room rockets up into stratospheric levels. Gunther in turn freezes and stares back at KL, their rage pushing back and forth at each other. His form tenses- bringing the gigantic masses of muscleflesh into sharper relief beneath his somewhat chubby exterior. The balance hangs in the thread for a moment or two, the metis looking like he's about to explode into axe-related violence. But then he reaches to his pocket, without taking his eyes off the fury. A lollipop is produced and stuck into his mouth, the scent of synthetic grape adding to his stench, the pancake's smell and the faint hint of sizzling fingers that already fills the room. A few good, hard sucks and he's beginning to wilt down again, even tilting his head slightly before setting the pan down upon the ground. "Yez like syrup?" He finally asks of the fury, still sounding a bit strained. "'nuff pancakes f'all."
"You look like you'd be useful in a fight," KL allows, without ever once taking her eyes from the heap of Get in front of her. "And yes, I like syrup. Thank you." It's all as polite as being stabbed with a smashed wine glass. She's speaking with exaggerated care, enunciating each word clearly. "I think that makes it three plates." She smiles at him, though it doesn't reach to her eyes.
Viv is still as tense as overstretched barned wire. "Three plates it is," she murmurs. When she goes to get plates, cutlery and syrup, it's noteworthy that she walks backwards to the kitchen area, not taking her eyes off her guests. "Yes, Gunther is invaluable in fights. Got to be careful because he's so... distinctive..." she adds, "but there are always ways around that..." And she walks forwards again.
"'M called Bastard-Child-Of-War f'a reason, yeah." Gunther replies, keeping an equally careful eye on KL- though /not/ making eye contact. "I'z good wi't m'axe." He picks up the now somewhat cooler pan as Viv returns, his singed fingers already healing rapidly. He then sets out the pancakes onto the three plates- still watchful of the fury. "Taken m'first heads here already.. 's in t'freezer. We'z gotta wyrmwolf problem, 'seems.."
"Who doesn't have a head in their freezer?" KL asks. "We do, huh?" she asks. "I guess that will need to be dealt with." A pause. "I think I'd like to find out how good you are in a fight at some point, soon. In a friendly sort of way." The raised eyebrow indicates that she isn't sure exactly how friendly this fight might actually be. She does, however, stand down, sitting back on the sofa, breaking her stare at Gunther, though she hardly relaxes much. She looks at Viv. "Have you given any thought to totem?"
Viv continues to position herself carefully at the apex of an equilateral triangle, neither closer to KL nor to Gunther. Only when KL sits back down does she relax a trifle, and even then she's still plainly alert. "A few totems came to mind," she replies. "Bear. Weasel. Crocodile. I think those were the main three that Poe, Mick and I came up with when we were first thrashing it out. But if you two have any input..."
"Bear'z nice 'n'all.. bu' t'whole 'dishonour' fing, y'know?" Gunther grunts in thought. "Weasel.. c'n see it, bu' no'really me. Croccydile? I dunno dat one so good.." He seems to be calming a little himself, the little spat forgiven if not forgotten as he begins to truck into his pancakes after a liberal dousing of syrup.
KL nods at Gunther. "I'd be reluctant to pack under Bear," she says. "Weasel's a good totem. Would be happy with Weasel. Not sure about Crocodile. The "Quick, fetch me a war pack and make it snappy" jokes would get old." She smiles, briefly, then looks at Viv, appraisingly. "We my need to get a room, to sort things out."
"Bear wasn't exactly my first choice either," Viv admits, "but I'm a great believer in not pinning all your tails on one donkey. If there's no weasel spirits nearby when we go looking, for instance, and we'd got no backup plans, we'd look pretty blooming stupid when we came back looking like lemons with no totem. And I don't like looking like a lemon," she adds. "Maybe I'm biased towards Croc because of Paul Hogan or something. How big a room d'you guys need?" she asks as she selects a plate and one of the mutant pancakes. "If you want to throw down, I think I'd like to be there."
Gunther falls silent, eating his pancakes with all the sound and enthuasiasm of a rabid industrial woodchipper.
KL picks up a pancake, and looks hard at Viv. "It wasn't...really Gunther that I was talking about," she says, in a measured tone. She bites into the pancake, and her eyebrows rise in surprise. "This is actually good," she says, trying to sound like it's appreciative rather than amazed. Close observation would note that she's very careful to chew each mouthful thoroughly before gingerly swallowing it.
Viv looks at KL in surprise for a moment, and then realisation dawns upon her. "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw," she says evenly. Conflicting emotions struggle for prevalence on her features, and perhaps thankfully, amusement wins out. "Want a piece'a me, do you? Reckon you've got it in you to lead /three/ of Fenris's finest?" She slaps one fist into her other palm almost jubilantly. "Wanna do it now, or wait till we've sorted our totem?"
The Fury considers. "I couldn't follow someone, in a pack, without knowing, y'know? I'd always be wondering. And you'd always be watching your back. It would be bad. Obviously, whoever loses could challenge again. I'd expect them too. But it's good to have it clear." She looks at the Get. "Whenever you want." The challenge is clear, there, but it's not an unfriendly look, just serious.
Viv casts a glance at Gunther, who is happily engaged in scoffing pancakes and oblivious to the fosterns' power struggle. Then her eyes return to KL. "You sure you've not got a little bit of Fenris in you?" she asks, amusement in her eyes still. She appears to relish the prospect of the fight, and either doesn't believe she can lose, or else doesn't care if she does; at any rate she displays no apprehension at all.
"I've packed with you lot before," KL says, with a twinkle in her eye. "And I've been packed under wolverine for two years now. It kind of gets in your head." She slowly finishes her pancake. "So, now or later?" she asks. "Unless I'm too pretty for you to hurt?"
Viv just smirks at KL. "Bloody typical Fury, playing on my butch strings. Nice try, babe, but I'm too old a hand to have my heart melted that way." She goes on in a softer voice. "Might be better to do it without our culinary friend around," she says, choosing the big word carefully with a flicker of her eyes back at Gunther. "He might get... partisan. What say tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," KL agrees. She seems pleased by this, sitting back in the sofa. "It's ages since I've had a proper toe-to-toe with someone. Well, someone that wasn't actively trying to kill me." Her fingertips brush against the scarf around her neck, and her eyes go far away for a couple of seconds. She blinks and looks back. "Hey, maybe you can solve a conundrum for me. If I'm going to be in a city pack, I need to get in and out of the city easily. And the busses are...well, problematic. I used to stay in a lot, but with being the Fury Elder now, I can't really do that. Oh, and I hate cars."
"So you need to get in and out of town," Viv sums up, "without using buses or cars. Well. Don't think there's a rail service here... We could ask for a moon bridge to be installed for your personal use?" She snorts with laughter at her own joke.
KL doesn't seem overly impressed by this, regarding the Get levelly. "I can run it, but that's a bit of a pain. Gets old, really quickly."
Viv shrugs. "What's wrong with the buses anyway? They're probably as close as you'll get to ecologically sound transportation in this shithole."
"They have black spiral symbols on them," KL says. "And also, when I get on a bus, everyone else gets off. I think I might be barred from them. And the bus drivers don't stop if it's just me at a stop." She lets a little of her exasperation seep through in this, just a hiss of irritation.
Viv's brow furrows. "Black? /Spiral/? Symbols? What the fucking fuck?" She slams her plate down on the arm of the sofa. "Shit, Viv, getting past it," she chides herself. "How the hell did I not see that? I suppose it's because I drive my van," she answers, excusing herself as much to KL as to herself. "I'm always happy to drive you, if my tailpipe's not falling off again."
"Yeah, I can hitch a lift quite a lot. One of my...kinfolk is often around to drive too," KL says. "But that offends my sense of independence. I'll work on the problem." She flashes a grin. "Anyway, I should probably get going. Check that the house hasn't been burnt down. Where, tomorrow?"
"If I come out to yours," Viv suggests, "we can fight at the caern or nearby. Where it's nice and secluded, and there should be theurges around to mend us if we get a mite enthusiastic?"
KL nods, and stands. "I'll look forward to it." She nods to the pancake-happy Gunther, and goes to collect her bag. "I'm in, if you want me, in case that wasn't clear."
"Since you didn't kick me on the shins and storm out, I kind of figured you might be," Viv says cheerfully. "You gonna be okay to get wherever you're going, mate?"
"Yeah," KL says. "I'm good." She hitches the rucksack onto her back. "Thanks for the pancake, Gunther," she says. "Gaia watch." With a wave of her hand, she heads for the door. "See you tomorrow."