unnerving.

[Liadan Whelan] It's been rainy and drizzly in Chicago for days, but that doesn't stop Líadan Whelan from going out. An early morning appointment had kept her from her morning jog through Grant Park, but she's making it up for it now.

She's wearing a brown sleeveless hoody over a pink tee shirt, zipped so whatever logo printed on the tee is hidden. Her pace is not quick. She stretches her legs into a long, easy stride, her Adidas sneakers splashing heedlessly through the occasional puddle. Pedestrians are sparse in this weather. Only the diehard tourists, the ones whose planes leave first thing in the morning, are out, trying to get their vacation snapshots in despite the dreary weather.

Líadan doesn't think the weather is all that bad. She prefers gray, overcast skies to sunny ones. For one thing, her skin doesn't burn as quickly. Her iPod is in a pocket of her hoody, wireless earbuds in her ears.

Don’t have too many friends
Never felt at home
Always been my own man
Pretty much alone

[Alexander Vaughn] Jogging again. Sunny today though, the last reddish rays of the evening casting eastward over the waters. Some people jog with ipods and the like; Alex likes the sound of the wind in his ears, his feet on the pavements, his breath whistling through his lungs. He's coming up from behind Liadan. As he passes her, without warning, he grabs her hood and yanks it over her head. Then he spins around so he's jogging backwards, slowing to a stop a few feet away.

"I'm scared of you when I see you during the day," he announces. "You're much saner at night."

[Liadan Whelan] [manip+subt: OH HAY WE COOL]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 3, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Liadan Whelan] Her hood is suddenly yanked from her head, exposing the long red ponytail tied high on the back of her head. When her head whips to the side to look for her would be assailant, her hair comes around to slap against the side of her face. An athletic, muscular figure darts in front of her, turns to face her, and her stomach sinks. She doesn't show it, though. When brown eyes meet hazel, her expression is mild, bland, but her brows raise quizzically.

She doesn't pause her stride, just reaches up and pulls the earbuds out and stashes them in a pocket.

“What's that?” Her breath is steady, even. She's done this long enough now, this daily running routine, that her body has finally adjusted to the work. She doesn't pant or gasp when she talks, although her words are wont to be breathy on the exhale.

[Alexander Vaughn] "I said," he shifts from foot to foot, hands on his hips, shaking his legs out, "you're much saner at night. I'm scared when I see you in the day."

[Liadan Whelan] Her head tilts to the side, her ponytail bobbing behind her. “When have I talked to you during the day?”

[Alexander Vaughn] "How about the day you tried to brain me with a laptop?" Alex quirks an eyebrow at Lee.

[Liadan Whelan] Her eyes go to the side, her mouth open in a silent, “Oh.” Oh yeah, that was around sunset, wasn't it?

She turns back to grin at him. Her arms stop pumping up and down as she spreads them wide, looking down. “Don't have one today, though. Aren't you a lucky boy.”

[Alexander Vaughn] "I'm sure you can find something to wing at me." He falls in beside her, matching his gait to her slower one. "Where'd you go that night? I looked for you on the street, but you'd vanished."

[Heckles the Wyrm] It's a gunmetal sky that still mists down rain, making distances haze and everything seem ethereal and otherworldly. Pedestrians are few, tourists fewer. The dull roar of traffic is muted, and the park seems a realm apart.

Mickey is sitting on a park bench, sprawled, arms thrown over the bench back, pulling open his ratty black leather jacket, no shirt beneath, just bare skin slick against the air, tattoos sullen blues, crudely inked. Legs kicked out, jeans stained and torn, he seems boneless, vicious. A cigarette is clenched between his teeth, his head cocked back, so that the occasional plume of smoke is blown out through his teeth into the damp air. Brown hair is slicked back to curl in oily ringlets about his ears and the nape of his neck, and his vicious hawk of a face is cast in what seems to be a permanent sneer. Drawn, wan, sallow, features unhealthy and tight pinched, he watches the joggers run by, eyes reflecting nothing.

[Heckles the Wyrm] (going with liadan's original room desc)
to Alexander Vaughn, Joss Lehrer, Liadan Whelan

[Liadan Whelan] She slants him a glance from the corner of her eye. “Aw, were you worried poor little me wouldn't get home okay? I'm so touched I think I could cry.” Her eyes go back to the front. A quick dart to the side, a quick dart back, and she zig zags around a family trying to get their picture taken by one of the statues in Grant Park.

“Taxi,” she says when they're side by side again. “What about you?” She openly looks him up and down. “I see that crazy French lady didn't take your head off.”

She took her eyes off the path to look at Alexander, relying foolishly on her peripheral vision to warn her of any impending obstacles. Her peripheral vision failed her. When she looks ahead again, she only just manages to dance around the outstretched legs of a thin, sallow smoking man. Her narrow dodge takes her around in almost a full circle. “Sorry!” Líadan completes the circle, intending to continue on her way, and her conversation with Alexander.

[Joss Lehrer] She doesn't seem bothered by the rain. In fact, it's rare that she seems bothered by anything, but all the same, she seems quite content to be walking in the misty rain, under a gunmetal sky. Being Sunday, it's not so unusual to see women wandering bout in dresses and skirts, but she looks ever the same as she always does. A light flimsy flowy skirt in earthtone colors, with a dark brown sweater pulled down over her hips. Her dreads hang heavily over her shoulders, the longest of them clinging to her sweater at the samll of her back.

Her feet encased in comfortable flats, her steps are near soundless as she tucks her hands into the pockets of her skirt, and makes her way along the path - that also holds joggers, and walkers, and Laidan and Alex - as if she hasn't a care in the world.

[Alexander Vaughn] "Hardly." He wasn't worried. She doesn't look touched, either. They zigzag around some family, and then Lee almost runs into some spindly guy. "And yeah. Her muscular friend dragged her off kicking and screaming. I had the rare good sense to stay upstairs until they were out of sight."

A pause.

"Sorry about... y'know. Telling you to shove off. You were trying to help."

[Alexander Vaughn] (folks, i'm uuuuberslow. go around me if you have to!)

[Heckles the Wyrm] His legs are kicked out like he owns the path, like he's sitting in his own goddamn living room, but still, eyes narrow into slits as both joggers narrowly avoid tripping over his spindly legs. His response is succinct. Before they've gone more than a pace, he reaches up, takes the cigarette from his lips, and flicks it sharply right at Liadan's back.

[Liadan Whelan] [WP: Aw hell naw!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Heckles the Wyrm] (grabbing a plate of food - brb)
to Alexander Vaughn, Joss Lehrer, Liadan Whelan, liar, Nessa

[Liadan Whelan] The cigarette flicks into her calf. She feels the heat of it connect, feels the still light end singe her flesh. She spins, running backwards as Alexander had after he tugged her hood down. The intentionally vicious act sends fire racing through her veins, and she wishes she had a laptop handy to hurl at the man on the bench. A deep breath, difficult to achieve while running backwards, and she suppresses the irrational urge to fly at the spindly man.

Instead she just says, “Hey, buddy, watch it!”

Completing yet another revolution, she says to Alexander, eyes carefully turned away, “No worries.”

[Nessa] Nessa burns. The sensation is good, familiar, the muscles working smoothly, flexing and releasing as she pushes on Gaia and rises and falls, again and again, the burn in her thighs, calves, exactly what she wants it to be.

Such a lovely evening. Such a lovely night. The rain blesses her, the grandaughter of Thunder as she runs, leaps over some puddles because she can. Her body is trained, honed, muscular where she's made it be so. Tonight, running through the rain is like running through the gauziest of fabrics, silky, smooth where her pink running skirt exposes (most of) her long legs to the elements. What hair is sneaking under the cap is up in braids-- no. Down in braids, they've gotten free again. All of this, and more, for this woman is not a simple city girl running through a tame park. She is sister to werewolves, daughter of werewolf, and part of her soul is just as wild...

Two familiar faces, both barely known to her. She angles towards them, always one to interrupt pleasure with business.

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander isn't nearly so contained. He spins around, goes right back to Heckles.

"What the fuck, man?"

[Joss Lehrer] Her gaze flick toward the the couple as someone sends a cigarette toward them, a brow arching slightly as she continues her ambling walk in their direction. She sidesteps a puddle, then splashes right through another, and if there's some reason for it - it's not so easy that anyone else can see.

Likely, she's just nuts.
(Magic 8 ball says: All signs point to yes!)

[Liadan Whelan] And it turns out she needn't have worried about keeping her eyes away. Alexander stopped and went back to the spindly man and, true to form, rises up with righteous indignation.

Sometimes she can't tell if Alexander is a nice guy masquerading as an asshole, or if he's an asshole who pretends to be a nice guy sometimes.

Either way, she stops and turns to watch, not going back to interject herself between the two. Hands on hips, she breathes through her nose, catching her breath.

[Heckles the Wyrm] Mickey rises to his feet. He ignores Alexander, it's as if his spitted commentary hadn't even happened. Instead, he keeps his eyes on Liadan. Pulls himself up like it hurts him to move, lanky and lean and looking like he's had three nights out on the town without a break. Stains on his jeans are most likely mud, dark, cracked where they've dried over the creases. He reaches into his pocket and draws out a crumpled box of cigarettes. Continues to ignore Alexander as he draws one out in a practiced movement, sticks it in his mouth. It's broken in the middle.

"Oopsie," he drawls to the woman beyond.

[Alexander Vaughn] Of course, for Alexander to be either nice guy masquerading as asshole or vice versa would assume he was doing this out of some sort of chivalry, some sort of altruistic concern for his fellow man. Woman. Kin.

There's no real guarantee of that. Then again, no one here really knows him. Lee knows he's hot tempered as fuck; she knows he beat Aidan's face in; she knows he tried to beat Hatchet's face in and got his own smashed instead. She knows he tried to face down Katherine, aka crazy Frenchwoman, and ended up crumpled on the ground -- not because a fist felled him but because his nerve could only last so long.

And yet here he is again. And Mickey is getting to his feet, and Alexander stands a compact, muscular 5'9" -- the sort of intensely, obsessively honed physique that screams of some sort of overcompensation. He's getting ignored, so he acts on impulse -- reaches out and snatches the fresh cigarette out of Mickey's mouth, throws it on the ground.

And bares his teeth in a shiteating grin. "Those things'll kill ya, man."

[Heckles the Wyrm] Mickey doesn't react when the cigarette is plucked from his lips. Doesn't even blink, as if he's stoned, as if his reaction time is lagging some ten seconds late. Even standing he's slouching, like he can't be bothered to stand straight before the direct threat that is Alexander Vaughn. Which, to any other observer, would seem a real and true threat; Mickey is probably half his weight, and from the way it looks he's been living, it doesn't seem likely he'll make it to twenty.

Instead, he reaches down and taps out another cigarette. This one's bent at a crazy angle, and he stares at it morosely before flicking it away and pulling out a third.

Surely it's a coincidence that he flicks it right at Alexander's face.

[Nessa] She arrives, slows her rhythmic pace, her face flushes nicely to pink and porcelain, though her features are rather plain to someone unable to see the mysteries and shadows within her.

Interesting things are happening. The scent of asshole rises in the rain. All of it interests the Shadowlord kin, as she stops near to Liadan, peers at her face to identify her satisfactorily, then Alex-- yes, him. Then the guy on the bench who might be about to jones for nicotine and violence.

Three against one.
"That is one way to quit smoking," she comments, her tone dry, accent very Russian.

[Joss Lehrer] A smile lingers around her lips, as she runs her tongue over the piercings from the inside of her lower lip, the move flowing into a soft chuckle. Alex grabs that cigarette and throws it, and blue eyes follow it's path idly, briefly. Then the altercation continues, and she wanders nearer, curious.

Two become three, with her as forth, making no effort to hide the fact that she's watching.

[Liadan Whelan] Alexander rips a cigarette from the stranger's mouth, grins and mouths off. Lee rolls her eyes.

The stranger flicks a fresh cigarette in Alexander's face, and she throws up her hands.

“You boys have fun,” she says. She turns and comes face to face with Nessa. She recognizes the woman, has seen her twice in passing.

[Alexander Vaughn] It's not coincidence that Alexander reacts exactly the way one might expect him to:

By throwing a punch.

[Heckles the Wyrm] Mickey doesn't seem to see it coming. Or if he does, his only reaction that split second before the fist connects is to smile, a ghastly rictus grin that flashes across his face before the weight of Alexander's punch sends him staggering back, head snapping to one side, wiping the smile clear off his face.

It's no joke to be hit in the face. It's not something most people can shrug off, even Garou, especially when in homid. So it staggers Mickey, takes him a moment to regain his balance, and then for the first time he slides his eyes over to look at Alexander. Tracks his gaze to lock onto him like suddenly he's gone from not existing to being the only thing in the park. And that smile's back, subtler now, engaged, pleased.

Reaching up, he rakes back his hair, pops the third cigarette into his mouth, and begins to walk toward the kin, ignoring the blood coming from his split lip.

[Nessa] The Russian kin steps back a few steps, away from teh impending violence; as yet, she sees no reason to do anything more than take Alex's measure. He fought before, he's fighting again. All in all, a violently minded man.

Not bad.

Nessa smiles at Liadan, bemused, in between watching the fight. "Nessa. Friend of Lonna's. Chicago is small place."
She wasn't quite out of breath in her run but wasn't far from it, either; her inhales are deep, measured, but given that the tanktop she wears conceals the far lower beginning of the alphabet, probably no one is going to break his neck turning to watch her chest move.
Still. It's a wet shirt.
One minute she's talking, the next, the man from the bench is moving towards Liadan, who knows Alex, who knows Lonna, and that is enough connection. Her eyes narrow at Heckles, a stormy blue of Don't Fuck With the Girl.
Or maybe its, Should I Run Yet?
Or, WTF now?

[Alexander Vaughn] It is entirely possible that Alexander has no idea what he's facing. It's also possible he has some inkling and doesn't care. Or worse, feels himself all the more driven to ...

... prove something. Make a point. Batter himself stupid against a wall that will never, ever give.

Mickey shakes the punch off. Or ignores it. Alexander's not sure which. He smiles and puts the third cigarette in his mouth and starts coming on.

It's unnerving as shit.

There's this to be said for Alexander: he punches like a man who knows what he's doing. He's not an amateur. The blow was hard, lightning-fast, a right cross that comes straight from the shoulder and back, the brunt of impact taken on the first knuckles, the fingers slightly loosened. There's also this to be said: whether foolhardy or brave, he doesn't back down from Mickey's advance. His balance becomes lighter on the balls of his feet, his stance ready.

Mickey can see his adam's apple bob as he swallows.

[Joss Lehrer] She laughs, softly, as the first punch is thrown and the man succeeds in his determination to put a cigarette between his lips on the way back for more. She's close enough now that she hops up on the seat of the bench where it all started, her feet lightly landing on the wet slats, her arms flaring to the side as she keeps her balance effortlessly.

She turns then, and sinks to perch on the back of the bench, folding foward as she rests her elbows on her knees, her chin in hand, watching them. That smile lingers, playing along her lips, sparkling in her eyes.

[Liadan Whelan] The Fiann woman's head tilts, thick red hair brushing against her shoulder. She frowns at Nessa's introduction. The last time she saw this woman, Danicka was plucking the woman's hand from her arm, and then the two inhabitants of 520 Kingsbury had left for tapas.

Her reply is short, simple. “Lee.” Back to the impending fight now, she doesn't see Alexander punch Micky, doesn't see the smile on Micky's face as he comes for Alexander.

“Hey, Nessa, what d'you say we get out of her before we become accessories to a crime?”

[Liadan Whelan] [doh!: *Mickey in all those places]

[Heckles the Wyrm] Mickey evinces the wiry strength of the lean, hard to keep down type, not unbreakable, not supernatural, just mean enough that with enough attitude he seems able to take a punch and come back for more. Nothing about him suggests he can take Alexander down. The kin is all smooth muscle, healthy glow, chiseled determination and practiced skill. Mickey is etoilated party trash, reeking of smoke and sour sweat. His hands aren't up in a boxing stance, he's not gliding forward, he's not doing anything that reflects the fact that he's walking toward a clearly ready-to-go opponent.

Rather, he gets within a yard, close enough for Alex to swing again, and pulls out his lighter. And unless Alex knocks him back, lights up his cigarette, cupping the flame to his face, inhales and exhales sharply, narrowing his eyes against the smoke.

Narrowed, but still fixed on the kin. Blood leaking down his chin from the badly split lip. "Honey," he says, "Give me a kiss and I won't break your back."

[Alexander Vaughn] What? -- a comet of confusion across Alex's mind.

And then he punches Mickey again.

This is Grant Park. Eventide. Sunday. There are joggers aplenty. Strollers too. Singletons, couples, small groups of friends. Their path is off the main axes of the park, but not deserted. People are staring. Most are walking rapidly away, but one or two are toying with the idea of calling the cops. Park security. Someone.

[Joss Lehrer] She shakes her head, and actually laughs softly. "Oh my. Aren't we big men..."

She doesn't move away, she doesn't seem inclined to stop it really, either. Maybe she just wants to see if Alex is really going to kiss Mickey..... nope, there's the punch. So predictable.

[Nessa] Accessories to a crime.
Again. Another crime.
Nessa smirks a little, in the way one reasonably secure in oneself might do, as she understands the situation (She thinks). IS wrong.
The security fails as she then stares at Heckles, shocked as he threatens to KILL Liadan, for a full second before she reacts. "Da, Go now!" The order to Liadan, order, suggestion, not-so-vague recommendation? Agreement to go someplace else?
It's all that and more, as she steps between Liadan and the asshole, either running with her or stopping to defend her. The asshole with the split lip.
Nessa as a meat shield will probably last a good second or three, but it might get time.

[Heckles the Wyrm] Mickey goes down. The cigarette gets mashed, lost in a puddle, and for a moment it looks like Mickey might keep his balance, might somehow pull some sort of backbending balancing manuever that will allow him to keep his feet, but - no. He falls down in a cascading series of angles, all elbows and knees and shoulder blades, down on his ass, back hitting the bench from which he'd arisen. Legs kicked out before him again, one arm lying along the seat of the bench.

Mickey blinks once, twice, trying to blink away the flashes of light. Works his jaw, coils of dark, greasy hair hanging before his vulpine face. Shifts his weight on his ass so as to be a little more comfortable, and then looks back up at where Alexander stands.

"Dude," he complains, "Dude." A pause, and then he hauls himself up to his feet. It's a shaky process. Casts around, finds the pack of cigarettes. Picks it up, peers inside where oily puddle water has gotten in and soured the mash. Throws it aside, annoyed. Wipes his forearm across his face, smearing the blood across his chin. "I got to give it to your mama. She taught you how to swing." Reaching back he flips the collar of his jacket up against his bare neck, and smiles. Begins to approach again.

"Anybody ever told you how much you look like a stud stallion? All that muscle. That soft brown hair. That nervous energy."

Closer.

"I gotta admit, I'm excited. What's going to happen next? What are you gonna do?"

[Joss Lehrer] He goes down, staggering against the bench he'd risen from, where she now resides. She lets a little squeal, falling into soft laughter as her hands grip the back of the bench on either side of her hips, keeping her balance...

gotta admit, she's with Mickey. What'll happen next?

[Liadan Whelan] Líadan quirks a brow at the woman with the Russian accent. The scuffle is a few paces behind them. Lee can hear the sound of a fist pounding into a face, and is fairly certain she'll hear the sound of footsteps coming after her if they do. Still, curiosity grips her, and she looks over her shoulder.

Alexander punches Mickey yet again. Lee winces when she sees it.

Oh my. Aren't we big men...

Clearly the fight is drawing a crowd. A pretty girl sits perched on the bench Mickey vacated, hair falling in long dreads down her back. There are piercings in her lip, and she looks very punk, but her clothing is more of a hippy style. Ordinarily, she would have taken Nessa's suggestion and simply walked away, leaving Alex to get himself out of this scuffle on his own.

But Líadan is a photographer. She likes to wander Grant Park taking pictures of whatever interesting people or things she finds. And the girl perched on the back of the bench is clearly interesting to the eye.

Jamming her hands into the pockets of her short denim shorts, Lee strolls around the fighters as if they don't exist. She sits on the bench in front of the girl so that her feet are by Lee's shoulder, lounges back. “Kinda makes you wish you had popcorn, huh?” She tips her head back, looks up at the girl, and smiles.

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander's fist balls up like he wants to throw another punch. Then he loosens it. And falls back a step.

"Jesus Christ." He's somewhere between unnerved, pissed off, exasperated, bewildered. Who the hell picks a fight without fighting back? Who the hell keeps coming back for more? Alexander doesn't get it. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?"

[Nessa] Rough.
Nessa blinks; she is on edge now, frowns as violence roils around her. Her breath quickens slightly as she joins the women, her balance poised for fast, sudden movements, a deer about to spring away from predators, or perhaps a predator about to attack. There's an edge there, and she's on it.
With the women, she joins the eons old practice of watching large aggressive males aggress.

[Joss Lehrer] She smiles so easily, it's a shock to most when they find out who - no, what - she is. She turns the power of that grin on Laidan as she comes near, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth, and possibly even glee before they flick back to the very one-sided fight.

She is sitting on the back of the bench, her feet on the seat near Lee's ass, her knees at her shoulder as the other woman suggests popcorn. "Ooooh, that'd be nice. They'd probably spill it though, then we'd be sad."

Though she looks as if she is very rarely sad.

[Heckles the Wyrm] Mickey stops advancing, the lowering of Alexander's hands signalling an end to the festivities, his interest in the man. He pats the pockets of his jacket absent mindedly as if searching for cigarettes, and then stops, remembering. They're on the grass, some three yards away.

Something goes out from him, and he straightens his back, tilts his head and pulls the hair out of his face, finger combing it to the nape of his neck, and then palms the blood from his face. Finally his eyes focus on Alexander again, and he shakes his head.

"Yeah, good question." He pulls his jacket closer about his narrow chest, suddenly feeling the chill in the air, and begins to walk away, past Alexander, and off along the path, squinting through the haze.

[Nessa] "Nyet. We borrow wallets, remove cost of hotdogs and go find vendor in park. Spilling popcorn is serious, expensive crime."
She is not quite serene, but aims for something similar, somethign to hide the sense of impending doom that was growing as the new guy just takes and takes and takes and doesn't seem to fucking care.
When he turns to go, she offers a faint, faint sigh, audible to some perhaps.

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander watches him go. There's blood on his knuckles from the second time his fist connected with Mickey's face. He wipes it off on his shorts, half-conscious of this action himself. His shorts are red too, loose: basketball shorts. The blood disappears into the mesh, a darker stain.

Then he looks at the three women gathered at the bench. His expression is easy enough to read. It's a clear what the fuck just happened here?

But just to make it easier, he says it aloud a second later: "What the fuck just happened here?"

[Liadan Whelan] Lee sits with one arm across the back of the bench. If she hadn't sat down right next to Joss's knees, it's likely both arms would be outstretched. Her legs are crossed. She is the very picture of relaxation.

She tilts her head and looks at him, and shrugs a shoulder.

“I dunno, but I'm glad I didn't get popcorn. That was actually pretty pathetic.”

[Joss Lehrer] Mickey walks away, and she blinks, laughing softly. "Well, wasn't that interesting..."

She shakes her head, dreadlocks sliding over her shoulders only to be pushed back once again to fall heavily against her back.

[Nessa] Nessa is silent in regards to the perplexed (light word) demand, though she peruses Alex now with her eyes, appraises, values, for his worth is hard to determine from what had just occured.
Life is strange, sometimes.
"Do you all know each other?" All, those gathered, she indicates with a flick of a three-fingered hand. A few have gone missing, the loss sewn up rather roughly. If she is married, there is no ring, nor ring finger, to tell the story.

[Alexander Vaughn] "I don't know Dreads." Alexander's answer is halfhearted. He keeps looking after Mickey. Up until just now, he'd thought Liadan throwing computers at him was the strangest thing to happen to him in this city.

[Liadan Whelan] With the 'fight' over, the crowd disperses. Pedestrians and tourists go back about the business of being pedestrians and tourists. The sun is setting, and Lee is about a thirty minute walk from her apartment.

She pushes herself up off the bench, laces her fingers behind her, and stretches. Sighs.

“I think the only one here I haven't met is you.” Líadan reaches into her back pocket and pulls out something that looks like a very small, very thin wallet, just big enough for an ID and, apparently, business cards. She plucks one out, folds the wallet closed and returns it to her pocket.

She holds the business card out to Joss. “My name's Líadan Whelan. I'm a photographer for FASHION magazine. Give me a call if you ever want to let me take your picture.” And she smiles.

And Asshole finally knows Babydoll's full name and occupation. Lee thinks that's just fan-fucking-tastic.

[Joss Lehrer] "Joss" she corrects, with an easy smile as she sits up and rests her hands on the bench by her hips, shoulders hunching up in a stretch/shrug briefly before relaxing again. "Joss Lehrer."

Now that they're not quite so occupied with the impending beatdown that never was, they may recognize the tightly coiled sense of rage that clings to her, like the ultra fine strands of hair escaped from her dreads cling to her cheek, her neck, her sweater until she pushes it back from her face once more. Or not. She seems unconcerned either way.

A pause... "I think I saw you two..." Lee and Alex "... heading into a booktore the other night..."

She takes the card, and laughs softly, delightedly. "Why would you want to take pictures of me?" She's average - height, weight, looks... only a few things that make her stand out - dress, dreads, details - piercings and an as yet unseen tatto.

[Alexander Vaughn] "Alexander." Joss reminds him of the disastrous bookstore event. "Yeeah. I don't wanna talk about that."

[Liadan Whelan] "Yeah," Lee smiles. "Turns out bookstores aren't really all that interesting after hours. And I freelance for FASHION." And ELLE, and, rarely, COSMO and a bunch of other miscellaneous fashion magazines. "Your style is unique, but I'm sure I could slide you in somewhere. Mostly, though, I'd work with you under the Star Seed name, which is all me."

[Nessa] Joss is not at all hard to be around, draws the eye and a little of heart. There is a shadowlord smile, hints of real pleasure.
"Nessa. I'm friend of Lonna's. Good to meet you." The woman doesn't show signs of recognizing Joss, but Alex and Liadan, they are familiar enough. "Alexandr, when you have free moment, I would like to speak with you about other night, in that ahh fight."
It's a serious request, her eyes and expression solemn as she watches the man.

[Joss Lehrer] She laughs as Laidan suggests she might fit somewhere in a FASHION magazine, but it's not dismissive, but rather one of slight amusement, of delight even. "Well, I don't know how unique I am, but thank you all the same. Maybe I will."

She tuck the card into her pocket, and Nessa says she's a friend of Lonna and Joss tips her head slightly... thinking... unsure if she's actually met a Lonna or not. Either she places their meeting, or decides it doesn't matter as she shurgs her shoulders with a smile. "A pleasure." Presumably this includes Alex as well.

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander turns his head. He eyes Nessa for a while. Then he shrugs. "I got all the time in the world now. Talk away."

[Heckles the Wyrm] (thanks for the rp, guys!)
to Alexander Vaughn, Joss Lehrer, Liadan Whelan, Nessa

[Liadan Whelan] “Definitely.” This is said to Joss with a smile and a dip of the head. Lee turns to Alex, and there's an edge to the smile.

“Don't worry about the other night. We're cool.” And she punches him in the shoulder, not with all her strength so it likely feels like a baby tap to Alex. But there's a sting to it, just enough to suggest that maybe he should worry about the other night. Maybe they were not cool.

[Nessa] She watches him right back, even and perhaps a little piercing, as if she could see right into him, as if she was.
"Sensitive conversation. Involves who those men were, and man in alley." Her gaze flicks to Joss, whom she doesn't know, then to Alex, in the old, 'can she be trusted?' sort of interrogatory look.
Mind, no one can truly be trusted.
But still. Trusted-ish, maybe.
If Alex isn't sure, then the Shadowlord is quite content to walk off a little ways apart, though the temperature is dropping and wihtout the running and burning of energy, the air is chilly, on the wet pink tank, her mostly bare legs.

[Joss Lehrer] She arches a brow slightly, as Nessa goes cagey, though it doesn't deminish her smile at all - maybe nothing does. [Except an idiot Fenrir she wouldn't mind hurting, but let's not talk about that, hm?] Or if it does, maybe that's when there's cause to worry.

Either way, she doesn't seem inclined to talk about the bookstore, that Alex doesn't want too. It's none of her business really, other then the fact she knew one of the people involved. She's not a clue what Nessa's talking about, but doesn't set her off by demanding to know.

Nor does she leave. Quite comfy, this bench.

[Nessa] ( need to go to bed.)
to Alexander Vaughn, Joss Lehrer, Liadan Whelan

[Nessa] (ok. SOrry, but i hvae to go to bed. Have to get up early. Take care guys, Nessa makes plans to talk to Alex about it in the Brotherhood anothe rday.)
to Alexander Vaughn, Joss Lehrer, Liadan Whelan

[Liadan Whelan] [I'm guessing the action picked up in Jamie's ST scene. We might be waiting for a while.]

[Joss Lehrer] (seems like it. *L*)

[Alexander Vaughn] (shit guys, i am SO SORRY.)

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander, after a moment's consideration, walks off to talk with Nessa.

As he passes Liadan she socks him on the shoulder. She says they're cool. He glances at his shoulder, her fist, her face. The snort he gives is not wholly convinced.

(i'm gonna fade alex out here cuz i'm doing a shit job at MTing. i'm really sorry, guys. thanks for the RP!)

[Liadan Whelan] Alex looked her up and down, and left to speak with Nessa.

Lee waves goodbye to Joss and jogs home.

[Liadan Whelan] [g'night and thanks for the RP!]