kicked out of the gilded cage.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] The night had come and gone and found its way back again, and Gabriella was having trouble remembering very much of it. She recalled her family walking away, some stone-faced Fenrir standing witness, and that she didn't sleep with a roof over her head last night. She was pretty sure she'd found a park bench or curled up in the plastic tube of some piece of children's play equipment, but she couldn't recall for certain anymore.

She'd walked, carrying her bag on her back and her violin case in her hand like the transient she was finding out she truly was. Through the streets of Chicago, loitering here or there while she tried to collect her thoughts and plan her next move. She found herself at the De Paul University, strolling through campus and finding her way to the administrative offices. She had a long talk, a very, very long talk with one of the heads of the art institute, someone that had come aside to speak with her privately before about her skillset, about scholarships and internships and other such things that she hadn't quite needed at the time. Now she needed them, though, and the head of the art institute said he would see what he could arrange for her. She was left with a solid 'maybe' to carry her through the night.

So she sat at a bench just out in the front of the college campus, with hills of snow, tall old buildings and paths and frozen ponds behind her. Her legs were crossed indian-style and she had her bag on the bench behind her, as well as her violin case, though that was open. With chilled fingers she was checking the strings, plucking and adjusting so the instrument was finely tuned. There was no audience for her to perform to, no hat upturned on the ground in front of her for her to be panhandling. She seemed to just be escaping into something comfortable and familiar for a while.

[Alexander] "Playing for pennies, are we?"

That's an unexpected, albeit familiar voice. They shared a room for months. Didn't interact much. She was out most of the day; he was in bed by 10 and up again before she woke in the mornings. When they were actually in the same space, she was doing homework and he was playing his Xbox, either in the room or out in the commons. Then she moved out. Alex never bothered to find out why.

He's here now, though, in doublelayer jeans -- not (entirely) for the look but for the warmth -- and a familiar motorcycle jacket, red. Who the fuck rides motorcycles in 20 degree weather, Liadan asked him last night. His response was that he hadn't crashed yet, though at this rate, that might not be a boast he can make for long.

"I'd tip you," he adds, "but I'd have to take my gloves off. And I don't wanna get frostbite."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Her eyes had been faraway, unfocused though they were cast down at her work. Fingers were moving automatically, ears picking up on the sound and transferring the message of whether to twist clockwise or counterclockwise to her fingertips without any true thought necessary for this to occur. She hadn't heard Alex in a while, she was pretty sure that the last things she heard out of his mouth were mumbles from his sleep or some curse at a game he was playing on the TV placed precariously atop the bookshelf.

She wasn't expecting anyone to stop and speak to her, the campus grounds were fairly vacant, the sidewalk in front of them void of traffic this time of night. So when Alexander Vaughn showed up, it was a curious thing. Blue eyes focused, sharpened some, and lifted to find the familiar, not particularly welcome or unwelcome either face. She lifted an eyebrow, then smiled vaguely and shook her head.

"When I play, it's for hundreds of dollars and an audience of socialites. I'm just.. preoccupying myself."

She paused, eyes searching him for a second, his coat and doublelayer pants, then dropped back to her violin. Her fingers were fairly numb, but she didn't care. "It's not that cold anyways."

[Alexander] "Preoccupying yourself," Alexander repeats, dripping with dubiousness. "Outside, on a schoolnight, in subfreezing temperatures. What's the matter, princess, was the music room at your fairytale mansion too stuffy for you?"

[Gabriella Bellamonte] "More like off limits, Alex."

She lifted her fingers from the strings and nobs of her violin, wriggled and flexed them in the sub-freezing air, then placed the instrument back in its case. The lid was closed, latches done up, and that and the bag both were set on the dry, frosted pavement of the sidewalk in front of the bench, then slid underneath, out of the way, like carry-on luggage on an airplane. She patted the bench seat beside her, offering it up to the Glasswalker Kinfolk, then took cheapy white gloves out of her coat pockets and started to pull them on.

"My family grew sick with me and cast me aside, and so here I am, waiting to hear if I'll have a home on campus by the weekend or not." Something about the tone of her voice was far from 'pity me', though. More along the lines of 'matter of fact'.

[Alexander] Which is probably a good thing, all told, because Alexander Vaughn is the last place anyone should look for pity. That much is evident when his first reaction is a hoot of laughter.

It's followed by a long once-over, from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes, taking in the subtle changes in her attire -- the cheap white gloves where once she would've worn nothing but the best in cashmere and leather, for one. He even goes so far as to bend to look under the bench, as if expecting to see a hobo bag down there with all her worldly possessions in it.

"That's fucking hilarious," he says. "Gabriella Bellamonte, Princess Extraordinaire, out on her ass on the streets. So now you're staying... what, under a park bench? What'd you do to piss them off so bad?"

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Alex laughed, and she didn't expect anything different. She simply eyed him when he decided to stand rather than sit, then leaned back and crossed legs sheathed in cheap Wal*Mart brand jeans at the knees and let an arm stretch out over the back of the bench, pulling the sleeve of her nice, expensive heavy black coat up past her wrist a bit in doing so. Her hair was left unbound tonight, so it fell against her shoulders and down her back, but again she hadn't bothered with any make-up.

"Oh, any number of things I suppose." The Kin shrugged, faintly, and slipped her free hand into her coat pocket. "Nothing monumental, I didn't get anyone killed or sleep with the poolboy shaman or anything like that. They just..." The hand resting at the bench's back twisted in the air, searching for the right words. "...grew sick of my impertinence. I was dragging their names through the dirt by not tucking my head anymore."

She huffed a breath, something between a sigh and an angry grunt. "That's fine. A long time coming I suppose, since Dad died."

[Alexander] "Huh." Alexander doesn't sit; the bench is too damn cold. He'll stand. He'll move the fuck on soon, and go somewhere warm. He adds, as though this summed it all up: "Fangs."

A beat. Then, "So ... you didn't answer me. Where are you staying now? Under that bench?"

[Gabriella Bellamonte] "Yeah, Fangs."

Not too surprising that he'd get an agreement from her. Rarely ever has Gabbie agreed with or been enthralled by the politics or superiority involved with her tribe. She hated being staunch, upright, smiling at strangers and letting them bounce ideas of matchmaking off her mother and siblings while she sat aside quietly. She preferred simplicity, and that was the last thing on the list of how Silver Fangs work.

A revisit of the question of where she was staying, and Gabbie's eyes dropped away from his face, off to the side, so she was looking past his shoulder and furrowing her brow thoughtfully. "I think... I think I stayed in a park last night, but I don't recall very much. I've payed for some motel rooms, but funds are drying quickly."

She gestured over her own shoulder now, toward the college campus they were in front of. "I have a scholarship here, spoke with a dean about making space in the dorms for me. He said he'll see what he can work out, but nothing is certain yet."

[Alexander] "Well, if you've got bus fare, Coronet Motel down in Bronzeville is cheap. Stayed there when I first got here. Pretty good place. Shitty beds, shitty sheets, shitty shower and shitty coffee, but random women will walk by and fuck your ears off." Alexander pauses. "'Course, later she turned out to be one of the most batshit women in the city, so maybe you should just not do that.

"Still," he concludes, "it'll be cheaper than the inns up in Lakeview."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] The girl nodded, then rubbed her palms against the thighs of her jeans, as though she was making an effort to warm her legs up, and glanced up the street, perhaps hunting for a bus that was due to arrive. Her head tipped to the side, an exaggerated motion that was pushed until something in her neck popped, then she relaxed once more, head leaned back more comfortably so that she was regarding Alex down the length of her nose, but without the flavor of snobbery usually accompanied with such a gaze.

"I'll keep that in mind. I heard rumor of some pretty ferocious monsters in that area, so I was trying to make a point of avoiding it, though. You know, defenseless girl with heritage strong enough to beacon from under her skin..." Another askew wave of her hand, this time more toward herself than out at the world around them. "But... if there are girls willing to bed with me..." A wry grin pulled at her mouth, and she shook her head.

"Thanks, I'll look into that."

[Alexander] "Yeah, well," Alexander replies, never one to candycoat shit, "if you were worried about getting nabbed up by monsters drawn to your shining heritage, Princess, you probably shouldn't have gotten your ass kicked out of the gilded cage, huh?"

He follows that up with a shiteating grin of extraordinary wattage, then swings his motorcycle helmet from one hand into the crook of the other arm.

"Well, I'm freezing my ass off. I'd offer you a ride, but one, I've been told it's unsafe to ride a motorcycle in icy conditions, and two, I'm not going down that way. Try not to get mugged, Gabs."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] She shrugged to Alexander's shit-eater remark, but didn't reply to it. She figured it was better snatched away and gobbled up at this point than to continue in a half-present state that had no forward motion for any longer. At least then things would change, and she'd have a chance at rebirth, or heaven, or whatever the hell came after death. Something new, a fresh start.

The announcement came that he was going on his way, and she chuckled and shook her head at the thought of riding on the back of Alex's motorcycle like one of his floosies. "Thank you, I'll do my best." Her chin bobbed up the road, where a bus was rounding the corner. "That's my ride anyways. I'll see you around, take care."

walking back.

[Alexander] It's past midnight in Chicago. It's fucking freezing. Neither of these are good reasons for Alexander being in Cabrini-Green, but that's where he is. The Buell at the curb is unmistakable: a singular point of gleaming red amidst a world of broken asphalt, run down brick.

Also, grunts, shouts, smacks of fists on flesh in a alleyway. Extracurricular activities.

[Liadan] It's past midnight, but for some it's not so cold. For those born to cold temperatures, and who were tempered in the forge of the Midwest's frigid winter, nineteen degrees Fahrenheit is nothing to be afraid of.

It's after midnight, and the only reason Líadan is in Cabrini right now is that she's just left a bar and drinks with one of the editors of FASHION, in town for just the night. The man was smart and well dressed, and knew all the right things to get a girl to want to spend the night in his hotel room.

Still, Lee is not anywhere near a hotel tonight. She swayed out of the bar and said her farewells. As soon as his cab disappeared around a corner, Lee headed north, her steps sober and sure. It's foolish for a woman to walk the streets of Chicago alone at night. Either Lee is an idiot, or she's bold, or she just doesn't care if something surges out of the alley to attack.

She hears a scuffle, the sound of a fist repeatedly smacking into someone else's flesh, and she ducks her head. Continues on.

[Alexander] Just Lee's luck, then, that that's right when Alex grabs his 'friend' by the hair and bashes his face into the brick wall. Twice. Thrice. Hard.

When he lets go, the man slumps to the floor. His foot twitches. There's blood on the brick. Fuck's sake, the guy might be in a coma. At the very least, badly concussed. Whatever; Alexander spits blood out of his mouth, picks up his motorcycle jacket, and walks out of the alleyway

right into Liadan's path.

He's a mess: a cut over his eyebrow, a rapidly expanding bruise on his face. The beginnings of a black eye, and cuts on his knuckles. Tooth-cuts. From punching someone in the mouth. Over and over.

He starts when he sees her. Then he smirks. "Well, well." A sniff. "Babydoll. What the fuck are you doing down this way?"

[Liadan] A figure looms out of the alleyway, directly into her path, and Lee stops short. She doesn't gasp or cry out. Without conscious thought, he takes a step back, settles her weight so she faces the stranger at an angle, tensed, ready. Only it's not a stranger.

It's not the first time she's seen Alexandor Vaughn bloodied from a fight. She eases, but doesn't completely relax. Just because it's him doesn't mean she's safe.

"Business," she answers simply and, for once, without aggression.

[Alexander] "Huh." And he sniffs again: it's not mucus, it's fucking blood trying it drip out of his nose. He can taste it, saltywarm at the back of his throat. No matter. He won. That's what matters, right?

Alexander shrugs into his motorcycle jacket. He's not tall; we all know that. In flats, Liadan is taller. In heels, she'd tower. But then again, Liadan's a tall woman. Alexander, though: he's fucking ripped. Tight, packed musculature, as stocky and compacted and powerful as some small, vicious predator. A badger, a wolverine, a bobcat. A pit bull. Or just what he is. Alexander fucking Vaughn, zipping his jacket up to his throat, velcroing the snap shut.

"Do you actually own a car? Why the fuck am I always offering you rides?"

[Liadan] "Because clearly you've been kicked in the head too many times," she answers with a wry lift of a reddish eyebrow. Lee is tall, taller than most women and men, both. In her Chucks, however, the difference between Alexander and her is negligible. If she slouches, even just a little, he's taller. She doesn't slouch, however. She stands tall and solid, shoulders straight but not back, not defiant or proud.

"I'll say, 'No,' again. Who rides a motorcycle in the winter in Chicago?"

He's bleeding, tries to sniff it up into his sinuses but it's dripping just a little too freely. Her dark eyes narrow behind dark-rimmed glasses, and then she's unwinding the dark colored scarf from around her neck and holding it out to him. In the dim light of a nearby streetlamp it looks green. "For your face."

[Alexander] Alexander seems about to decline the offer. Then he changes his mind, snaps the scarf over from Liadan, and -- before she can stop him -- brings it to his nose. Blows it. Snot and blood clog the wool. He wads it up and, if she'll take it, hands it back.

Smirks, shit-eating. "Thanks, babydoll." And, shrugging, "I haven't crashed yet."

[Liadan] Lee doesn't even hesitate. She takes the now ruined scarf back, wads it, and shoves it into her pocket. Who knows, maybe the snot and blood and gunk can be washed out. She's had worse on her clothes than the blood of Alexander Vaughn. Hell, she may have had his blood on her before.

"That inspires confidence." Sarcasm.

[Alexander] He snorts -- it's something like a laugh. "You didn't answer me. Do you own a car or not?"

[Liadan] "No," she finally answers. "But I have legs, and if I really needed a ride, I'd call a cab."

[Alexander] Another snort of a laugh. It's quiet now in Cabrini Green. People don't fucking come out after night here. Too dangerous. Too much crime. Too many crazy fuckers like Alexander Vaughn who come here looking to sharpen their skills on something a little livelier than a sparring partner. Too much bad shit.

Alexander, though. He's not afraid. Maybe he thinks he's invincible, something like those half-wolf cousins of his. Brothers of his. Maybe he's right; he's still alive, and he's pissed off werewolves and fomori alike. Stabbed a crazy wyrm-dog to death in the streets with kitchen knives. Or maybe he's just careless. Uncaring.

He's pulling his motorcycle gloves on, now.

"Now," he says, "here's what I don't get. On one hand, you're apparent so fucking devoid of self-respect that you'll open your legs for any guy that shows interest. On the other, you're hellbent on doing your own thing even when it means walking home from Cabrini Green." Beat. "At 12:30am. In fucking 20 degree weather.

"Explain that to me, will you? How does that make any sense?"

[Liadan] Lee shifts her weight from one foot to the other. There's no venom in her tonight, no furious accusations, no fire and wrath spat in Alexander's face. Maybe it seems odd. Then again, he was the one who said she picked her personality of the day by throwing darts at a board.

She sucks in a deep breath through her nose. The cold air tickles the hairs inside, makes her feel like she's going to sneeze, but she doesn't. Then she breathes out a sigh, the cold winter air between them clouding briefly.

"Does it need to?"

[Alexander] "I'm a fucking Glass Walker," Alex replies with a smirk. "We're Weaverbound, or whatever the fuck. Of course it needs to make sense."

[Liadan] Lee tilts her head up and back, her eyes falling not to his face but to somewhere around the middle of his chest, studying the zipper of his jacket. She sucks in her bottom lip, considering, evidently not caring if the expression of her thoughtfulness makes her lips chap that much faster on her proposed walk.

When she lifts her eyes to his face, they're dark behind her glasses, shaded beneath the brim of her hat. "Well, too bad. But, you're a smart guy, I'm sure you've already got it figured out. Now, if you'll excuse me." She steps to the side, moving around him.

[Alexander] "Liadan," he calls after her -- getting the name right, not because of any particular familiarity with Gaelic, no matter what his name, Alexander Madoc Vaughn, might suggest but merely out of rote. He's heard her introduce herself before. Liadan. Leeden. Líadan.

"You really wanna walk all the way back to wherever the fuck it is you're going?"

[Liadan] She stops, turns. Even at a distance, her face is too pale to be lost in the shadows of the night. She looks like a ghost, hair gleaming dull red in the lamplight, and yet she's bundled warm, in a mid-length coat and a hat, a bloody scarf dangling from her pocket.

"I'd rather walk than ride on a motorcycle in Chicago in twenty degree weather," she calls back.

[Alexander] "Coward!" he shouts back at her; halfhearted. She's leaving. He, turning toward his motorcycle -- which he was, indeed, going to ride in 20 degree weather, ice be damned -- is letting her go.

coalition.

[Eddie Vaako] Spared being gaunt only by length and breadth of bone structure, Eddie seems a roughed- in sculpture of a man. Someone's conception of driven, relentless man and the accompanying consequences. His face remains mostly unlined, severe facial features cast in some vague shade of eastern European olive.

Snappy dresser though. Even on a cop's salary, the man knows how to pick threads. Understated, earth tones, the hints are there that behind hard, pale green eyes the man still feels a certain joy in the finer things life has to offer. He relaxes against the door of a late model Volvo, the picture of boneless, casual confidence. A slender brown cigar droops at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are the half- lidded, waiting observation of a snake as his gaze travels over the nearby apartment building.

He's early. He likes it that way. With each inhale the view from the rear of the building, or the gleam of each remembered exit sign lingers in his mind. This makes exhaling a thing of quiet contentment. He doesn't move for a long time.

[Moira Murray] There's a forecast for light snow. The temperature dips low in the 20s and no one in their right mind is sane enough to be standing out in it, less they want to lose a limb to hypothermia, if not carefully bundled up against the harsh elements. The dark-haired kin is not quite garbed like an Eskimo maiden, but she is nearly covered from head to toe in some kind of winter gear.

She stands out against the dull and matted color pallette of whites and greys that the city is painted in. Her clothing mostly black in color and deceptively well-tailored. A heavy black wool long coat is buttoned to the throat, barely hiding the green and dark blue scarf underneath that's wrapped around her throat. A matching knit cap keeps long hair bound up away from her face, tucked under as a few stray wisps escape do to teasing winds that constantly try to take the cap off her head.

She fights to keep it on, adjusting it to pull it down low over her ears, scrunching up her nose as hot air expels from deep inhalations of breath. Not many were out at this hour as she walked the Mile, a brief exit from the coffee vendor as Moira walking along the strip. Blue eyes drawn in a narrow gaze as she perceives her surroundings with mild interest.

[Leyna Stidolph] Leyna had fitted her best jeans on and a clean shirt. She had forgotten what it was like to be clean, full bellied and rested. Being on the road so much had left her worn out and gaunt. However the color was returning to her skin not that there was much color to begin with though she didn't feel quit as sickly as she did when she first arrived. Before taking off to the Mile she adorned her coat now clean thanks to the Eagles kindness and generosity for taking her in. Especially on such short notice.

Snow collected on her thick hiking boots, it reminded her of the early snows back home, except the snow was much crisper and less...colorful. She had to remind herself it was because of the city. The Wyrm has left it's mark in more than one way. How the Garou could stand being here, she was unsure for she could barely tolerate it herself. The constant reminder of the Weaver and Wyrm ever present, it made her skin crawl.

The cold didn't bother her as much, in fact she seemed rather at home with it. The temperature was mild compared to what she was used too. Her blood thick from the cold mountains, even in her thick down coat she was nearly sweating from the heat. She unzipped just the top half of her coat hoping to cool down slightly. It was a good giggle for her to these other's bundled up and clenching themselves tightly for warmth.

Now, where was it she was supposed to go? She crinkled her brow as she thought about it. She should really write this stuff down.

[Eddie Vaako] As one long fingered, swift- seeming hand snatches a battered brass lighter from his pocket, Eddie's eyes continue their swivel up and down the street. After the flare and a few puffs on his smoke, the tall man drops the lighter back into one of the pockets of his pea coat, laces his fingers to tuck leather gloves tighter on his hands, and plucks at the watch cap on his head.

The parking place is perfect. Not too close to the apartment (one doesn't want to hover) and not too far away, it gives a convenient enough view of the street and the sparse, hurried foot traffic up and down the 'Mile. Eddie flicks a glance at his watch, then to Danica's apartment building.

The thick coat rustles against the Volvo's door as he shifts his weight and raises a hand to cradle the slender cigar meditatively.

He seems to watch the two tightly bundled women for only a moment- and perhaps for lack of anything better to do while he waits for the hostess to get the show on the road.

[Danicka Musil] [Hey guys: first of all, I'm so sorry I'm late. My train got delayed and I had to rush home. I know some of us have other places to be, so I'm going to type up some ground rules for the scene to keep things running smoothly. I'm sorry to interrupt those of you who got here early and on time, but we're going to fast forward to the start of the meeting once everyone's in here. If you're on AIM, there's a related chat called 'coalitionmeeting'. If you see any other Kin players online who aren't in here, grab 'em!]

[Danicka Musil] [Ground Rules:

1. Again, I'm sorry for being late. I really appreciate everyone's patience. This isn't a rule so much as a good segue into a rule: please be patient. There is no posting order and no time limit on posts, but bear in mind that this is a large scene and others may be waiting on what your character has to say. Also, others may be typing and get slowed down by having to react to a dozen new posts.
2. If things get out of hand, we may have to initiate a posting order and time limit. Sorry! But I doubt this will be necessary.
3. If there's thoughtposting/narration going on, keep in mind that characters with high perception pools may very well read your PC and react to what they're thinking/feeling but not saying out loud. If subterfuge and empathy rolls are being made, please keep them in PMs.
4. We're starting under the following assumptions: everyone has made their way to Danicka's apartment building, been let in via the intercom, and have very likely had some tasty snacks and perhaps a glass of wine. Feel free to write an arrival if you like but I will be posting in

[Danicka Musil] [Belated: This is where you're at... http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=4631]

[Izzy Montoya] Everything about Izzy screams 'Cop'. From the way she stands, to the way she dresses (business casual, long leather trench, bulge at the small of her back that suggests a weapon), to her fuckin' foul mouth and general attitude. Amusingly enough, it also screams 'Fenrir'. She's confident and sure, and here because she heard about it through the grapevine.

She'd arrived in her car - the city's current unmarked variety - and was buzzed in to find snacks and wine. Once she ditched her coat - and she did not ditch the holster at the small of her back - she wasted no time asking for something stronger with a smirk and a flippant "Wine's for pussies." Whether she gets it, or not, she snags some snacks and makes her way to a back wall, where she can see everything, and everyone.

[Danicka Musil] One way or another, everyone now mingling in 23-C heard about this meeting. Maybe someone called them. Maybe they overheard it being talked about at the Brotherhood. There are dozens of possibilities for how they all got here, but now that they are, it becomes clear how little many of them know one another.

Danicka's apartment is expansive, with a glorious view. It looks pristine, and there is very little on the walls. If she's been living here long, it doesn't show. The furniture in the living room has been rearranged so that everything faces the center and the windows, and there are two (new) leather armchairs along with the couch, coffee table, barstools, and a couple of desk chairs. Not everyone has someplace to sit. Danicka, for instance, stands.

There's been wine, and soda, but nothing that is not, as Danicka tells Izzy with a small smile, "not for us pussies". There's been finger foods and snacks. There's been no music playing, and all the while that the thin blonde woman who lives here has been greeting people there's been a metal easel in front of one of the support pillars bearing an oversized pad of paper just waiting to be unveiled, apparently.

After awhile, though, Danicka drifts over to that easel, Sharpie in hand, and faces the room. She waits, scanning the people who have come, whose names she got at the door, whose hands she shook. When everyone has quieted down, taken a seat or gone to hold up part of the wall, she smiles warmly. She's wearing jeans and a simple cream-colored sweater, her hair straightened and let down.

"Thank you all for being here," she says, with some confidence but a trace of nervousness. She hardly knows any of them, if she knows them at all. "First of all, I would like to remind you that you are in my apartment. It is my promise to you all that you will be treated with respect while you're under my roof. If you are unable or unwilling to help me uphold that promise by being respectful to those around you, you are welcome to leave on your own or be escorted out by the building's security."

The unease has, in a sentence, been stripped out of her tone. She is absolutely serious.

"Second, everyone will have a chance to speak up if they wish, but at first I have to ask you to just listen to what I'm proposing. My ideas are flexible, but hear me out before critiquing it. If the entire plan sounds ludicrous to you..." she shrugs one shoulder slightly. "Once again, you're free to leave."

A beat. A scan of her eyes. "Does anyone have any questions before we get started?"

[Moira Murray] Moira had perceived Eddie with a raised eyebrow on her way into the apartment building he was scoping out. She enters via the intercom like the others that have shown up. Her long unbuttoned, scarf and gloves peeled off to be tucked into her discarded cap that finds itself stuffed into her coat pocket. She doesn't partake of the wine, alcohol was on the low end of her desires as far as consumptions went. Moira finds a seat, tucking her coat across her lap and leans into the arm of the chair she occupies, waiting for Danicka's presentation to begin.

[Leyna Stidolph] Leyna had no idea what she really had gotten herself into, she was just told it would be a good idea to come. The up side to all this? Free food...she wasn't big on wine, but she was always down for food. The moment she was allowed inside her coat came off and she hung it up. She made a glance around, nothing more then that...and went straight for the snack table. She would be perfectly fine hovering over the food table for the rest of the night, no one is going to pay attention really to the new folk.

When the hostess started to speak, Leyna's ears perked and she stood off to the side of the table, making sure she could see and listen.

[Eddie Vaako] Yep. He's not here.

Pale eyes flicker toward the door again as Eddie tips the glass of wine.

Damn you Thornton. The next multiple I get with so much as a pot seed in the carpet- I'm gonna spit you on the case like a roasted goat, yessiree...

On the whole, he's good enough at the calm and cool act to seem so, outwardly. The glances toward the foyer are the only 'tell', and those aren't too frequent. He'd greeted Izzy with surprise, but it was a bit distant... often considered more than a bit of a black sheep, he seemed to assume she didn't want to shake his hand.

Good at mingling once upon a time, the tall cop rarely kept still until he'd politely collected, or at least heard everyone's name and greeted Danicka politely. He'd taken to leaning against a doorframe... whichever one complemented Izzy's view of the apartment.. sight lines clean and what of the living room the two of them could case was amply covered. Maybe they're even cops in their sleep.

As Danicka begins to speak, Eddie flutters like a raven that's found a good spot to keep still, and quirks an eyebrow. Half lidded eyes fasten on her as he raises a finger and clears his throat.

Ahem. "Just one, Ms. Musil. Were you ah.. expecting that sort of trouble?" No sarcasm. Not much of anything. Polite interest. Eddie's deep voice strokes the walls. Close to a contrabasso and as much felt as heard.

[Alexander] Alexander, surprisingly, arrived early. His motorcycle boots were left at the door, his jacket and chaps and helmet hung up on the coatrack. He even shook hands with the hostess, his hand a solid slab of muscle and bone, hot after he pulled his gloves off.

The Glass Walker is up on one of the barstools at the breakfast bar now, compact and athletic, biceps bulging in his short-sleeved cotton tee, shoulders round and chest thick: muscular in the way only hours and hours of slavish devotion at the gym bestows. Vaguely gargoyle-like, he sits with his feet drawn up and his elbows on his knees. He has a plate of food in one hand and a beer in the other. His hair is scruffy from being inside the helmet.

There's a sort of hawkish aggression about him, a volatility and sense of perpetual motion. As he listens, his eyes flick around the room to gather reactions, flick Danicka up and down, flick over her still-covered easel. He shifts his weight, jitters a foot, gulps beer. Burps under his breath.

[Izzy Montoya] Eddie had gotten a lifted brow when she noticed him. She'd been gone quite a while from Chicago, but some faces you never forget. Some attitudes you never forget. He's the black sheep - but perhaps to his surprise, she welcomed him with a shake of her cool hand, and that ever present smirk. "Good to see ya, Eddie."

She might even mean it.

She's almost certainly a cop in her sleep, as she gives Danicka the majority of her attention, even while her eyes are in constant movement over the others in the room.

[Danicka Musil] When she smiles at Eddie's question, it grows into a soft but amused laugh. "We're kin to werewolves, Mr. Vaako, and most of us are strangers. I think it's safe to say that the lot of us are strong-willed, opinionated, and occasionally hot-tempered. Which, in my mind, isn't a bad thing, but sometimes leads to conflict."

She blinks once. Her eyes are green, the color murky and indistinct, flecked with amber. Her smile turns chipper. "Just... this is where I sleep. My family had rules about hospitality, and the protection and comfort of those under my roof is of paramount importance to me. If anyone should need to be excused, I can contact them later about what we cover tonight."

[Liadan Whelan] Lee arrives at Kingsbury a little early, a bottle of something French and expensive in hand to add to whatever Danicka has provided. She sheds her ordinary grey wool coat, so very much like the one thrown out Thursday night, to reveal a simple t-shirt and jeans and a pair of brown and white Chuck Taylor's. With the style of her glasses and the image of fairies headed toward a bug light doom, she looks every bit the young geek. She probably reads comic books and works on computers instead of going out to clubs or traveling the world.

She greets Danicka pleasantly. There is tension in the tall redhead as she glances around the apartment, making note of the changes. At the edge of the open kitchen counter she stops and looks down the hall to the room that used to be hers. It's little more than a glance, and then she moves into the living room, a can of soda in hand.

Lee heads over to the couch but doesn't take a seat on one of the cushions. Instead she leans her hip against an arm, taking up a position so she can see the others present, and the easel, and possibly the door.

For now she has no questions, just stays out of the way and watches, listening.

[Trent Brumby] Trent is a new face, as new as Leyna's, and he stays in the background as much as he can. Soda rather then wine was his choice, but it remained largely untouched in his hand. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt, he left his jacket by the door and had his beanie stuffed into the back pocket of his pants.

He's listening to Danicka talk, with his gaze wandering the room. There's only two faces his recognizes.

[Eddie Vaako] A slight raise of his eyebrows as he watches the woman speak- and that seems all that needs to happen to give his hard face a hint of agreement. The assertion about her home could perhaps vibrate in his bones. He nods and drops the hand, hooking one thumb rakishly through a belt loop.

[Alexander] If Alex is aware that strongwilled, opinionated and hot tempered describe him fairly well, he doesn't bat an eyelash. Another flick of his dark eyes around, and then:

"I think we can all play nice for two hours. Let's hear the mystery proposal, huh?"

[Leyna Stidolph] Seeing Trent walk in, Leyna looks over to him and gives him a smile and an up nod. Acknowledging him. She guessed he was just as clueless as she was when it came down to reason why they had come here. She grabbed another finger food from the table and stuffed it in her mouth.. mmm.. food.

[Izzy Montoya] When she see's Trent, a brow arches slightly, and a familiar smirk finds it's way across her lips as she catches his eye. She pops the last of her collection of edibles into her mouth, dusts off her hands and shoves the napkin into her pocket before she crosses her arms over her chest.

Comfortable. Alert. Listening.

[Aaron Yates] The first half of the Yates duo arrives pretty much on time. That being, he's not anywhere near to early, but he wouldn't want to be stuck in some chick's apartment building with her, alone, unless he'd intended it that way, anyway. The black trench-coat Aaron was so accustomed to wearing had been ruined when his brother bled all over it the other night, so he'd made do with 'borrowing' one of Ethan's leather jackets, turning the collar up and hoping it didn't make him look fruity.

He didn't do much other than step inside, shuffle a few feet till he found an appropriate leaning post and glance in passing at the others in the room. The females got a longer perusal.

[Moira Murray] The only face she was familiar with was the detective of her own tribe. Moira inclines her head to Izzy, casting a side glance to the female cop, who she knows has no regulations about voicing her open mind so willfully. One corner of her mouth tilts up in a slight half-smile, settled into her seat as she listens quietly.

[Liadan Whelan] Lee recognizes a few of the people here tonight, and those she recognizes she has fought beside. Just the other night she and Aaron fought for their lives in a coffee shop just a few blocks away. She recognizes him, and not simply as not-Ethan. She's seen him in a fight, and under the covers. It would be a laughable exaggeration to say that these two knew each other. But they know each other well enough that Lee knows this is Aaron without having to compare him to Ethan first.

When he enters, her eyes flick to him, greeting and acknowledgement before moving back to the others. She catches Eddie's wink, and she smiles a little in return.

Then she's back to Danicka. "This isn't going to be like that kin moot, is it? I understand that wasn't very...um, helpful."

[Danicka Musil] Taking a deep breath, their hostess holds her Sharpie pen like something of a security blanket and begins. For what it's worth, she carries herself with excellent posture and no small amount of physical grace. For what it's worth, she speaks clearly, but not loudly. For what it's worth, she has a degree of composure and firmity that may not command attention or demand authority, but hints at the potential for it. She doesn't talk with her hands, and she doesn't pace very much, but occasionally she moves around, a step here, a step there. Her eyes travel, meeting other gazes occasionally.

"Alright. An attempt was made when I first came to Chicago to get the Kinfolk in this city organized, or at least connected. As far as I know, it never went farther from a brief meet-and-greet and the creation of a list of names, numbers, and skillsets. Many of those who were at that gathering? Don't even live in Chicago anymore.

"I think the reason it didn't work has more to do with a lack of coherent organization rather than personality clashes. Not all of us have the same abilities or interests. Not all of us have anything in common other than what we're related to. Trying to pretend those boundaries and obstacles don't exist will get us nowhere. Working with those differences, however, will give us a starting point for something that might work."

She turns to the easel and flips the cover up, revealing a Venn diagram of three interlocking circles. It's offset, so no circle is quite at the top nor the bottom, tilted on the page. One is labeled Training, one is labeled Information and one is labeled Support. Danicka uses the tip of the Sharpie to tap the page, then turns back to look at her guests.

"What I'm suggesting is a coalition of three separate teams," she says, and points to Training. "I've seen some of you go up against fomori, the undead, and even Black Spiral Dancers. I know many of you have hand-to-hand, firearms and weapons training. There are also those of you who are athletes and trick drivers -- which is necessary because when push comes to shove, sometimes the best or only option is to run. This is where you're needed. Anyone interested in improving these skillsets should go here, both to learn and to teach others."

She breathes in and taps Information. "I know a few things about computers. I know a little about the occult. I have a little better than basic First Aid skills. I speak three languages. I have a feeling some or many of you are better than I am at all of those things, and this is where you'd be needed. We need to know what we're preparing for, understand it. We may need researchers. We will need people who have connections both on the street and more savory levels."

The pen taps Support. "We also need those who are able and willing to offer safe havens for both Garou and Kin in need. If you can mend a tear, cook a meal, get a bloodstain out, or otherwise make sure that those who come to you are cared for both physically and emotionally, then your best bet is to join the Support team."

Danicka lowers the pen. "Obviously, there can and should be overlap between the teams. No one will be relegated to serving on only one or kept from being a member of all three if they wish and can do good there." She looks over the people in her living room. "Any further questions, or should we get into heirarchy, leadership, and division of responsibility?"

[Leyna Stidolph] People are strange, when you're a stranger.. Her eyes glanced around the room as she exhaled deeply. She finally raises her hand to Danicka, she had a question... One that ached the back of her mind.

She would probably sound silly and dumb for asking, but being new? She had no flippin' idea.

[Alexander] "Man, just call it out," Alex suggests to Leyna. "This isn't grade school."

[Trent Brumby] He gave a small smile and nod to Leyna, and another to Izzy when they both acknowledged his presence. He was otherwise quiet and rather unassuming, standing by a wall rather then leaning against it, and kept his focus on Danicka as she ran through her agenda and ideas. A quick glance around would take in other peoples reactions, while taking a sip of soda.

[Izzy Montoya] Circles. Someone's been to one too many fuckin' Amway meetings - and if anyone thinks she's not biting her tongue to keep that comment to herself, they don't know her well. It's about that time she catches Moira's eye, and has the audacity to wink at her.

And through it all, she's still listening. A brow arches when Danicka continues, but still, she says nothing. Yet.

[Leyna Stidolph] She looks over at Alexander and grunts, "It's called being polite." She cleared her throat and looked back at Danicka. "Where are the Kin Elders? Why are they not giving out commands and organizing us?" She blinked, it seemed like a logical question for her to ask.

[Eddie Vaako] As the thin blond explained the diagram, the rangy cop's hand slipped into one pocket after a smoke and a lighter- force of habit that is soon enough reigned in with a slight scowl. Bad for your health anyway...

His hard face tilts as his gaze slips from the diagram to Danicka's face... curious, and a new, distant measuring of the woman as she lays it out. He starts to open his mouth-

-it slams shut as Lenya hints at another facet of this society. Best to wait, and listen. He fixes a calculating stare on the diagram.. sucking on his teeth quietly and running through options.

[Danicka Musil] Danicka smiles at Lenya when she raises her hand, ignoring Alexander's suggestion. Without seeming surprised by the question, she replies: "There are no 'Kin Elders' in Chicago. Each of us is under the guardianship of either the Garou elder of our tribe or an individual werewolf, but it is rarely part of their responsibility as warders to direct our movements and in fact, many of them would probably be happier if we stayed at home and magically never had anything bad happen to us."

That smile never quite goes away, never quite chills, even when she's dipping into a bit of wry sarcasm.

[Aaron Yates] Aaron catches sight of Lee acknowledging him, and a faint edge of humor appears along his mouth, he nods at her and his gaze continues to settle on her movements for a beat or two before deviating back to the woman in charge of the meeting. He listens to her with a vague frown of concentration, his attention flicking over to the girl raising her arm.

To the guy who tells her to just call it out; he smirks, shifts his weight.

Back to Danicka.

[Leyna Stidolph] She blinks at Danicka, no kin elders? No fucking nasty overcompensating jackasses with foul tempers eating off the crumbs the mutts give to them? Holy Shit! Leyna just might have found heaven. These fuckers had no leadership really and they were trying their damnedest to create order and stability amongst themselves.. Leyna couldn't help but give a wicked grin.

How quickly this would blow up in their face once the need for power comes into place. The Kin could be just as greedy as the Garou, if not sometimes worse. The thirst for power and dominion. Leyna loved it! Chaos and anarchy, Leyna's true loves. She gives a nod to Danicka, turning her eyes back to the food. This was going to be great.

[Eddie Vaako] Nice boots creak a bit as Eddie shifts his weight in response to Danicka's explanation.. and the indication that Garou would as soon be left alone only hangs in the air for a moment before he leans back a bit. Comfortable with the idea that they don't all straight pop out of mirrors every time they run out of stuff to do.

Funny. Old man hadn't realized he'd been that tense.

[Alexander] The reason for Danicka's caution rapidly becomes apparent to Alexander. The kinsman has to bite the insides of his lips, literally, to keep from snapping out a retort to Leyna. And then the glee on her face -- well. He just looks away before he opened his mouth and something unpleasant came out.

"So do you want us to sign up now or wait for you to explain hierarchy and organization and all?"

[Moira Murray] Moira's head drops down, black strands of hair falling across her eyes to shadow their expression. She begins to dig through her coat pockets, finding a ballpoint pen that she clicks the inked pointer out the moment its drawn out and a small wirebound notepad. Flipping it open, she begins to write things down, pen scrawling rather quickly across the small blue lines. Her head lifts up occasionally, squinting her eyes at Danicka's diagram, an eyebrow raised curiously at the talk of three groups. Support. Training and Information.

The hand holding the pen pulls away, lifted to scratch her thumb across her forehead to ease an itch as she looks about the room, casting her gaze to the faces of the different speakers, trying to memorize their images without names. She goes back to writing when someone says something of interest but has remained silent the entire time.

[Eddie Vaako] Olive skinned, vulpine face swings from Alexander to Danicka as he rumbles again to the latter.

"I'd like to hear the whole thing first, myself."

[Danicka Musil] It looks like no one else has any more questions, so Danicka gives a small nod to Alexander before flipping over to the next sheet on her giant pad of paper. This one is mostly lines. It looks like a tree or a genealogical chart, one blank at the top descending into three others, each with several blanks below.

Danicka settles herself internally again and begins the next leg of this presentation of hers. "Under such a fluid system of team membership, and in an open echo of the way the Garou organize themselves, the Coalition will have a Chairperson determined by both competition for fitness to the position and election by the entire membership. The Coalition Chair will be a member of all three teams by default, though he or she may in practice be primarily active in only one or two. The duties of the Chair include heading the phone tree, organization of the three teams, advising team leaders, and so forth. Basically: your job is to facilitate communication, including resolving disputes that cannot otherwise be handled by team leaders."

Many of them may be thinking, and correctly: The Grand Elder.

Danicka points to the three blanks under the top one. "Similarly, each team leader will be determined by competition and election of team members. He or she may be on multiple teams but no one may lead more than one."

She pauses there, and adds: "It may be worth pointing out now that the creation of new teams by two or more Coalition members with a particular area of interest or specialization -- or a temporary team for a specific purpose -- is absolutely encouraged. For now, though, I'd like to get the first three teams set up as a basis for everything else.

"Now," she says, twisting the cap on her Sharpie a bit, "before we go any further I want to say that anyone who wants to be involved in this has to be honest with their warder about your membership in and duty to the Coalition. All of us have to respect the limitations imposed on us by our guardians whether we like it or not, and not for the sake of being submissive and obedient." Danicka closes her mouth, running her tongue over the edges of her teeth thoughtfully before explaining: "It's to retain the goodwill and lack of interference of the Garou population. Essentially, if you lie to or disobey your warder, they might come down on all our heads for it. If they tell you not to do it, don't do it, or we all suffer for the sake of your little rebellion."

Danicka lowers her hands in front of her, looking around. "I know this may be a lot to take in, but the whole point is to not only increase a sense of community among our numbers but to make sure that necessarily information about various threats and opportunities is being disseminated clearly and quickly to all of us, potentially saving our lives and the lives of those we care for. We need to be prepared to aid and serve ourselves, the Nation, and Gaia beyond the call of reproductive duty and cleanup detail, and I think this might be a good way to do it."

She stops there. She seems done.

[Danicka Musil] [Latecomers: if you would like to say your character has been present for the entire meeting, I can email you the log thus far so they/you know what's up. That may be the most convenient option. Let me know on AIM or in PM!]

[Alexander] There's a snort of laughter from the kinsman at the breakfast bar when Danicka says we all suffer for the sake of your little rebellion. When she's finished, a silence settles as everyone digests what's been said.

Then Alex speaks up. "Yeah, okay. I like it. Sign me up for Training. I'm pretty good with hand-to-hand. I can use a knife too. I know how to shoot but maybe one of the cops over there," he jerks a thumb in their direction, "would be better for that."

Pause.

"I've got a lotta connections too," he adds -- a little awkwardly, for once. "So, uh, maybe I should be on the Info team as well."

[Aaron Yates] The Bone Gnawer shifts his weight again, leaning forward. The leather jacket protests such an action with a soft stretching of its shape. "Well, I can tell you now that I'm not leader material for any of these teams." Aaron pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek a minute before plunging on. "That being said when it comes to the information or training sectors, I might be more capable. I'm a trained Vocal and Accent Coach, so if we ever have need for some subterfuge," the dark blue eyes move around the collected, "I'm your man. I'm quite willing to teach others what I can."

He shrugs, glances at Alex as he chimes in, then adds.

"My brother isn't here yet, but Ethan is a Media Liaison with the PD, he's also trained in arms so I'd lock him in where you want that sort of contact and knowledge."

[Eddie Vaako] The man's eyes sweep from Alex before he speaks.
Blink. Blink blink...

The rangy detective casts a glance toward Izzy, sweeps it across Liadan-

Having canvassed the faces of everyone he knows, Eddie's face returns to the 'family tree' with a faint scowl before he considers Danicka for a beat or two and his deep voice thrums across the distance again.

"I've got a new set 'a girls..." One long fingered hand flickers through the air before he sweeps it through his hair. "You know- calling the shots or whatever." This delivered with a twist of his mouth.

"I'll check with the kids and see if they'll be alright with something like this. Good?" He points his chin at the diagram and waits for Danicka's response. In the corner of his eye, Alexander's formidable shape collects much of his interest and attention.

[Danicka Musil] Without missing a beat, or raising an eyebrow at his little snrk, Danicka turns around, uncaps the Sharpie -- which is green, whereas the stuff already on the paper is black -- and flips the page back to the Venn Diagram. She puts Alex's name,

A. Vaughn, GW neatly in the intersection of the Training and Information circles.

[Little Vinnie] Vinnie shifted in his seat...the Sicilian listening but so far being quiet. For the most part, it looked like he it was going over his head or perhaps he was contemplating the stogie in his hand, unlit...awaiting the touch of flame to bring the savored flavor to his mouth. He inspected it again before he looked up at Danicka's large notepad and instructions. The flow chart and the diagrams. He tapped the cigar against the back of his broad knuckles quietly, eyes passing over the others in the room.

It was hard to believe there was more then just this gathering. But then again, he had been out of the loop...the few he knew were Family. And most of them were from out of town. He frowned a little, brow furrowing together creating wrinkled lines through the skin that made his already battered face look more tired from age then usual. The cogs were turning as he tried to focus on the conversation at hand. But as she starts to talk about teams, a lightbulb starts to go off in his head.

"...so yer talkin' about crews, right? Like...you got muscle doing the leg work...brains calling the shots...and then they report to the head honcho over them? I can get."

He rubs his chin as he leans back, shifting to get his bulky back comfortable as he addresses Danicka.

"Now...far as connections...I got a few 'ere and there. But I can't just be doing it every time some punk needs a gun or pissed off the wrong folks....so my hands gonna be sorta tied on that. But I can offer some info...um...beyond that...I know how to teach the ropes. Maybe not dealin' with the sorta stuff you talkin' about cause I ain't never run into those things....but I can teach some hand to hand...how to use a proper piece...and a little about not sticking out like a sore thumb in some areas of Chi-town."

The native GW kin says, pleased as punch with himself.

[Danicka Musil] The next thing Danicka does is place her own name, just as neatly: D. Musil, SL in the junction, the center, of the diagram. Clearly she is skilled in, or interested in, each team.

Afterwards, she sets the Sharpie in the easel's tray and steps away from it. She doesn't say it aloud, but the physical indication is there in her body language: if they're going to sign up, they can do it themselves.

As others speak up about what they know, who they know, and what they can do, Danicka just nods, listening, but doesn't respond much. She's shifting gears, moving from presentation to observation.

[Alexander] Since his name's already up on the board, Alex stays where he is and slugs down beer. Or if there isn't beer, soda.

"So," he calls out again, "I guess it'd make sense to make you the leader of this little endeavour, right? Since you thought it up and all. Maybe we ought to set down a length of time for reelections. In case people move in and out or lose interest or... y'know. Die.

"Maybe six months for the chairperson, three for team leaders? Kinda gives us a reason to come back and touch base every so often, too."

[Danicka Musil] That, however, gets Danicka's attention. She turns her head immediately to look at Alex, but her expression is placid, perhaps even a little caught off guard. "Like I said, leadership in all quarters will be determined by competition and election." Otherwise, she does not comment on his supposed nomination. Or assumption.

"As soon as we know who all is interested I think we can begin detailing term lengths, if necessary, meeting times for teams as well as the Coalition as a whole, and accountability procedures. I'm going to be in contact with everyone after this initial meeting so we can start hammering those things out."

[Izzy Montoya] She's been in observation mode the whole time, noting who's seated where, when they speak, watching the expressions filter over their faces. Danicka mentions making obedience and submissiveness, and Izzy? Laughs. Out loud, without hesitation, though after the first brief sound she lowers her head, and continues to chuckle to herself.

Alex mentions the 'cops' and she arches a brow, slightly, as lips curve into a bemused smirk. She doesn't dispute that she can teach other's to shoot, though John might be a far more patient teacher than she is. She simply bides her time at the moment. Though when he moves to appoint Danicka the leader, she starts to...

...and then Danicka clarifies herself, and Izzy remains quiet.

[Moira Murray] "Define competition, Ms. Musil."

Moira has stopped taking notes all together, glancing at the board as Danicka wrote her name in the center of it. "The election part I understand, but what type of competition do you imply?"

[Liadan Whelan] Lee shifts, rolling her hips so she's almost but not quite sitting on the edge of the couch arm. Her soda is shifted to her left hand, her right rising to rub her thumb along her bottom lip, thinking. She mulls over the idea, which has merit and is certainly better than a bunch of people signing their name with a list of skills. Despite what she thinks of her own abilities, she says, "Sign me up for all three. I only live a couple of blocks from The Brotherhood, but I understand not everyone goes there. I speak French and have been taking kickboxing since around May of last year. I also always have a camera with me, so I can gather information. And I would be a bad choice for leader of anything, because I travel a lot."

[Trent Brumby] He leaves his soda on a table and heads over to the board. The sharpie is picked up and he stoops enough to write his name in the support section, followed by the training circle.

Since he was there, he glanced over to Liadan when she spoke up.

"What's your name?" Clearly he'd write it for her.

[Liadan Whelan] "Lee Whelan," she answers.

[Alexander] "All right. Cool." With that, the stocky kinsman levers himself off the barstool, landing with a light thump. "I have to head out. You have my number." He glances around at the others. "We should probably plan to meet again. Maybe in teams."

He snags another three tea sandwiches on his way out and calls to the girl he doesn't recognize, "I suggest mud wrestling in swimsuits."

[Alexander] [i gotta go, folks! thanks for the RP!]

[John Thornton] John had remained quiet much of the meeting, having arrived slightly after the meeting started. He stood toward the periphery, hazel eyes seeming a shade of green in the lighting within, his black trench coat hanging open as he removed gloves of black leather and his scarf.

Now he stood still, listening to the proposal, his dress shirt collar unbuttoned and tie hanging askew. A few moments pass, Alexander's suggestion is made...

His brow furrows in thought, causing eyes of seeming green to become gray in the shade...

Then, the idea clarified and the meeting proceeds... John clears his voice and addresses the group.

"If everyone signs up for all 3 teams, the distribution of tasks won't be very effective. I would submit that each kin be allowed to join only 1 team, thereby allowing their efforts to be more focused."

[Alexander] [girl being moira. *jets*]