technical knockout.

[Sinclair] It. Is. Frigid.

The parking lot is empty, the Brotherhood long since closed and even the employees long since departed. It's a relatively clear winter's night. There are cracks in the asphalt, but not even dead grass sticks up through it. Moisture is heavy in the air; it almost always is so, this close to the lake, the docks. What wind there is comes off the water and wraps everyone outside in a chill several degrees below what the thermometers say.

The young woman standing in the parking lot -- at least one of the young women in the parking lot -- has enough rage to fuel a savage sort of body heat. It borders on feverish. She paces, though, sneakers scuffing on the flattened man-made rock, as though she's aching for the movement, for the release, for something. It's still her moon in the sky, though very nearly full, very nearly belonging to the Ahrouns.

And Sinclair seems to shine underneath it as it gets closer to its zenith. She is never more beautiful than she is under a waxing gibbous moon. She is never as strong, as fast, as much a paragon of movement and ferocity. Her voice is silvery on nights like tonight. Her skin looks soft to the touch. Her eyes take on a crystalline dance when the light hits them.

She's not swinging a baseball bat. She's not tossing a ball. She's waiting for her packmate to show up, that tall blonde drink of water with the Fang breeding that goes on for eons behind her. She's waiting to put into practice the lesson she has inscribed on her left hip.

[Marrick] It was times like these where Marrick Fisher missed her truck.

The blonde was headed off on her way, down the street and through the parking lot in hopes of saving herself some time. The air was cold in her lungs, and she found herself thinking of deals made and situations she'd recently been posed with. The Fury had a week, a good, solid week to buy herself some time and come up with a solution for Old Man Oak.

She had finished playing messenger and delivery girl for her pack, and instead the Fury- clad in jeans and Target-brand rain boots, and a coat that was neither fashionable nor new. However, it was warm. That was good enough for her. The moon is nearly full; while Sinclair's moon hangs high in the sky, hers is close. There is a desire for movement. There is a desire to burn off energy and steam.

Marrick had intended on coming to the brotherhood to get a sandwich, warm up, and head home again. Instead, she found herself looking at a young woman- bright and savage.

"Sup?" it's the only greeting she gives Sinclair. No malice, no frustration. Just an upward nod with her hands shoved in her jacket pockets.

[Sinclair] "I'm waiting f--" Sinclair pauses there suddenly, turning and tipping her head to look at Marrick. "Oh, do I get to finish what I'm saying this time before you flounce off? Thanks so fucking much. I'm waiting for my packmate. What's up with you?"

[Kate] "She's waiting for me, I believe." Finishes a sweet voice (hah! sweet, it's so deceiving it's worth a hah, just like that) from somewhere on the edges of the parking lot where the shadows are at work, concealing the Silver Fang's approach. Not that it does much to conceal her from Sinclair, Katherine. They can reach out mentally and touch one another; just brush against the other's awareness like a feather tickled along skin.

Well, there's that and then there's Katherine's breeding that is almost returned to its natural state, tonight. Only another few nights and she'll be fully a Silver Fang again. Her sacrifice will have been completed and her gift, her penance to Gaia almost at its zenith. Tonight, she wears black boots that crunch over gravel and snow; and her breath mists before her face in the cold air. Her coat is white, of course and she has her woolen cap pulled down over her blond waves.

[Schala] Schala was bundled up like she was about to invade Moscow. It was cold....hell...it was freezing. It was minus 7 fucking degrees that evening. So cold didn't even remotely cover the sensation. For a girl who was used to luxuries of central air and heating ducts in an underground bunker, freezing what bits she had off was not kosher. It didn't function. Did-not-compute.

Yet, she was out and about. She had had a craving for chocolate. And there were only a few places she knew that were open that served her hot chocolate just the way she liked. Others would tell her she should make it herself, but Schala was as skilled with an oven as Betty Crocker was capable of field-servicing a rifle.

So there she was, walking near the closed Brotherhood...frowning as she had hoped to get some wi-fi from it or somewhere nearby...when she spotted two peoples in the parking lot. In the words of Gir:

Oooooo whuz that?!

[Alexander] Suddenly a window bangs open on the second floor.

"What the fuck is going on down there?" Alexander bellows out his window. "Don't you fuckers know some people are trying to sleep up here?"

[Marrick] "Oh no, I thought that I would get pissed off halfway through your sentence, cut you off, and then get distracted by something shiny. Have any pretty, jangly keys Sinclair?"

Half a smile, either she was being sarcastic or self-deprecating. Either way, she shrugs it off and moves on with her thought.

"Comin' by to get somethin' to eat-" the thought has been interrupted when she sees Kate... whose breeding has yet to come back fully into force. Marrick looked at her...

And blinked. She cocked her head to the side in quiet confusion. Alex chimes in, and the Fury raises her head up and calls back-

"Quit whining and get some ear plugs!"

No love lost.

[Sinclair] "God, you act like such a cub," Sinclair mutters, shaking her head. She looks up as Alex opens his window and -- doesn't yell back. Or suggest that he and Marrick fuck again. She just looks up at him. It's unsettling, how bright her eyes are, how coldly blue, that they're visible no matter how high up he is and that they gleam like they do in the dark.

She drops her chin and looks back to Kate. "You ready to go, then?" she asks.

Sinclair is not wearing jeans. Her legs are clad in a pair of white pants in jersey or some other soft fabric. The waistband is thick and black, and there's black kanji down the left leg. Probably says something about serenity or peace or god knows what. They're yoga pants, and they cling to her hips and her ass, hug her thighs, flare slightly around her lower legs. She's got on dark blue Nikes, her old and scuffed-up pair. Up top is a form-fitting mock turtleneck of a workout shirt, black with white stitching at the seams. She should be freezing.

She isn't. Her hair is tied back in a tight, small knot. There are fingerless gloves hiding her hands. There are pentacles drawn on the palms in white. As a joke.

[Alexander] "Oh, cry more, Anna Voinitseva!"

On that rather obscure reference, the window slams shut again.

[Schala] The blue haired wonder who's hair is slightly obscured by a thick furry ushanka including a red star in the middle. She cradled her hot chocolate and watched them, glancing up at the guy opening his window to yell and then back to the other three. She recognized them, after all, she had been at the last moot. She had almost taken the GW Elder position. Almost. Damn rigged contests.

[Kate] Marrick is staring at Katherine, who, it should be noted, rather likes having that sort of attention paid her; but not tonight. Or at least, not for the reason that she knows the Ahroun elder is staring for.

"It's a long story," she offers with a slight turn of her pink lip. "Involving a spirit and a wager." This is, it would seem, all that Marrick is going to get in lieu of the full explanation -- perhaps Truth's Meridian is simply tired of re-telling it. Then Alex's head pops out of a window like a curious ferret and bellows something at them.

Katherine lifts her head and stares at him like her pack-sister does, they are a strange echo of one another for a beat before Alex yells something back at Marrick and retreats back into his bedroom.

Katherine cuts a look to Sinclair. "I am suddenly comforted by the knowledge that another tribe suffers from bothersome Kinfolk." She smiles, her attention dividing for a moment between Schala and Marrick; then returning.

"Yes, I am ready."

[Marrick] About four months ago, Marrick would have yelled and thrown a fit about being told this. The Fury, however, does not. Either she's grown to accept her immaturity, or something else entirely. Not pushed, not injured, not defensive. But, on that obscure reference, the blonde stops.

She frowns, and makes no attempt to hide her confusion. Then again, even if she had attempted? It wouldn't have been successful in the least. Anna Voinitseva. Remembered for reference purposes, and.. she shrugs. The Fury turns back to Katherine, who explains in very little detail.

Something in her stomach turns, and her eyes go from Katherine to the moon. The blonde doesn't tense so much as she looks like she ate something unpleasant, remembered something foul. She shakes her head.

"Shouldn't keep y'all from your... whatever you're doin'."

[Sinclair] "I'm not his warder anymore," is all Sinclair says to Kate, as though it's just a reminder. Alexander Vaughn is, as far as the nation is concerned, Rayne's problem now. Not that they'll ever meet.

"Alright," she says, and glances over to Marrick and Schala. "Y'all may want to hang back."

It may be worth mentioning at this point that the piercings in Sinclair's ears are not removed, but have been carefully covered, completely, with a thick but tidy layer of medical tape. One could ask why she didn't just take them out, but only one who thinks that the metal and ink and scars of an urban primitive are decorative in nature. From the look of the coverings, Sinclair has done this before.

"And no," she says, a bit ominously, "Katherine's lineage makes absolutely no difference in this. As she knows. As she's learned. A few too many times."

The Walker keeps her distance a bit from her packmate. "I'm not going to try and teach you the basics: snapping to attention, keeping your hands up, clenching your teeth. And we'll go to the Umbra when it's time to learn to fight better in other forms. But this was the body you were born with, and you should know how to use it first. So we'll start with environment: what around you, right now, could you use as a weapon against me?"

[Alexander] A few moments later the door bangs open. If anyone was sleeping above it, they're not now. Alexander comes tromping out, head down, zipping his motorcycle jacket up.

Not that he seems like he's about to go for a ride. It just happens to be the warmest jacket he owns. Chicago's a goddamn world away from Miami. Or at least a climate zone.

"I changed my mind," he calls, trotting down the steps to the parking lot. "You're not Anna Voinitseva at all. You're Sofya Yegorovna. Or maybe Mariya Grekova. I really can't make up my mind. One's silly and the other's a hypocrite. Though the silly one's also murderous, so maybe that fits you a little better."

He's right there now, and he claps Marrick on the shoulder, all cheerful mockery of friendliness. "How you doing, Marrick?" The kinsman's head turns; he looks between the blondes. The other two blondes. "What the fuck are they doing?"

[Schala] "Streets of Rage or Final Fight."

Schala perks up, answering Alex's question as she takes another sip, this time slurping it to make sure the others knew they had an audience. The young Walker then turned to regard the fight about to break out.

"We never had this sorta thing at the Burrow though."

[Kate] Katherine's lip curls in at one corner when Alex Vaughn's voice cuts into what her pack-mate was saying, but it is the only indication that she gives as to his presence at all. The rest, she ignores, her attention is utterly fixed on Sinclair.

Her teacher, for the moment.
Her opponent.

They are standing in the middle of a parking lot, what weapons could one use in such circumstance? Katherine's boots slick over the snowy ground, and she smiles suddenly, lowering her eyes to it. "I seem to recall you making very good use of the dirt the last occasion we had to spar." Her pale eyes scan the area, settle on another object, she nods toward it.

"The garbage bins would make some impression, should the lids be tossed with strength behind them, as would those heavier stones lining the edge of the lot."

[Marrick] "Who the fuck is Anna Voinitseva?" she gets the name right, but misses the ever-so-obscure reference. Alexander Vaughn, it seems, could be her phone-a-friend were she on Who wants to be a Millionaire, though he might drag out his thirty seconds just to be a dick. On second thought, Alex would not be her phone-a-friend.

There's a look up, and then one down. Then, the Fury looks at his hand and doesn't bother to brush it off.

Her attention, instead, goes down... down... wow, Schala is tiny.

"Jus' sparrin'... better graphics watchin' these two anyway," she says. Then? "I'm Marrick."

May as well offer.

[Sinclair] "You're missing the most obvious," Sinclair says immediately, and points down.

At the asphalt.

The same hand that's pointing moves around to smack the back of her own neck, matching the pentacle on her glove to the quartered circle on her flesh. "Grab the neck -- if you can, we'll get to that later -- and sweep the legs. Face. Asphalt. Pain."

[Alexander] "You don't want to know," Alexander replies, "but if you really must I'll let you borrow my laptop to Google it on later."

Then, "Nice. Hey, ladies!" He raises a hand. "Can I play?"

[Kate] The Philodox makes a noise clearly intended to portray her agreement and her amusement at forgetting such an obvious natural weapon, right beneath her feet. Her pale eyes watch the manner in which Sinclair locks her fingers around her neck very closely, with a predator's greedy intensity and she nods, once.

It was one of her better qualities, Katherine, that she was adept enough as a pupil, and as a Half Moon to be capable of absorbing new knowledge with surprising speed. She did not question unless it was a requirement, and could, when of course it suited her too -- offer a great deal of respect.

"Grab the neck, sweep the legs, beat the skull against the concrete." She repeats, reaffirms perhaps, for her own retention.

Her eyes shift to Alex as he chimes in and she narrows them thoughtfully. "If there is two against one, perhaps the weapon of choice becomes one of the attackers."

[Schala] Schala blinked and then looked to Marrick, cracking a grin to the Fury.

"Yo. Schala. And I like my fightin' games behind a console...pixelated violence. And even in sparrin' someone can get hurt, right?"

She says, glancing at her and then back to the other two, rocking back on her high tops a little before she drinks more of the chocolate goodness, feeling it start to lose its warmth.

[Sinclair] "You're fast enough to pull that off," Sinclair says, and the ease with which she offers this compliment takes some of the praise out of it: it's matter-of-fact. It's like someone pointing out that Sinclair is particularly good at beating people into bloody heaps of agony. "But you're not skilled enough to pull it off. You'll have to practice leg sweeps about seven thousand times, and frankly, a sharp knee to the groin will usually serve you better.

"That sa--"

Can I play?

Sinclair stops speaking and looks over at Alex, ignoring what she hears from Schala as though if she pretends it was never said then reality will alter to match. She looks back at Kate. "I think you're talking about the kind of fighting that's a bit advanced for what you can handle, frankly," she says. "How do you handle learning by observation?"

[Kate] From another creature, such frank comments regarding her fighting abilities might have rankled precious Silver Fang feelings of superiority. But Katherine absorbs what Warcry says with a surprising amount of aplomb and merely nods once or twice, her arms sliding over her chest.

How do you handle learning by observation?

The Half Moon's eyes turn playful, almost bouyant. She grins openly at Alex -- how discocerting.

"Exceedingly well."

[Marrick] "Score," she says. Aparently, the Fury is stealing Alex's laptop for the evening.

"Well, yeah," she tells Schala, "but you can get hurt gettin' out of a bunkbed, too." Spoken with the fervor of a woman who always, always, always got the top bunk.

For now, however, she watches those in front of her and keeps her mouth politely shut... For a good two seconds before she's grinning ear to ear.

[Schala] "Well..yeah...but that's sort of self-inflicted. Or gravity doesn't like you. Damn gravity. Only reason I can't fly."

Schala pushes her lips out some as if pouting...then shakes her cup some and then sighs.

"Dammit....no more chocolate."

[Alexander] Alex whoops and trots on over. Maybe he doesn't realize what a bad idea fighting with Sinclair is under the best of circumstances, not to mention:

on her moon. Waxing. With no one around that stands a reasonable chance of stopping her in case something goes ... awry.

But if any of that occurs to him, it doesn't phase him. Not in the slightest. He's unsnapping the neck of his motorcycle jacket, peeling down the zipper and dropping it in the snow. Underneath he's in jeans and an orange t-shirt, BAL HARBOUR stamped across the chest.

"Fuck! It's freezing. You don't hit me in the balls," he says, "and I won't pull your hair out. Deal?"

[Kate] In a flash of compassion -- or perhaps, mercy for the leather -- the Half Moon bends down and picks up the Kinsman's jacket, consenting without comment to hold it for him while he spars with her pack-mate.

[Sinclair] In the Unbroken, it may be unsettling to acknowledge that for all intents and purposes, the closest match to the Fostern Ahroun Alpha's fighting skills is the slender, athletic young woman standing in the parking lot right this moment. She's younger than Katherine -- though not by much. She's less knowledgable about her own nature by far. Her father wasn't a renowned hero of their people. Her ancestors are not known by name and deed. Of all of those that follow Perun, she is perhaps the youngest and most inexperienced.

And she is, for both those reasons, considered more dangerous than Wyrmbreaker. Less controlled. Less disciplined.

Too look at her now, though, she seems in her element. She seems fine. If worse came to worse, Marrick's there. Schala's Garou, too. Kate's her packmate. If she lost it, if something got into her and ripped away her control, surely one of them -- or all three of them -- could take her down. But there's no Wyrmish minions lingering about right now. There's nothing lurking, waiting to jump into her soul and take away her very awareness of who is a friend and who is not.

Alex is, supposedly, her friend. She called him that to a Fostern of their tribe. She told him that and he didn't dispute it. Sinclair has never laid a hand on him in anger or violence. She has warned him against grabbing her, told him she could have broken his arm. She has had another Garou hold him back while she knocked Brother of the Lost to the bathroom floor. She has gotten in his space.

She has half-carried, half-dragged him to his bed and dropped him there with a surprising, secret level of care.

But she's never hit him.

Exceedingly well, sayeth Her Majesty. Sinclair doesn't grin back. Those who think she takes obscene pleasure in violence would not recognize her now, and likely haven't been paying any attention at all. She doesn't look playful as she turns to Alex and flicks her eyes up and down his frame, taking the measure of him in a way she hasn't previously. She isn't verbally noting whether he realizes or cares that fighting her is seriously dangerous; what he's seen of her fighting ability has been rather limited. The only time she can remember him ever seeing her go all-out was against Marrick, and she lost. She was a bloody, nearly disemboweled mess after that. So no: as far as Sinclair can recall, Alex has no way of knowing what he's getting into.

"My hair will grow back," she says. "Your balls won't."

She makes no promises other than that, which isn't one at all. And moves into a ready stance.

[Alexander] "Aww, you've got my unborn children in mind. How -- "

on that note, Alexander reaches out to grab Sinclair behind the neck and introduce her face to his knee.

" -- sweet!"

[Sinclair] [+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Alexander] [+7!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Alexander] ;_;

[Alexander] [1a. grapple
b. knee to face!]

[Sinclair] [1a. Sweep
1b. Drop knee to ribs (kick, basically)
1c. Headbutt]

[Sinclair] [1a. dex + brawl + moon - 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8) Re-rolls: 2

[Sinclair] [1b. dex + brawl + moon -4]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Sinclair] [damage. str + 1 + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Alexander] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [1c. dex + brawl + moon -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 5) [WP]

[Alexander] (btw folks, i don't care if you keep playing and posting!)

[Sinclair] [damage. str + 1 + 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Alexander] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [nor do i!]

[Marrick] Marrick Fisher has a moment where she realizes something.

She got lucky.

She got damned lucky. At the time she and Sinclair had fought, at the time that Marrick had gone a few rounds with the Galliard, they had both been fairly evenly matched. The fates had been in Marrick's favor- she hit a little harder, moved a little faster, and her attempts were just a little better than the Galliard's. Sinclair has killed three garou, one of them stayed down. Sinclair is strong and fast and is backed by a totem who spurs her forth to be a conqueror.

Marrick Fisher got lucky. And something in her mind tells her this simple fact: she doesn't want to get lucky anymore. That, however, might not matter in a week.

"Hey, Kate?" she calls to the woman, "if you got a minute I need t'talk t'you about somethin'."

[Alexander] Slam Sinclair down!

-2 dice (split)
+2 diff (maneuver)
+1 diff (changing diff)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 9 (Failure at target 9)

[Alexander] >:[

Alright, counterheadbash! +1diff (changing maneuver)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[Alexander] Damage: Str +1 (maneuver) +1 (succ)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Alexander] "Y'know," Alex pants, "if you wanted to be Anna Voinitseva, all you had to do was ask." And then he tries to slam Sinclair again.

[Alexander] (reinit! +7)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Schala] Schala watched as the two whacked each other...tumbling..hitting. She pursed her lips a little...part of her captivated by a train wreck. The other part was meanwhile reminding her that she had a Doctor Who marathon to watch before David Tennant was no more as the Doctor come January the first. It would be a sad New Year.

[Sinclair] It isn't called a ready stance because she doesn't expect Alex to fight dirty. It's called ready because she's... well.

Guess.

He comes at her, going for the back of her neck just like she had shown Kate, and Sinclair responds by ducking her head, hooking her leg around his and dropping Alexander Vaughn to the asphalt in one smooth, Sinclair-controlled flop. She lets her full weight drop onto him then, knee angled for his ribs, but bone glances off of bone. She doesn't seem to notice, doesn't pause, before she's curling over him, headbutting his face.

Sinclair does not weigh 200 pounds. She doesn't think much about her weight, so she doesn't know what exactly her weight is, but she's not terribly heavy. Nor is she a featherweight slip of a girl. Alexander, however, can't get her off of him. So he headbutts her right back, and she just smirks down at him, eyes glinting.

She's not panting. Nothing she could say right now to respond to that is something she's willing to say in front of Marrick, Kate, and Schala. So she just rears back, preparing to start pounding his head into the ground.

[+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Alexander] (tiebreaker!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [WTF. +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Sinclair] [1a. Punch
1b. Punch]

[Alexander] [1a. Counterslam again!
b. Elbow!
c. Head!]

[Alexander] a. +2 diff, -3 dice!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[Alexander] b. Elbow aka punch! -4 dice!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Alexander] str+2
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Alexander] "....annnnd Vaughn wins by a TKO!" Alexander, quite likely more insufferable than ever now, leaps to his feet and bounds around an imaginary ring, fists in the air. "Thank you, thank you very much!"
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Marrick] [wp: don't say something stupid!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Kate] Katherine, who had been observing this very closely, merely raises a brow at Alexander's antics and contemplates dropping his leather jacket in the snow and grinding her designer boot into it until she tears a hole. She refrains, however, much as she refrains from dashing to her pack-mate's side to offer aid.

Sinclair does not need it, she'll shake off the boy's blows as easily as she'd breathe, given a moment and instead turns her eye toward Marrick, registering somewhat belatedly that she'd been called to. Katherine nods minutely, and beckons the Ahroun elder toward her. "What plays on your mind, Bones to Dust?" She murmurs, observing Alex running laps of victory with the curiosity a wolf did the displays of a kitten before its devoured.

[Marrick] "Old Man Oak," she tells Kate, "used to be strong, not so much anymore... anyway, I was contacted an' I need t'help him... it's... it's like there's somethin' trying to corrupt him, tryin'a make a case to go with the Wyrm."

She stops.

"I'm havin' a hard time wording this."

She has turned her back on Alex. It is purposeful, she is not paying attention. As a matter of fact, she is trying desperately to turn her focus on Kate so something that sang too much like sappy teenager didn't leak out. She was here on business.

"Here's the sitch. Black Unicorn tol' me there was a spirit of th'wyrm tryin'a corrupt Old Man Oak, an' I get there an' this little toad thing is trying to convince him to forsake Gaia, Old Man Oak says the air's polluted birds won't next in him, the air burns like oil an' acid, and the earth is hard and barren. He's in pain, and the future looks bleak... I gave oak some of myself, but it's only bought me a week t'come up with a solution to his issue. Stakes are pretty high."

She pauses.

"I don't have a damned clue what t'do yet, and I ain't sure what my opponent's got in the cards."

[Sinclair] Kate can feel what Marrick and Schala and Alex cannot tell by observation: Sinclair is not calling on Perun for this. The Garou can tell by the lack of some tingle in the air or twitch of Sinclair's being that she's used no Gifts. No one can quite explain why the moon being in her phase makes Sinclair shine the way she does, but she can't choose that, can't turn it off.

She hasn't shifted. She's used no talens. She is, for a Garou, holding back.

When Alex elbows her, it hits her head. And it hits her hard enough that her head bounces on the asphalt -- the weapon she pointed out to Kate earlier. And that causes blood to run out over the rock. That causes Sinclair's pupils to constrict with pain. That causes her to gasp, dazed enough that Alex jumps up and begins running a victory lap. He gets two steps. Three, four. Five, six. In combat, that's a few heartbeats. In combat, that's a matter of seconds. That's an eyeblink. That's an eternity.

He hasn't even gotten halfway around his imaginary ring when his opponent sits up, hands going to the ground. She pushes herself to her feet, blood matting her pale hair, and a trickle of it going down the back of her neck. She rose with a snakelike ease, disturbing because she is human, uncanny because she is rather badly hurt while Alex barely has a bruise on his forehead.

Whoever taught Sinclair to fight taught her to use every available weapon. To use it ruthlessly. To be cruel. To be heartless. Gaia only knows what else that mentor taught her, to turn her into what she is now... or to let out of her human cage the wild thing that Sinclair seems to be.

"C'mere, Negative Seven," she says quietly, without beckoning a hand, without raising her voice. Her voice is low. Earthy. Disturbingly... sensuous. Her chest moves with every inhale and exhale. "I am so not done with you yet."

[Schala] Schala watches before she looks to Marrick.

"It was nice meeting ya."

She hadn't heard the conversation...otherwise the Theurge might have put her two cents in...but she had been oblivious when Sinclair pulled a Demi Moore...she half expected the Full Moon to grab at her crotch and tell Alex to suck her cock. But maybe she was only the movie buff here...or pop culture buff anyway. The metis ate, read, and absorbed it like a sponge most of the time.

She gave a wave, starting to make her way off.

[Marrick] "See ya Schala, keep warm, okay?"

She gives her a half nod and a little bit of a wave. It's enough that she catches the sensuous tone in the distance, the nicknames, the-

Marrick's jaw clenches, and she turns her attention back, quickly, solely on Kate. Out of sight, out of mind. Right?

... right?

[Alexander] Alexander drops his hands, turning to face Sinclair. He's pumped from the quick, brutal fight, dancing on the balls of his feet like a boxer.

He's not a boxer, though. His style is entirely too rough, entirely too unrestrained for that. Not to mention, he uses far more than his fists. Elbows, foreheads, shins, knees, feet -- whatever the hell he can strike with.

His hands are loose at his sides as he looks Sinclair over. Then he shakes his head.

"No way. You're done, Sinclair. We can rematch after you heal up, but I'm not gonna bludgeon your lights out like this."

[Sinclair] "Why?"

The question isn't defensive. It isn't wheedling. Seen from the front she looks... fine, really. A little out of it, a little pale, a lot intense, but otherwise untouched. It's mostly if you see from the back that one realizes the shape she's in, which is: bad.

She just sounds curious, and genuinely so. "You're hardly the epitome of honorable comba-- pay attention, Kate! --combat. You have no problem with 'hitting girls'," she says, without unnecessary fingerquotes, as all the sarcasm is held in her tone. "And there is no fucking rematch when you. Didn't. Win."

[Kate] Katherine listens, it is obvious that her attention is stretched between what is occurring between Sinclair and Alex and with what Marrick is confiding, asking for her help, with. But, as was the measure of her moon she is capable of balancing her attention between two things, she notes what is taking place in the combat ring just as she notes the clear agitated confusion in the Full Moon's voice.

She speaks of her totem, of Old Man Oak and spiritual, Umbral matters.

She frowns, and says, not unkindly: "Bones to Dust, Marrick," the use of her Christian name is purposeful, intended to siphon empathy, and offer sympathy for her situation. "I am not a Theurge to offer you guidance on how best to aid a spirit such as Old Man Oak, but if what you say is true, and a Toad for the Wyrm," for it was how best she could envision what was described, and had some brief knowledge of a Toad like minion of the Wyrm. "tries to convince him that he is best to offer himself to the Wyrm, than you need to offer the spirit some reason to stay sided with Gaia. I would advise you to seek the wisdom of someone such as Gossamer Wing, but for my own advice to you?"

She hesitates, considers, her lovely features drawn into a considering frown.

"Offer the spirit something which the Wyrm cannot possibly counter. Perhaps bring a Theurge with you so that they might convince the birds to return, that they may Cleanse the area around him, and reinvigorate the land, make it unpolluted once more, and if all else fails, ask Old Man Oak if he would not rather shift to a place that is pure again, that he might be reunited with other young trees.

There is always a way, Bones to Dust, remember this when the times comes. The Wyrm is cunning, and he will look to undermine you, so you must match your wits to him, and act to counter his claims."

[Alexander] The kinsman stops dancing on his feet, dropping his heels to the asphalt, advancing.

"Because we aren't fighting for real, Sinclair. You know that. I know that. If we were fighting for real, I'd be a smear on the asphalt by now.

"So if we're not fighting for real, then I'm fighting you the way I fight whoever I get lined up with in the cage first and third Saturdays of the month. And if you and I were in a cage just now, the ref would've stopped the match on a technical knockout. You can barely stand. I'm barely scratched. No good ref would let this match continue."

[Sinclair] "I wasn't down for ten seconds," Sinclair counters, as far as technical knockouts are concerned. They're both advancing, now, walking towards one another. "And you're full of shit. We said nothing about cage match rules when you stepped up, and there's no ref."

She pauses her argument when they're just past arm's reach of each other. And looks at him. And lowers her voice.

[Marrick] She looks back, and turns so she's not molopolizing all of Katherine's space. The Fury regards the Fang beside her, and when she speaks it is something obviously intended for her ears only.

[Sinclair] There's no faux, dark sensuality in Sinclair's voice now, no glittering rage in her eyes... any more than there is normally. She looks, briefly, more like she did when she came to him after killing Art and dropped the discussion of sex when he answered Do you want me with You scare me. She looks more like she did that night she showed up, drained of her rage and spiritually restored and yet weighed down with the shame and rebuke of a half-dozen or so indictments against her character, asking only -- as she always asks first -- if she could sleep there.

No explanation. And no Sinclair, come his early wakeup time. Just a faintly warm emptiness in his bed.

There's no ballsy bluster in her voice, and no debate. Just: "Would it be too much like fucking me? If you really won completely, I mean." She's shorter than he is, though not by much, and has to look up a bit to meet his eyes. Her throat isn't bared. (Of course.) "Would it mean losing all respect for me?"
to Alexander

[Alexander] "No shit, Sinclair," Alex butts in, "if you were down for 10 that'd be a knockout, minus the technical. See the difference?"

His ever-smart mouth shuts the fuck up, though, when Sinclair drops her voice. And the kinsman lowers his head, enough to hear what's being said to him. Whatever it is, it makes him frown. His hand comes up -- the elbow faintly smeared with Sinclair's blood -- and rubs behind his neck. Then he answers, quiet himself.

[Alexander] "Yeah. And not. Sort of.

"I just don't feel the need to ... totally pound you into the dirt to prove a point or something. Put you down beneath me. Crush you beneath my heel. Whatever." He shrugs. "It's not like you've done something to me that I need to retaliate against. It's a friendly spar, Sinclair.

"For what it's worth, I didn't really expect you to pound me into the dirt either if you'd had the upper hand." An eyebrow cocks. "Was I wrong about that?"
to Sinclair

[Kate] That, whatever Marrick says lowly to the Philodox, has Katherine's pale eyes flashing back to lock on hers, and has her whispering furiously at the Ahroun.

Hmm.
Interesting.

[Sinclair] Kate and Marrick have their own business to attend to. They don't see Sinclair's eyes lower to Alex's jaw at Yeah, don't hear the yeah or the question it was answering. Nor do they see her eyes flick back up to his. Or when. Nor can they guess why.

Alex knows. That it's at Was I wrong that she looks back up, a thoughtful -- if somewhat distant -- expression turning more immediately attentive.

"I wouldn't willingly hurt you, Alex. Not to the smear-on-pavement level. Nowhere near."
to Alexander

[Alexander] He doesn't say anything to that. Directly, at least. His cheek bulges out as he tongues a molar. Then:

"I wanna ask you something. Why were you so ticked off that I called quits?"
to Sinclair

[Sinclair] "I wasn't." She sounds a little surprised. Looks it. "I just didn't want to stop."
to Alexander

[Marrick] There is silence again, and the distinct impression that she is listening. And, if the Fury is giving the impression, then surely it must be true. She nods again, taking a step back and looking at the brotherhood.

"I'll come by later in the week, I 'ppreciate your advice," and she says it like she means it. Because, well, she does.

[Alexander] "Oh. Huh." He thinks for a moment. "Way you looked and talked, I thought you were about to eat my face. Thought you were, I don't know. Sore. About losing."
to Sinclair

[Kate] Katherine still looks concerned. She reaches out, and lays a retraining hand on the Ahroun elder's arm for a beat; their eyes connect and hold. "Do come back, and tell me of your plans in regards to this, Marrick." A beat. "You are a most capable Ahroun, Bones to Dust, it would be a shame to lose you to anything but a worthy cause."

[Sinclair] She shrugs one shoulder. Her left, though that doesn't necessarily mean anything. And her head is still bleeding, but there she stands, a bit bleary-eyed, and calmly discussing whatever-it-is with the kinsman. Her attention hasn't wavered from him since she leaned in to murmur whatever-it-was.

"No, I wasn't about to eat your face. You were being a jackass but I already knew that and really in the long run nobody cares if you can beat up Garou who pull their punches, but I wasn't gonna eat your face. Got clocked hard in a relatively fair fight," she says, dismissively wiggling her fingers to one side, "and if I was sore about every time that happened I'd be covered in br--"

A beat. A thoughtful look. "I think you gave me a concussion."

Which makes her laugh, suddenly, and loudly.

[Marrick] "When your totem makes demands of you, you rise to the occasion," she says. It does nothing to assuage concerns or what-have-you, in its own right, is a concern in and of itself. Marrick has grown to associate seeing her current totem with Problems. Always a battle to be fought if you have the time to look for it.

"I'll be seeking your council again, Katherine... I'm trustin' in yer ability t'play devil's advocate. I ain't goin' in unarmed."

She nods again, and finally the words hit her. She nods.

"Be seeing you."

[Alexander] Alexander looks at Sinclair cockeyed for a moment. Then, abruptly, he barks a laugh.

"C'mon. Heal up. Let's go again. 'less you'd rather go a round with her." He jerks a thumb toward Marrick. And grins, gleam-eyed.

[Sinclair] "I don't have to do what you tell me," Sinclair insists playfully, shoving Alex in the chest...not as playfully. Her rage equals her ability to leash it at the moment. At the moment. "I should probably see what Kate can do to you, actually. Since she wasn't PAYING ATTENTION!" the Galliard yells in the Fang's direction.

[Marrick] A beat.

"I got you in trouble. Yer gonna have to stay after class now."

[Kate] Katherine just smiles a little; there is something inherently wistful in it for the moment it lasts, directed after the Full Moon. "Oui," she concedes, and then when Sinclair shouts at her, the Half Moon's eyebrows riiiiise in a clear 'ORLY' mentality, before she exchanges a totally devilish grin at Marrick, leans down as if to set Alex's jacket on the ground, balls up some snow and lobs it at Sinclair.

[Sinclair] [dex + ath + moon -2 (ow): why? because we like you]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6) Re-rolls: 4

[Sinclair] Sinclair -- whether that's her first name or her last or just the only thing she's got is unknown, and likely doesn't matter enough for anyone with access to go hunting it down on her driver's license in her wallet or on her nonpublic files on GWNet -- does indeed have a concussion. It doesn't mean much when a little moment of focus could have her shaking off the effects and fighting on anyway. It doesn't mean much when the damage Alex's elbow and the asphalt did to her head will be gone in an eyeblink as soon as she shifts.

But Sinclair doesn't shift. She doesn't use her Gift. She remains concussed, dazed and bewildered and likely not far from forgetting what the fuck just happened --

-- and snatches Kate's snowball out of midair.

It isn't that she bats it away, tossing it to the ground. That would be interesting, but not impressive. It's not that she catches it and crushes it. That would be impressive. Sinclair plucks it from the air as though time froze for a moment, handling it as gently as an egg, and does so without even seeming to try. It's effortless. It's stunning.

She holds it. She looks at it. She claps it on top of Alex's head.

And smiles at him.

[Alexander] Alexander's not particularly broad (or tall), but his torso's a solid wedge of muscle, and shoving him in the chest feels roughly like shoving a side of beef on the rack. The kinsman dances back a step or two, balance on the front of his feet again for a second, then reverting.

"Fuck no," he scoffs. "She might c--"

and this is when Kate tosses a snowball. And Sinclair catches it. And claps it on top of his head, as if Alex wasn't cold enough already getting rolled around the ground in a tshirt.

"--FUCK!" And that's it. He bends over, scooping awkwardly at the snow -- great big armfuls of it that suggests he might've never seen snow outside a ski resort in his life.

[Marrick] She looks at Kate. From Kate to Sinclair. And back to Kate.

Marrick Fisher doesn't say another word, instead she turns around to go eat a sandwich. Damnit, the woman had priorities.

[Kate] Katherine tilts back her head, props an arm around her midsection as if afraid of the consequences of it and laughs. Gleefully, openly. As if she were nothing more than an almost twenty-two year old girl having fun in the snow far too early in the morning with her friends. She sees Alex digging into the snow and, cheeks flushed and giggling like a young child, resumes forming her own and pelting them at both Alex and her pack-mate.

"It is war!" She cries joyfully, and dives for cover.

[Sinclair] "I don't think this is a good idea!" Sinclair all but wails, throwing up her hands. "I'm s'posed to be teaching you how to fight and someone's gonna get seriously hurt or I-- something. Hurt or something."

She drops suddenly to a crouch, arms around her knees, and then shifts, her shoulders broadening and her hair growing thick, coming free from its elastic binding, her clothes morphing and stretching to accomodate her new form. Which she wears for perhaps five seconds, head tucked, as the back of her head seals once more.

[Alexander] Alexander isn't wearing gloves. Alexander's fingers are about to fall the fuck up, but he gets up with two handfuls of snow -- not quite snowballs but close enough. He cocks back to throw.

Sinclair drops without warning and shifts.

There's a sudden tension in the kinsman. His arm drops; his jaw tightens. He looks at the suddenly not-human Sinclair, then at the other blonde -- the pristine one, giggling and laughing and looking for all the world like a carefree young woman when

everyone knows she's a monster. Just like her packmate.

Alex pitches his snowballs. Both of them go toward Kate, rather halfheartedly. Then he dusts his hands off and goes for his jacket.

"Too damn cold for me out here," he says. "And anyway, I'm in the middle of my beauty sleep. I'm gonna catch you guys later."

[Kate] Katherine, flushed and panting, has never looked so lovely.

She is a portrait of youth and beauty in her white coat, her blond waves dusted with snow, when Alex announces that it is too damn cold for him there is something rather near to a pout that takes Katherine's lips, however she rises, with the Kinsman's jacket in tow and offers it out to him with the rare bestow of credit: "You fight well for a human, Mister Vaughn. I bid you goodnight, then."

[Sinclair] Five seconds pass. Alex chooses to throw snowballs at Kate instead of Sinclair, all curled up in a ball at his feet. When she stands, she's in homid. Her eyes are no longer spacing out but glitter with that same savage intelligence they always seem to. She waits, at least, until Alex has caught his coat

and tackles him.

[Alexander] Alexander scoffs at that, taking his jacket and shaking it out. "I fight well for anyone, and you know it. Hey, say-- omph!"

That's the sound he makes when he hits the ground on his back. Again. This time he grabs a handful of snow and crams it in Sinclair's newly healed face.

[Sinclair] [girrrl...]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Sinclair] The sound Sinclair makes -- and it's a sudden sound, not a moment of shock followed by gibbering -- is not quite a squeal. It is a giggle, though. Right before she headbutts her kinsman again, all the snow he just palmed onto her face falling onto his.

[Alexander] (BECAUSE V'S MAKING ME ROLL EMPATHY)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [NUH UH]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [She did a fucking spectacular job of not mauling his face just now.]
to Alexander

[Alexander] +7!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

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

[Alexander] a. snowmash to the face! (blind!)
b. counterheadbutt!

[Sinclair] [1a. Get up!
1b. Punch!]

[Sinclair] [1b. dex + brawl + moon -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Sinclair] [damage +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Alexander] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Alexander] It's a different outcome this time. Sinclair's first punch cracks Alexander's head back hard enough that stars swarm in his eyes. The kinsman drops back on his ass, then his back, stunned. He whacks a hand against the snow twice, tapping out.

"Ow. Fuck. Techni...technical fuckin' knockout."

[Sinclair] She throws up her hands. Her hair is loose now. The medical tape on her ears is shredded through but still clinging on. There's blood matted to her skin, to her hair, staining the black shirt that skims her upper half. When she first waited out here, she looked... clean. She looked ready. And now that she's bloodied and disheveled, she looks more like herself. Wilder.

"Oh come on!" she cries out, in something like frustration or disgust or god only knows.

But Marrick and Schala are gone. Sinclair looks over at Kate and there's a sudden internal calculation. Katherine is her packmate now. She curled up against Kate's side after the last moot, after the Stone of Scorn. These two people, in very different ways, both shared their silence and warmth with her when she was most in need of it and most unable to ask out loud for it.

So Sinclair makes a decision. She doesn't lean over and offer her hand, laughing at him. Her face is wet from snow. Her cheeks are nose are pink. She's finally starting to feel cold when she steps over and gets on her knees next to Alex. She does take his hand, wrapping hers around his wrist, but she also puts her free hand underneath him, helping him get at least partially upright.

Her hand, eerily, is warm even through his clothes, even now.

"Alright," she says, as though that's all that needs to be said. "C'mon. It's too fuckin' cold to be training out here like this anyway."

[Alexander] Groaning, Alexander more or less gets heaved up to a sitting position. He stays there for a moment, head in one hand. Then he gives a quick, sharp snap of his head, shrugging Sinclair off.

He's not nearly so smooth, so reptile-graceful, as he gets to his feet. But he does get there.

"You wanna play again," he says, "I'll play again tomorrow."

[Kate] Katherine says little; that she is proud, however, of her pack-mate's progress, is clear in her eyes, and in the quiet, private smile that adorns her lips for the next few hours.

[Sinclair] Interestingly enough, Sinclair neither forces Alex upward nor clings to his side. She's there, and she's near, but there's a sort of restraint and attention to her behavior that is utterly at odds with everything Kate -- and perhaps Alexander -- have ever seen. She's in strict control of something right now, the way that people school their fear or hide their shame.

There's not progress here so much as a strange form of indulgence, giving in to something more dangerous, in Sinclair's eyes, than rage.

Alex shakes her off and she rises. She doesn't offer him a hand up from sitting to standing. She keeps an eye on him. "Yeah, well," she says, somewhat dismissively, definitely without offering committment, "we'll see."

Her eyes track over to Kate. "I'ma come do some laps, okay? Just let me run upstairs and grab my suit." The implication is clear: she's asking for a ride.

She's also making it so the following happens: she's a few paces behind Alexander Vaughn when he heads into the Brotherhood and back upstairs. She's far enough back that she's out of arm's reach but they both goddamnwell know she could change that in half a heartbeat. Sinclair doesn't follow him to his room but heads to the door next to it, ducking inside to grab a change of clothes and one of her swimsuits, tucking it all inside a small purple nylon duffle with wide straps made of white webbing. She's downstairs a few thundering jogs later, hopping into whatever car Kate is driving these days and swearing to Gaia and every other spirit in existence that if Kate doesn't slow the fuck down she's going to knock her head into the window and take over, for the love of Christ, Kate, what the fuck.

Doesn't really matter that she spends close to an hour in the pool at the Loft after that, after a hot shower to get the blood off her hair and skin, shredding the water in focused silence, lap after lap after lap

after lap.