lecture and be a jerk.

[Liadan] Lee hates hospitals.

There are no words with which she can describe how much she hates hospitals. She has been inside a hospital five times since her birth, and all but one of those times had been unsavory. Memories she wishes she could banish as easily as she does her one night stands, the lovers she left in hotels and clubs and cars around the globe.

They're there, though, running through her mind as she lays in her hospital bed, unable to sleep. She's on something she can't remember the name of, and while it doesn't exactly make the hurting in her back go away, she doesn't give a fuck about it. She wants...something. Her phone, a PSP, a DSi hell. She'd settle for an original GameBoy at this point.

They've got her facing the door, because Lee is always facing doors. Always watchful and wary, alert, attentive. Not so much now, with doctors and nursing staff and whoever coming in to check on her, check her bandages, check readings. Laying on her side, she doesn't quite doze.

She wants to go home.

[Alexander F. Vaughn] She's on her side, of course, because she got shot in the back. Maybe the bullet went through-and-through. More likely it splintered and bits of it nicked her viscerae, bounced off her bones. The trauma surgeon that put her back together shook his head as he pull fragment after fragment out of her. Can't believe the bitch ain't dead, he said, dropping the last one on a specimen tray. Close her up.

Now, not even twenty-four hours later, she's in a haze of medication, but doing pretty damn well all in all. She's not a Garou. She's half. That still counts for something. It counts for a lot.

There's a rap on her door. Alexander pokes his head in, then steps in altogether. Oh look: he has flowers. Big bright happy flowers, not roses or tulips or, god forbid, lilies; nothing with any symbolic meaning at all. He rolls up to the side of the bed and drops them in front of her. There's a card on it. It says in a childish hand, TO MOMMY. LOVE, JAY.

Alex pulls up a chair and drops down. He looks unfairly good: healthy, robust, strong, not wounded. It's arguable that his stupid fight caused the whole incident, and out of the three kin there, he's the one that got away totally unscathed. Fortune favors the assholes.

"Hey. You on morphine or something?" He snaps his fingers in her face a few times like she's an imbecile. Like maybe she got shot in the head and is now missing a good portion of her cortex. "You know who I am?"

[Liadan] The door creaks open and Lee glances that way. The figure that steps in is blurry, indistinct around the edges. Something about the way he moves, though. About the shape of the blur. It's familiar.

Without her glasses Lee looks, well, like Lee without her glasses. She still has that wide forehead, that same nose, those same shapely lips. She's a bit paler than usual, which is saying something. On a good day, some people would say that Lee is cute, or pretty. Not in a glamorous way. Not like the androgynous models she shoots, not like women like Danicka.

Today is not a good day.

She shifts on the bed. Not to sit up. She doesn't even shift very far, just enough to get dizzy and stop. Then someone's snapping fingers in her face. Lee swings for the offending hand, scowling.

"Get outta my face, asshole." Her hand drops back to the bed, comes to rest beside her face. They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Right now, Lee's are glassy, bleary, and she's obviously having trouble focusing on Alexander's face. "What are you doing here?"

[Alexander F. Vaughn] "What's it look like I'm doing? I've come to pay my last respects. They did tell you you're dying, right? Said you have like, twenty minutes to live. Yep."

WHAM! His palm hits the mattress, and then he barks laughter at her. "I'm just fucking with you. You're gonna be fine."

Sitting back, Alexander props a foot up on the wheeled base of her bed and looks around the room. He notes the flowers, one two three bouquets, plus his stolen ones by her face. "Well, I see I'm not the first cock in your pit." Yeah, he just said that. "Glad to see you had friends visit while I was otherwise detained. By which I mean, clapped in jail and subjected to horrid tortures.

"Don't worry," he adds in a loud stage whisper, "our secret is safe. I told them nothing."

[Liadan] She doesn't talk about the flowers, who they're from. He can read the cards if he wants. The smallest is from someone named Paul, the sentiment simple. The next from Elizabeth carries a different tone, has Xs and Os beneath the name. The biggest bouquet - and truly it's a monster, with lilies and roses and a few tiny carnations and an explosion of baby's breath - is signed by Henri, has a note written in French.

Alex is just fucking with her. He's boisterous and mobile and animated as ever and Lee can barely keep up. That's more annoying to her than the man himself. She reaches up to scrub at her face again.

"I tried to tell them you were defending me, but I might have dreamed that."

[Alexander F. Vaughn] Alexander, amazingly enough, is not nosy enough to look at her other flowers. It's possible he hasn't even looked at the card on the flowers he supposedly got her. He just tilts his chair back on two legs, props his feet up on the edge of her bed now, and cocks his head at her.

"Well, I sort of was. I was totally going to stab the big dude in the back as soon as he was past me. 'Cept then you and the blonde talked him out of it.

"Though, then you took off running. And I'd chalk that up to being a pussy, except you actually yelled at the dude with a gun to try to make him shoot you. Which, y'know. He did. But what I don't get is why you keep martyring yourself out for ... well. Me."

Typical: he thinks it's all about him.

[Liadan] "Pff," she says. It's a long, drawn out sibilant sound. "I didn't do it for you"

[Liadan] [oops, hello punctuation, there should be a period there]

[Alexander F. Vaughn] "Oh yeah? Then what do you do it for?" He smirks at her. It's out of focus; just a shift in the smear of his face that she can't really decode at her distance, in her drug haze. "The good shit they shoot you up with afterward?"

[Liadan] She can't see his face at all. Not just because she's near-sighted and her stylish wire-rimmed glasses are on the bedside table, lost somewhere amongst the flower formations. She's not looking at his face. She's looking at the indistinct shape she knows is his torso. "I didn't wan' 'im shooting at V anymore."

[Alexander F. Vaughn] "Well, same question then. What's with the constant martyrdom?"

[Liadan] "I don't know."

Which is different from what she said on the street, months and months ago when there was snow on the ground and Alexander kept insisting on giving her a ride home. On his motorcycle. In the snow. Before he learned that her apartment was within spitting distance of The Brotherhood.

"I wasn't really thinking. I just didn't want 'im shooting at V anymore."

[Alexander F. Vaughn] That makes him quiet for a while. She can't see his face clearly, isn't looking anyway, so it's impossible to tell what he thinks of this. Just the sound of his breathing for while, quiet and steady, and the steadier beep of monitors in the background. Opiates dull her sensations, make everything far away and muffled, but even so she can feel the dull heavy ache of injury, the tightness where her skin was cut open and sewn shut again. Surgery grew from butchers and barbers. Sometimes there's still little difference.

"Y'know," Alex says finally, serious for once, "you want someone to stop shooting at your friend, the best way to stop them is to bring them down first. Not put yourself in the line of fire."

On that note, he lets the front legs of his chair clap back down.

[Liadan] She lets out a laugh. It's groggy and muddled, and perhaps for the first time since that night in a motel so long ago, it's not sneering. It's not filled with sarcasm, with venomous hatred. Maybe it's the drugs, the injury, all of it.

"With what, stupid? I didn't have anything, and if I ran at him he was gonna shoot me in the face and I would've died." She looks up at his face, but all she can see are vague things. She can almost but not quite make out the shape of his eyes. She can tell that he has features like a nose and a mouth, a chin, hair. She can't quite tell what they're doing. He doesn't sound like he's sneering, though.

"I don't wanna die. It's harder to shoot a moving target so I ran."

[Liadan] "Maybe distract 'im so you could get him. One-two, pow."

[Alexander F. Vaughn] "So now you're telling me you were being a coward." He sounds skeptical. "Nevermind that most cowards don't wave their arms and go hey, look at me, shoot me! before running off. Oooor that you were ... teamworking with me. Nevermind that you running away and him chasing you means I'd have to chase him, and --

"Look, Liadan, that shit doesn't make much sense. And I don't need you to explain it to me, because I think you're nuts anyway and I don't expect you to make sense. I'm just saying. FYI. For future reference. Making yourself a bull's eye is about the least productive thing you can do, unless your purpose is to fulfill a deathwish."

[Liadan] "I told you I wasn't really thinking." I told you so. She starts to shrug her shoulder, pulls a face when the movement uses muscles attached the ones that were blown through, cut through, bruised and stitched back together. She's making a miraculous recovery and will likely be released in a few days. In fact, she'll be released tomorrow. Oh the perks of being not-completely-human. Not-completely-normal. She doesn't stop with the shrug, but slides her arms up to hug her pillow, make herself more comfortable.

"Did you just come to lecture me?"

[Alexander F. Vaughn] "Pretty much, yup. And to beat your roommate with flowers, but," he glances over her -- well, over her side, as she's prone, "it looks like you're in a single."

A pause. Then he shifts, starts to get to his feet. "I think maybe I oughta go now."

[Liadan] "Wait!" Lee lifts her head, would reach out her arm if she didn't know it was going to hurt in that weirdly disconnected way. She looks up at that vague and indistinct place where his face is, looks at him with reddish brows constricted, insistent. Almost panicked. She opens her mouth, closes it, and her face relaxes.

"Thanks. Y'know. For goin' after that guy. And for visiting even if it was just to lecture and be a jerk."

[Alexander F. Vaughn] Alexander does not, in fact, wait. That should surprise no one. He's at the door of her room when she says thanks, and that, that, does make him turn around. She can't see the skeptical rise of his eyebrow, nor how it lowers again after a moment.

He comes back across the room. Even blurred, his way of moving is familiar: that athletic, deliberately rolling gait that suggests he's bigger and stronger and tougher than he actually is. He comes to a stop by her bed, and then after a moment, he picks the stolen flowers up and sets them on her nightstand instead. Actually, it's her bedtray-cart, but same difference.

"Yeah," he says, offhand, perhaps a little awkward. "No problem." A little pause. "You get better soon, all right? I'll see you at Tribull."

[Liadan] Líadan frowns when he picks up the flowers and moves them away from her, but she doesn't comment on it. She doesn't thank him again, which could mean something.

There are things she could say to him, to this person with whom she's almost never done anything with except fight. She could tell him that she doesn't want to be left alone in this hospital room she hates, with nothing to do except stare at the multicolored scented things she knows were sent from friends who are currently in another state, stare at them and hope her meds will interrupt her sleep cycle. 2AM to 6AM. That's still a long way off. She could ask him to stay, or at least bring her a magazine or a book or a something from the hospital's gift shop. Something that will keep her occupied, something that won't leave her feeling so lonely. Hell, she could at least ask him to send along a message to someone at The Brotherhood, let them know where she is, ask someone to ask someone else to go feed her frog.

She doesn't, though. All she says is, "Yeah, okay," as she lays her head back on her pillow. She doesn't close her eyes until he's gone.

tiny.

[Unfortunate events] [Rules!
1: Post in alphabetical order, please! It helps me keep track of who is where and who we're waiting on.
2: I don't mind if you multitask! Just post in a timely manner. I'm anticipating about ten minutes per post, give or take a few minutes.
3: If I don't answer in chat, ask me in AIM. I respond well to AIM!
4: Get Out of Dead Free: Everybody gets one. One. Per character. If I accidentally kill you, or you die horribly, or you really Just Don't Want To Die, play your get out of dead free card. Once it's gone, though, it's gone. If you die in another one shot, you stay dead.
5: Have fun! Post forthcoming!

[Unfortunate events] Make sure he goes down in the second round, was the only thing he heard. It wasn't directed toward him, of course.

Of course, Alexander fucking Vaughan didn't go down in the second round. He didn't go down at all. He beat the shit out of that bantam weight pussy who had a right cross like his grandmother, and he won. Of course he won. He won because he was good at what he did, because he practiced, or maybe because he was just better than this shmuck someone had put him in the ring with.

Saturday night, he could have sworn he heard something whispered. Saw someone glaring. Cost someone money

Saturday night, he could have sworn he heard someone say Jesus fucking christ, I think he broke that guy's sternum.

Saturday night might have been a good night.

---

I don't care, just make it happen, was what Liadan Whelan didn't hear the men say in the distance. She had been doing her job. Doing something that she presumably enjoyed. Doing something she was very, very good at. taking pictures, that is. She was taking shots of the city.

Something artistic. Some upward, blurred shot of traffic or some building. People pretend to understand artistic intentions. For all the men in the car knew, Liadan was taking pictures of them. For all they knew, she was taking pictures of that model across the street, with her hair blowing in the breeze, who looked delightfully lost. Whose eyes were amber but her skin was dark, and her hair was darker. She had the kind of contrast that National Geographic photo and possibly the loveliest legs a woman could have. So very, very long, and making those over-priced heels look fabulous.

The men ruined Liadan's shot by pulling out. By then, she'd taken three quick photos in succession. By freak accident, she didn't delete them.

That was a problem, see.

----

What Danicka Musil was probably sick of was guys staring at her tits. Or maybe they were staring at her boyfriend, at the fact that he set them on-edge. She probably didn't care. or maybe she did, who knew.

For a brief moment some guy had talked to her outside fo the ladies room. Who does that? Talks to people in the ladies room when they've been powdering their nose or powdering their nose in a different way, or fixing their hair, or god forbid using the ladies room. Who does that?

Some idiot nursing a few broken ribs. Who made eye contact too long, who had a black eye coming in from the evening he said [Yeah, I work out, he said. MMA fighting. You know. He tried to sound tough, but obviously he wasn't any good at it or else he wouldn't be nursing what sounded like broken ribs]

He asks for her number, which she conveniently can't hear him do because she's leaving him by the ladies room. And goes on to finish enjoying her night. She doesn't think anything of it, or maybe she does. He leaves the club shortly thereafter, with more than his ribs injured.

---

Tonight is Thursday night.

By virtue of being Thursday, it sucks. The music on the radio sucks. The bartenders are hungover, and they suck. There are a complete lack of women in short enough skirts. Nothing is on sale at Barnes and Noble. Overall, there is nothing that goes right with Thursdays. It's worse than Monday. Finals were coming up. Reaching ever that much closer. Professors were worrying about their performance reviews.

All of this stuff doesn't matter, though, because across from a particular gym there is a halfway decent sandwich place with good food and bad security. Bad access control. The surveillance camera is all for show Caramelized onions. Fifty cent wings on Tuesdays. The cashier hates his job.

He's worked here for seven years, and has had to deal with seven years of guys like Alexander fucking Vaughan and worse. He's had fights break out over pickles. Pickles. Of course, not Alexander Vaughan. For some reason, the sandwich man kind of liked him.

Scrappy little shit won him twenty bucks last Saturday. Life was decent.

It was Thursday.

[Alexander] Saturday night was a damn good night.

Saturday night was all hot lights in a eight-sided chainlink cage, the roar of an riled-up crowd, the smack of lightly padded gloves on hard flesh, the spatter of sweat after a hit and the spatter of blood after a really good hit.

There are rules in MMA now, of course. There are steps being taken to make the whole thing more of a sport and less of a bloodsport. Less of a brawl. Less of a gladiator show where there was no such thing as throwing in the towel and 'timidity' was officially against the rules. There's still no unified governing body, though, and though more and more fights are being held in rings, Alexander always looks for the cagefights, always looks for the amateur matchups where managers didn't get in the way of fighters' egos, didn't protect fighters from taking on more than they could handle.

And then: Saturday nights are damn good nights.


The arena wasn't big. Maybe a few hundred unruly spectators packed in tight, yelling for violence. Bets and sidebets. Alexander's not a heavyweight, not the headlining fight, but he's a brutal close-range fighter, the type to clinch and pummel, the type to ground and pound. He gets popular with a bloodseeking crowd. He feeds off the energy; he's tireless and increasingly dominant; he's a showy, cocky bastard that frankly wins more by viciousness and talent than by tactic and skill.

Someone gets pissed off, watching that shit. And someone gets even more pissed off because he doesn't go down in round 2 like he's supposed to. Someone gets really fucking pissed because even without a mic pointed at his mouth half the arena could hear Alexander fucking Vaughn laughing after breaking some poor douchebag's ribs, or sternum, or face. All the arena could see him climbing the walls of the cage, screaming bloody victory out at a roaring crowd.

And THAT'S how it's going down! Yeah! Yeah! You like that? You like that?

Someone does not like that.


Now it's Thursday. And what little Changing blood he has means he always heals faster than the other guy, which means he was back jumping rope and doing laps on Sunday, back to his regular regimen by Monday. By Thursday he's fighting fit, waiting for Saturday, and he's freshly showered and ready to head home where he has no food, so he stops by the sandwich joint where the sandwich man kind of likes him and gives him free pickles.

And there he is, parked on top of a stool at the bar running the length of the window out to Grant Park. It's nice and warm in Chicago today, and Alexander's street clothes aren't much different from his workout gear: white cargo shorts, a red muscle tee with bigass arm holes to show off as much of his obsessively toned body as possible. He has ipod headphones in his ears, and bobs his head as he chows down on a big BLT.

[Liadan] Líadan walks across the way from Tribull to the sandwich shop. It's Thursday, and Thursday is one of her kickboxing days. She worked hard today, pushed herself to make up for missing class Monday night for work. The fashion photographer hates when work gets in the way of this commitment, this thing she does for herself. It's evening, and after her class let out she left her gear at the gym and jogged through the park. Not far, just enough to get her heart racing and to feel alive, feel free.

Now, she's showered. She's dressed in khaki capris and a t-shirt, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. There are those old and beat up Chucks, black and white and faded. Her damp hair is pulled to the nape of her neck. It'll dry funny that way, but she doesn't care. The only place she's going after this is her apartment, to look over photos or play Guitar Hero by herself.

Checking messages on her phone, she pushes open the door to the sandwich shop and heads for the counter.

[Danicka] Miss Musil does not remember the man on Saturday who wanted her number. She didn't ignore him; gave him a fake number and a smile and all the rest, slipped away while he was getting them a couple of drinks. It is not a rare occurrence. She gave it no weight.

Miss Musil does not train at Tribull. Her gym is more upscale, focused on fitness and sculpting rather than mixed martial arts. There's yoga classes and pilates and spinning and dance and personal trainers and nutritionists and everybody wears lululemon athletic, including Miss Musil. When she sees her personal trainer and nutritionist and takes her yoga classes, of course.

The reason fights break out over pickles at this sandwich shop, far from her gym, is that the pickles are actually quite good. Danicka smirked at the none-too-subtle pregnancy joke when she asked for extra pickles, took her sandwich and her gym bag outside, and sipped VitaminWater on a patio table, reading Crime and Punishment. In Russian.

She too, has those ubiquitous earbuds planted against either side of her skull, though they're connected to the iPhone sitting beside her plate. She doesn't see Lee go inside.

[Alexander] "So," Alexander pipes up the second Danicka sits down -- without looking away from his own sandwich at that -- "are you actually reading that, or just carrying it around because it makes you look smart?"

[Liadan] [percept + alert]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Danicka] [Perception + Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 10 (Failure at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Danicka] [Perception + Intuition]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Liadan] [percept + int]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Alexander] PA!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Alexander] PI!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Danicka] The woman in the pink and white athletic gear doesn't look up at first. Then she notices a shadow, and flicks her eyes up and over, and then reaches up and takes out one of her earbuds. "What was that?" she asks blithely. She recognizes him, obviously. They've gotten into the same tangles often enough that she has a general idea of what to expect of him... both in conversation and in a fight.

[Alexander] Bluntly, and skeptically: "Can you actually read that?"

[Liadan] The other Kinfolk don't notice the tall redhead slipping into the sandwich shop and sidling up to the counter to make her order. Lee wouldn't know how good the pickles are here if it weren't for the fights. Lee hates pickles. The cashier make think the less of her for her taste in pickle-less sandwiches, but she doesn't care.

She takes up her plate with a smile, polite and just barely reaching those dark eyes. Slipping her phone into a pocket of her gym bag, Lee makes her way back out to the patio. A glance is spared for the two sitting out there. Danicka gets a smile in greeting. Alex gets...the same. Maybe he expects her to snarl and lay into him. Or not, considering she hasn't paid him the least bit of attention for several months, despite going to the same gym.

The smile is brief, Lee's attention caught and held by the car pulling up. Something -- she doesn't know what -- doesn't feel right. Her hand tenses around the edge of her plate, and she ducks her head away. Keeping the car in her peripheral, she heads for an open patio table.

[Unfortunate events] There's a car that rolls up, and he doesn't give a shit. What-ev, you know? His knuckles hurt for some reason. That's just one car out of a dozen, but when people get out of it, Alex notices something. They guy that gets out of the back looks familiar. The other two don't, but thelittle guy- (heh) he's the familiar one. Doesn't breathe too deep.

And THAT's how it's going down!

Somehow, he gets a feeling that this might have something to do with not going down in the second. And that this? Might not go so well...
to Alexander

[Danicka] She doesn't notice any car. Just a sense like hairs rising on the back of her neck, windchimes tinkling in the distance. If she pays it mind, it doesn't show; Danicka lifts an eyebrow at Alexander, then looks down at her book and says: ""&+1056;&+1072;&+1079;&+1074;&+1077; &+1101;&+1090;&+1086; &+1089;&+1077;&+1088;&+1100;&+1077;&+1079;&+1085;&+1086;? &+1069;&+1090;&+1086; &+1085;&+1077; &+1089;&+1077;&+1088;&+1100;&+1077;&+1079;&+1085;&+1086;. &+1069;&+1090;&+1086; &+1087;&+1088;&+1086;&+1089;&+1090;&+1086; &+1092;&+1072;&+1085;&+1090;&+1072;&+1079;&+1080;&+1103;, &+1095;&+1090;&+1086;&+1073;&+1099; &+1088;&+1072;&+1079;&+1074;&+1083;&+1077;&+1095;&+1100; &+1089;&+1077;&+1073;&+1103;, &+1080;&+1075;&+1088;&+1091;&+1096;&+1082;&+1080;! &+1044;&+1072;, &+1084;&+1086;&+1078;&+1077;&+1090; &+1073;&+1099;&+1090;&+1100;, &+1101;&+1090;&+1086; &+1080;&+1075;&+1088;&+1091;&+1096;&+1082;&+1072;."

No, not just 'says'. Reads aloud, for him, from Chapter One.

Danicka reaches for her VitaminWater, which is when she sees Lee, and gives the redhead a smile. "Lee!" she calls, and waves her over.

[Alexander] "Huh," says Alexander, suitably impressed. "See I'd answer you in Russian but my spoken Russian sucks."

Then Danicka calls out to Lee, smiling, and Alex's head turns her way. He kicks out a chair from under the table. "Babydoll!" Overemoted joy, there. "Sit down! Catch up! It's -- "

he trails off. He frowns at the car pulling up, and while Lee's keeping it peripheral and Danicka's blissfully unaware, Alexander stands up, pops the last of a pickle into his mouth and opens his arms wide. It's about as genuine as his greeting to Liadan. It's posturing, not unlike a gorilla beating his chest when a rival's sighted.

"Robbie. I worried about you, man. How're the ribs?" His eyes flick down, searching the other's shirt for telltale signs of bandaging. There's something alert, balanced, ready about the kinsman.

[Unfortunate events] [Tiny Robbie: WP: oww, my pride!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Liadan] Danicka calls her name. Lee's head snaps back toward her, and she shifts her stance to better see her. Frowning slightly, she moves to join her. "Hey-" and Alex is kicking out a chair for her, greeting her with the old nickname, which is met with a disbelieving quirk of one red brow. "Hey, V."

Then Alex is rising, heading for the car. Lee sets her plate on the table, watching him for a moment as he goes. There's something off here, and it'd just be like Alexander to go poke danger right in the eye.

"I think that car ruined one of my shots last weekend," she says, offhand. Odd, that in a city as big as Chicago, the car that ruined her shot would carry a passenger known to Alex. She shrugs, trying to shake off the strange feeling.

[Unfortunate events] [Chico: Hey, I know you!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] Rolls up. Rolls up with a strong walk, on a man that's a little over five and a half feet tall. It was hard to look hard, roll hard, talk hard when you were a little man. He got enough of that shit. Enough that people called him tiny. Enough that he went down too hard, too fast, didn't stand a fucking chance. It's hard to look like you're a badass when you're not quite five seven.

He's no David, and Alex sure as shit ain't Goliath.

One of the men with them is tall. Looks like he used steroids for too long. Has tear drop tattoos under the right eye. Two, one's colored in. One isn't. Can't tell what the rest of his tattoos are, one's faded on his neck, nice script. The others are hidden under clothes.

He looks too long, too hard at Liadan. He's really trying to place her. The other man is lanky, but sturdy. Looks like he could run a marathon, is surprisingly clean, and surprisingly tan for his eyes to be so blue. He looks at the redhead, nudges the larger man beside him when he's looking at Danicka. Says something.

They both laugh.

"Chill, Tiny-"
"-I ain't tiny, motherfucker-"
"let's just take this bitch and move," Chico says. the man with the tattoos. Chico.

The blue eyed one smiles something too predatory at Danicka, "sorry you gotta see this, princess."

And things... advance.

[Alexander] "Whoa. Robbie." Alex takes a few steps forward, arms still open in that open not-open, friendly not-friendly gesture. He glances at the other two but speaks to 'Tiny'. "What the fuck's going on here?"

Passing their neighbor's table, Alexander lets his hands drop, and casually -- at least he hopes it's casual, and subtle, and surreptitious -- snags a steak knife from the edge. He keeps it folded against his forearm. Out of sight, like.

[Danicka] One earbud still in, Danicka decides -- now that Lee is joining them -- to take it out, turn off her music, and close her book. She puts the iPhone back in its sueded case, winding up the cord to her headphones with practiced motions, then puts it in the outer pocket of her gym bag as Lee is taking the kicked-out chair.

She is, it seems, blissfully unaware. She glances at the car Lee indicates, flicks her eyebrows up as Alex wanders off to go greet the bruised man, and frowns when she sees him. "I think --"

Doesn't get that far. She lifts an eyebrow at the man who calls her 'Princess'. "Oh, I've probably seen worse," she says mildly, and leans over to put her book in her gym bag.

[Liadan] Men step out of the car with the too large trunk. One heads for Alex, two are headed towards herself and Danicka. Lee tenses. Her chin dips down, and she stares at him, usually warm dark eyes hard, narrowed behind her glasses.

Then she takes in a breath, lets it out slowly. Her muscles relax, her body loosens. The tall redhead has to lean forward or bend at the knees to lower her plate to Danicka's table. She leans, sets it down, lets her gym bag slide from her shoulder and down to where she can grip the strap.

As Danicka is putting away her things, and Alex is surreptitiously grabbing up a weapon, Lee leans again, lower her bag like she's actually going to set it down.

[Unfortunate events] "It ain't none of your fucking business," he replies. Tiny, that is. the one that has a Great Dane's bark and a dachshund's temperament, "I'll deal with your shit later."

A table separates Tiny from Liadan, from Danicka, and from the man who he seems content to be fuming at. Chico steps forward, and his eyes and attention and intentions are on Liadan. Both he and Blue eyes seem to make no attempt to hide this fact, though Blue eyes takes a few steps towards the street and forward. The larger man, Chico, takes the direct route, and maybe five or six feet separate him and Alex.

Blue eyes ups the ante. Blue eyes reaches into his coat for something.

This can't be good.

Danicka bets she's seen worse. "Then I'm sorry," he replies to her, "you might wanna duck."

[Alexander] Alex looks over his shoulder at Liadan. Then he shrugs at her. "Sorry, babydoll."

He steps out of the way, leftward, leaving an open corridor between Danicka and himself for Chico to head down.

[Liadan] Alex shrugs at Lee. Her attention is focused completely on Chico, making a direct line for the photographer. She doesn't let go of her bag as it gets closer to the ground. Chico comes closer, Blue Eyes reaches for something while they're all out in the open on a nice Thursday afternoon. Lee adjusts her grip on the strap of her gym bag.

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

[Liadan] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Alexander] +7!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Unfortunate events] Tiny: +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Unfortunate events] Chico: +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Unfortunate events] Blue eyes: +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Unfortunate events] Blue eyes: 6
Alex: 9
Chico: 10
Danicka: 13
Liadan: 16
Tiny: 17

[Unfortunate events] Blue eyes, good ol' blue eyes, is a steady hand, a good shot, and standing close enough to the street that if some dumbass checked the curb and drove too fast, they might just take him out. Unfortunately, no one's driving too fast, and he's aiming a gun at Liadan Whelan.

He's not shooting. At least, not yet. Keeping that hand mighty steady, though...

[Alexander] Alexander, having stepped aside, is not actually eyeing Blue Eyes and his gun warily. He's almost too calm. Most mortals faced with a gun would be cringing, screaming, hitting the deck.

The kinsman bides his time. His eyes follow Tiny and Chico, waiting for them to step past him.

[action: held! will accept +1 diff if changed later.]

[Unfortunate events] Chico steps around and between the two short(ish) men. He's too damned calm. He's too damned old for this. He's watching too warily for this. He takes his eyes off of Alex, off of Blue eyes, and he looks at Danicka.

He folds his arms across his chest. Too tall, too built like a mountain, and building himself up to be more imposing than he probably is.

[action: Be scary! Try and intimidate Danicka (because scaring people who are a foot shorter than you is SO HARDCORE!)]

[Danicka] Considering that they must seem to be Mere Mortals to these men, the Kinfolk on the sidewalk in front of the sandwich shop are incredibly calm. Danicka leans over to put her book away and a gun is drawn. She glances up as Alex steps aside, as Chico swaggers up and...stands there. She looks at Blue Eyes and his gun.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," she says, with a sigh of exasperation. What she removes from her gym bag is hidden in her hand as she straightens up, still seated. She looks at Chico. "It's broad daylight, for Christ's sake. If someone in there," she gestures at the sandwich shop, "hasn't already called the police, someone at the gym across the street probably has. What on earth are you two thinking?"

[Reflexive-ish: Talking. Could totally be willing to roll to persuade.
1a. Also drawing a sense dep dart out of her bag, crafty-like.
1b. Held.]

[Liadan] As Chico makes his way down the corridor opened by Alexander, Líadan straightens. There's a man aiming a gun for her, but Lee has other plans for the day.

Not dying is pretty high on the list.

Danicka's talking. Lee is studying Chico, eying the big man over for a weakness, something visible she, slimmer and significantly lighter, might be able to use against him.

[Reflexive: Percept + Subt on Chico
1: Held]

[Unfortunate events] Tiny can't wait. Tiny is... well... being Tiny. Robbie. The guy who got his ass beat last week. He's fuming, he's more than fuming. He's listening to Danicka and he rolls his eyes, his ire burns, and he growls It's a little too feral for someone his size.

He looks at Chico, who seems to be faltering a little, who hasn't had his pride smashed. He pushes past him, a lot faster than he seemed. He had the jump this time.

"Shoulda gone down in the fucking second-"
"CHILL, TINY!" Blue eyes calls at him,

Tiny ain't listening

[Actions!
1a- Ruuuuuun at Alex
1b: Punch to the face!
1c: knee to the ribs]

[Unfortunate events] [1a: I'm runnin!
1b: I'm punchin'! In the face (called shot): dex4+brawl3= 7 - 4 = 3, diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 6 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]

[Alexander] [redeclare:
1a. knife Chico in the kidneys!
b. grapple Tiny
c. knife up until the sternum!]

[Unfortunate events] [str3+called shot 2 - 1 = 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Alexander] [until? UNDER.]

[Alexander] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] Tiny punches Alex in the face, and it's suddenly a reminder of why he lost that fight in the first place. So, he knees him in the chest. Or wherever it'll hit.

[Unfortunate events] [Knee!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 3 (Botch x 1 at target 7)

[Unfortunate events] [Self damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] [OWW!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] Of course, this doesn't exactly work. Instead of actually hitting him, he sort of bounces off and ends up falling on his ass. The man's pride is more injured than his rear end is, though now he's on the ground, looking up between Chico and Alexander fucking Vaughn.

Man, this week sucked.

[Liadan] It only takes a second, maybe two, for Lee to study her opponent. Searching for any imbalance of weight placement, something obvious that she can attack to her advantage.

[percept (attentive) + subt (finding weaknesses) lookin' for something I can uuuuuuse on youuuuu]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Liadan] A reddish brow quirks as she stares at the man. Lee shifts her position, moves however she needs to to put the hulking man between herself and the wouldbe shooter.

"Hey. You. Why are you letting them do this? She's right, you know, someone has to have called the cops by now. Got your license plate. Alla that."

[redeclare! Talking while moving]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Danicka] [Reflexive:
Chico, you are retarded.
Manipulation (Convincing) + Leadership (makes the most sense to me)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2

[Unfortunate events] [WP: why the fuck am I doing this?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] "Man? Fuck y'all. Fuck alluh y'all. I ain't goin' back no where for y'all punk ass bitches," he says. Chico throws his hands up, He takes a step back and turns down the street.

"This is a bunch of bullshit," and it seems that Chico?

Is going home.

[Unfortunate events] [Chico: action change: Going the fuck home!]

[Danicka] [1a. Drawing sense dep dart out of back/concealing in hand. Not activating yet.
1b. Moving to door of sandwich shop, yelling in at a man sitting at a back table: "You! Call 9-1-1!"]

[Alexander] Alexander: laughs in Tiny's face as he goes down in a heap. In the same motion, rears back to stomp -- and we do mean STOMP -- on Tiny's crotch.

Could've been worse. Could've been a knife jammed into Chico's kidneys, but the big man had the bright idea to up and go home now. Could've also been a knife point to Tiny's heart, which, present sensory input notwithstanding, would've been a whole lot worse. He follows it up with a vicious kick to the adam's apple, and all the time he's yelling:

"Know what I love about a good old street brawl, Robbie? No DQ's. OH! That's gotta HURT! Want another one? Huh? OH!"

That time it's a kick right in the face.

[redeclaring since tiny's on the ground now and Chico's routing:

1a. targeted stomp of OWness
b. targeted throat kick
c. kick!]

[Alexander] 1a. -3 dice, +1 diff (redec), +2 diff (targeted), -2 diff (grounded foe)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Alexander] str+1+2(suxx)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 6, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Alexander] [er, +2 for low blow!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] Ow!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Alexander] ignore the extra 2 dice -- wrong diff on the attack!

b. throat! -4 dice.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Alexander] [str +1 +1(succ) +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] [Fuck!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Alexander] c. OH WAIT. kick in the ribs. THE BROKEN ONES! -5 dice.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 7 (Failure at target 9)

[Unfortunate events] He gurgles a rather unpleasant sound. Tiny looks like he might throw up. And he just might, actually. He might puke up his ever-loving guts because of all of this. That is not important. What is important is that he's curled up in the fetal position.

That last kick sails over Tiny's ribcage.

Thank God he's small.

[Unfortunate events] Blue eyes suddenly finds himself without people to deal with, or to watch his back. This shit got real. Fast. Ever the people pleaser, he barks at Tiny and Chico

"Get your asses up and back here, this ain't naptime!"

Screw aiming.

This shit just got real.

[Action change! 3rb for Alex, 1 shot to Danicka]

[Unfortunate events] [3rb! Dex3+firearms3+3= 9 - 2 = 7, diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Unfortunate events] [4+1=5 (lethal)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] Aaand second shot! -3
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]

[Unfortunate events] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Danicka] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] The first shot fails to do any damage to the man wailing on Tiny, or rather, the first three shots. It's that fourth one, aimed into the blonde woman who said to call 9-1-1, rings true, and lands square in her stomach, a couple inches above her belly button.

She smells gunpowder, and it takes a second before she might look down and notice dark, dark blood trickling from her stomach.

[Unfortunate events] Blue eyes
Alex
Chico (leaving)
Danicka (Stunned)
Lee
Tiny (stunned)

[Unfortunate events] Blue eyes levels the cun again, squeezes three shots off again at Alex, then a fourth on Lee.

[action
1a: 3rb: Alex
1b: Shoot Lee]

[Alexander] "Fuck!" Now there's a flinch and a duck, hands flying instinctively over his head. Alex's eyes swing between Tiny and Danicka, both on the ground now. One's moaning and rolling around and clutching his balls. The other's bleeding.

"Are you shitting me?" Alexander fucking Vaughn can't shut up even when people pull guns out. "Tiny Robbie here wants to get his rocks off and next thing I know you're popping people off? What the fuck! Is she dead? Who the fuck are you people?"

[1a. advance on blue eyes!
b. let's do that shiv to the heart thing!
c. again!]

[Unfortunate events] People are firing shots, and Chico, now, is hauling ass away from all of this.

[action: LEAVING!]

[Danicka] It's been a long time since she was shot and the wounds weren't instantly absorbed by the effects of a bloody bandage. It's been a long time since a shot aimed at her has hit, period. Danicka is in shock for a moment, though her body responds instantly. Blood begins to pour from her, and she looks down at the exit wound on her front, realizing she's already pressed her hands to her midsection,

and she hasn't realized that she's falling until she hits the ground, knees cracking on the pavement, body crumpling against the side of the sandwich shop. There's blood spray across the glass, across the concrete, and she's already drenched. Her expensive yoga clothes are ruined. That jacket alone cost a hundred and twenty dollars.

She exhales heavily, and opens her eyes, turning over and looking at the guy who just shot her. A bizarre thought flashes through her mind, the imagine of an acorn in the process of spouting, and something very similar to the rage that fuels their cousins runs through her.

"You son of a bitch," she spits, all venom and English, and her eyes turn to poison.

[-1WP to ignore stun
1a. crawl back to gym bag
1b. -1WP for BB]

[Liadan] Shots go off, and Lee flinches. And when she gets a chance to look around, she sees

Danicka. Shot and bleeding from her stomach. Lee drops her gym bag. Glares at the man with the gun. "Son of a bitch. I'm the one you're after, right, you cocksucking motherfucker? Come and get me!"

[Reflexive?: Hurling insults/taunting
Action: Run east (away from Chico)]

[Liadan] [manip + exp: YOUR MOTHER IS A HAMSTER AND YOUR FATHER SMELLS OF ELDERBERRIES]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Unfortunate events] [WP: Oh you BITCH! Resist!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Alexander] 1a. mvmt!
b. stab! +2 diff for targeting, -4 dice
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Alexander] c. let's do that again. +WP!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]

[Alexander] [str +1(succ) +2(sfx)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] [soak?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 8 (Failure at target 8)

[Unfortunate events] [Aaand +1 diff to changing targets (sorry, Lee!)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Unfortunate events] Damage:
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Liadan] [Soak?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Unfortunate events] And another shot at Lee!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] Damage?
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Liadan] [do it again, girl!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 9, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[Unfortunate events] The shot nails Lee in the back, and it's enough that she falls to her knees. She hits the ground, blood starts to poo. The second shot should have killed her. Fianna are made of stronger things than muscle and skin. She's kicked a Black Spiral to death-

What's a gun in comparison?

In the distance, they start to hear sirens. Apparently, someone did call 9-1-1

[Unfortunate events] [Blue eyes: Oh shit! Run away! Homeboy just stabbed me!]

[Unfortunate events] [when we read this transcript? let it be known that blood starts to pool. Not poo.]

[Alexander] "You bitch! Get back here!" For once, that's all the comment Alex has right now.

[1a. chase and stab!
b. cut throat!]

[Unfortunate events] Chico is, at this moment, nowhere in sight.

[Danicka] [1a. draw and load
1b. 3rb on blue eyes]

[Liadan] [1a: Get up
1b: Stagger on, grumbling and swearing like an old man]

[Unfortunate events] Tiny hauls himself up to his feet. Or, rather, tries to haul himself up to his feet. He's not walking the way he should, and he's white as Hell... but it's hard to tell whether or not it's from the gunshots or it's because of the fact that someone almost died, or because he just realized how in over his head he was.

Whatever it was, Robbie turned tail and ran. Ran about as fast as he could at that.

[Danicka] [1b. 3rb -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 7) [WP]

[Danicka] [Damage! 4 + 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] Soak?
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Alexander] a. stab! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 6 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Alexander] str+1!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] Soak?
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 9 (Failure at target 8)

[Alexander] b. vicious throatslitting move! +2 diff
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Alexander] str +1!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Unfortunate events] The sight itself is a dismal one. There's blood everywhere, people are getting shot, and Alexander Vaughn is chasing a man down with a utensil with the intent of taking him out. The man leaves as fast as he can, but it seems that others are intent on finishing things up.

This is Chicago. This is self-defense. This was a straight up attack from one party to the other. They might get their pictures in the paper, marked as heroes. Or better yet, end up as internet memes. However, they aren't looking for fame of any kind, or for anything like that-

Or, conversely, the cops might be rounding the corner in time to see a redheaded female shuffling away from a scene. To watch Alexander fucking Vaughn slit a man's throat, and to see Danicka Musil, covered in blood with no wound in sight.

By the time the body falls, the other two men are nowhere in sight and the kinfolk can see the flashing lights.

... suffice to say, Thursdays sucked.

[Danicka] Her gun is registered.

She's bloodsoaked and there are witnesses on two sides of the street that saw her get shot and fall.

Danicka hears sirens and begins to quietly, invisibly panic. She breathes normally, and her eyes and face are placid, but three rounds went off from her nine millimeter into that man over there, and her blood is everywhere and there isn't a fucking mark on her. There's bulletholes in her clothing and there's not a fucking mark on her.

She exhales, and inhales, and exhales again. "Shit."

[Alexander] "Shit."

Alex seems to concur. There's a dead body at his feet. There's a bloody steak knife in his hand. There are a lot of staring sandwichers, and there are sirens approaching, and he's never getting free pickles here again.

"Shit," he says again, and turns, and jogs over to the blonde, and the redhead, and both of them are shot but one isn't bleeding anymore, and --

"Is she all right?" Lee, that is. Without waiting for an answer, he goes on, low: "I think I killed him. And I think yelling obnoxious shit is going to look bad when I plea self-defense. So if I end up in jail, can one of you bail me out? And testify if I end up in court?" And raising his voice: "Hey, call 911 again and tell them to send an ambulance!"

[Danicka] "Yeah," she exhales, when Alex asked to be bailed out. She's casting about with her eyes for Lee, and if there weren't cops coming she'd heal her, if this was a normal fight --

sick, that for her 'normal' means fomori, means spirals, means Garou cleaning up. Not this.

-- she could get away with having healed herself. Danicka doesn't bother to try and put away the gun. She safeties it, and blinks a few times. "I'll be bailing myself out, too, anyway, I think."

[Liadan] Lee is not fine.

She had made it a decent distance when that first shot ripped into her back, bringing her to her knees. It surprised her. Shocked her. And that gave her just enough time to pull herself to her feet and try to carry on, try to keep drawing the fire away from Danicka and Alexander. Her pace slows to a halt, and she turns to look back over the damage. Alex is fine. Danicka's fine. The bad guys are down, for the most part. Lee would head back to the others, but first she needs to stop, catch her breath.

She slumps onto a bus stop bench, starts to lean back, but stops. Shifts. It hurts to sit, hurts to breathe. She slumps, and she waits for someone to call her a damn ambulance.

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*]