It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the clouds were white and puffy and hesitant to take over the sky. Very little wind. Blue stretching out everywhere.
Avery had brunch on the patio of her penthouse. She sipped coffee and played footsie with her fiance, who teased her for hiding her toes against his warm leg since she was the one who insisted on eating outside. She came to the office later, because the first challenge brought to her attention for the day was for a pair of Glass Walkers who had raved about their grievances with foam flecking their mouths, only to pull out their phones and schedule a time to come in and sort things out. It took some juggling, but they avoided having a secondary challenge of grievance over so-and-so being unwilling to move their such-and-such to another time, which Avery counted as a success.
The challenge was settled on the awakened floor rather than in her office. Once Walkers have foam at their mouths you can't quite convince them to settle into a nice game of chess, she's found. But things were settled, and the loser slunk off nursing a gash across his side and missing part of his jaw, while the winner took the piece of jawbone she'd ripped free as a trophy. Snapped quit mewling, it'll grow back at her opponent, only to get a steady stare and a quiet tsk from the Master of Challenges.
It is well known that she does not approve of gloating. Not over one's allies, by any means. It's understandable, though still a bit tacky, to gloat over fallen minions of the Wyrm. And she simply finds it in the utmost distaste to kick one when one is down. The comment will be remembered, just as much as the victory.
--
They are leaving. And Avery is watching the blood soak into the challenge floor. She wonders a bit at this sometimes, how the floor drinks this blood. It disturbs her, in some ways: like a leech. On the other hand, she has swallowed her fair share of blood as well, when hunting. There are also bats and mosquitos, just as birthed by Gaia as she is, who survive on such things. She decides, watching the blood vanish, that this blood is -- like the challenges themselves -- an offering to the spirit of the place. It is honorable blood, consumed by a sacred spirit with the blessing of both the sept and their mother, maker of all things.
So Avery gives a little smile to the floor, tapping the toe of her baby-pink pumps against the edge of the floor and feeling it pulse back at her with warm familiarity. Lacing her hands before her, she turns from the challenge mat, intending to stride back to her office on the lower floor to write up her report and assessment of said challenge.
MorganFirebrand isn't as familiar with the city Sept.
It's less to do with a particular distaste for high rises (though, inwardly, the redhead had to admit they occasionally gave her a sense of odd, instinctive foreboding) and more that she has a fondness for the open air of Forgotten Questions. It's only the teenager's second or third journey up the imposing glass structure and to nobody's surprise, at least, those with a passing awareness of the sort of creature she was, she's to be found at some point standing on the sidelines with her arms and legs crossed; the latter at the ankle; neatly tied laces in pink and purple standing in clear regard beneath the frayed hem of her jeans watching a Glass Walker tear half the jaw off another.
She'd been lingering about the 43rd floor before the challenge in question began, though her interest had only drawn her closer when the snarls and copper tang of blood hung potent in the air; the vicious carry of the sounds of battle like a siren song to the young, eager Ahrouns in the vicinity. Morgan watches the fray; her expression quite a thing without particular draw; eyes of a very pale, discerning blue fixed on each parry and lunge and rend of claws through the air before she shifts and lowers herself into a crouch. Better to gain a clearer vantage point, perhaps.
The movement is quite fluidly animal, this being said. The watchful approach of the Garou contemplating the brutality before her. The she-wolf waits until the battle is quite completed before she rises from her vantage point and falls into an easy; if unannounced step with the Mistress of Challenges.
"Don't get the way they settled that." This, Morgan's blunt appraisal. "Too many chances in t'fight for that move at the end." Her sneakers make a rubbery snik-snik on the floor. "How many challenges do you end up overseeing every day, rhya?" Morgan follows her toward the elevator, apparently curious to hear the answer.
St. JamesDice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4) ( botch x 1 )
St. James[Wits+intimidation: how angry was this letter to the cell phone company?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 5, 7, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
St. JamesLetters had been sent.
Oh, letters had been sent, alright. She had been at her apartment going through a stack of papers when she found a letter to the sept. A letterthat was polite and well-worded, letting people know that she was, in fact, in town and that she was going to be residing in Denver for the foreseeable future. The standard letters of letting someone know that she was going to be somewhere, like this was some awkward experience where she wasn't going to be random unexpected kinfolk meandering around being an unknown entity in town.
Instead, she found that letter stuffed in the envelope labeled kindly fuck yourself. The envelope that was provided to her by AT&T along with a half filled out survey asking how their service was.
Which meant-
"Shit."
----
So, there she was at the sept. She knew she wasn't supposed to be there unescorted. She knew she was probably supposed to be waiting for some well-meaning Glass Walker to randomly sweep her up and give her the assistance she needed to get her cell phone bill back but that would involve explaining to other Glass Walkers that she had mailed the wrong letter to the sept and there was, at that juncture, somewhere in Cold Crescent, a letter detailing every wrong AT&T has committed against one Cassidy St. James and in painstaking detail the kinds of things that are legally permissible for her to do in retaliation.
Never write letters when you are angry, ladies and gentlemen.
She ran through her writing over and over again, clad in a nice pair of slacks and a warm sweater and a surprising amount of eyeliner, and she tried to remember how ambiguous she had kept it and-
"I wonder if Rafael gave me a life insurance policy," she said outloud, knowing that if that beautifully written letter of utter vitriol ended up in the wrong hands she would probably be cashing in on said policy.
She inhaled, and ventured forth to territories she knew she didn't need to be in.
"Please don't let anyone be here, please don't let anyone be here, please don't let anyone be here-"
Aaaaand there were garou.
"..."
Maybe if she held very very still nobody would see her.
RafaëlWatchers disperse. Always plenty of them. Bloodthirst is a basic drive, deep as hunger and lust.
Wolf can hardly throw stones. There he is, sitting up there in the bleachers, benches, seats, whatever it might be set out for the audience. Revealed by the thinning crowd. Way in the back, sitting with his feet apart and his elbows on his knees. Worn jeans and dirty boots and motorcycle jacket worn so often it's soft as a second skin.
Gets up as the Fang and the Fiann head off, more or less together. Wolf's a hulking thing, a brute of brutish proportions. Startlingly light on his feet as he comes down, though. Falls in behind them. Listening in. Rudely eavesdropping, if we're being factual.
Avery ChaseThroughout the challenge, the Master of Challenges has stood some distance from the edge of the challenge floor. Stood in those shining pink pumps, in a tea-length grey sheath dress, wearing a set of pearls around her neck, her hair in a golden updo. Gold bracelets on her right arm; glorious radiant-cut diamond solitaire on the third finger of her left hand. That diamond is, as one might put it, big enough to show the world he means it but stops just shy of being obnoxious. No one is above rumors, though Avery is considered by many to be above reproach. The rumors, such as they are, really only sully the mouths of the mean-spirited or the ignorant or the old-fashioned, but suffice it to say: many people are aware that Avery has taken a kinsman not of her tribe as her betrothed. It's his gift to her that glinted on her hand while she surveyed the challenge.
She is aware of onlookers, including the young fire-haired Ahroun who is trying to learn something from the fighting. She is aware of her tribesman sitting on a bench off to the side, one that looks like it might have been taken from a locker room somewhere. It's even bolted to the floor, not that this would stop an angry crinos from yanking it out of the ground and hitting someone with it. But she does not attend to their presence until after the challenge is completed and the challengers have departed. And when Morgan comes up alongside her and starts questioning her, Avery just smiles, as though pleased that Morgan is taking an interest.
Which she is.
"Sometimes, Firebrand, the act of challenging one of your own kind is not entirely about ensuring a certain outcome." Leaves that there. Does not explain further unless asked. Glances back at Rafael following them, giving him a little nod of hello. Back to Morgan, then: "It depends on the season, and on the phase of the moon, and the agitation of the spirits. There are even times when the challenge floor becomes hungry for conflict, and I will ask wolves to come in to... feed it, so to speak. A little light wrestling." She gives a small shrug. "There really is no aver--"
glances, mid-word, up and over at the elevator, if only to take stock of those who enter and who departs, but then turns back to Morgan, unconcerned, "--age."
Rafaël"The hell are you doing here?"
This comes from behind Avery and Morgan. This comes more or less over their heads. This comes from the wolf, who's frowning at his maid. Or at least: the woman who is his off-duty maid.
MorganAvery Chase is the sort of woman Morgan Roche quietly felt no shortage of occasional envy toward. She'd known the occasional Silver Fang at her home Sept; considered them in general a proud, stand-offish lot in so far as greeting those outside their own were concerned (and certainly her own misadventures hadn't helped in terms of inter-peer reputation) but carried no great personal ill will toward them. She admired the simple prestige the other female invoked and offered and it was no figment of imagination or flight of fancy that when she dropped into step with Radiant Honor, she made a physical point to correct her posture.
Losing her slouch; dropping her hands from hoodie pockets to her sides. Morgan's nails were short; bitten down and bare of any adornments.
She had, at least for the present, made the concession of tying her long hair back in a ponytail and it left a clearer impression of her features. The thin slope of her nose; the shape and prominence of cheekbones and a strong jaw and chin. Her complexion verging on the side of too-pale; lightly dusted with freckles and prone to easily reddening when the young warrior was agitated; a clear and present barometer to her emotions. Presently; she didn't seem anything but rather interested in absorbing every last morsel the Philodox beside her had to offer, she didn't even seem prickled by the hulking shadow dogging their heels.
Simply makes some noise; half assessment; half eagerness. "So, we can come in and just start t'fight and it's somethin' the Sept likes?" She seems pleasantly surprised by it; a little pronounced hop to her footsteps; twisting and half moving in an excited backward stroll. Rafael is behind them and the Fiann rolls his presence there into her current exhilaration. "So, when I want t'come do somethin' on the full moon, I can just come in and use the challenge floor? That's --"
The elevator opens and Morgan half trips on her shoelace and rights herself without comment until she sees -- "Hey, isn't that your maid?"
This, a quick, pointed cut of her eyes to Rafael, who barks out the demand to know why she's hear. Morgan's arms find their way back across her chest; she frowns, but it remains the extent of her own curiosity at the Kinfolk's sudden appearance.
St. James"Getting my mail?" she says it like it's a question, "I accidentally mailed my cell phone bill here."
Yes, she says it like this is normal. yes, she says it like this is nothing to be ashamed of, and she makes her approach like it's a giant arc because she doesn't approach thingsthat could literally eat her head in a direct line. You give them space, you let them get used to the idea that you are there, and then you approach.
"It's a very personal cell phone bill."
Rafaël"Yes," aside to Morgan. Was indeed his maid. And to said maid:
"Personal cell bill?"
MorganMorgan looks confused. "What's it got like 1900 numbers on it or something? They won't judge." Firebrand hesitates. "Well, most o'them."
Avery Chase"The challenge floor enjoys honorable conflict," Avery corrects carefully. "Or at least: conflict that does not sadden Gaia. Its spirit does not speak clearly to us. But yes, if you would like to come to the sept and fight with your people, that is something you may do, and it accords with your nature, as well as making a pleasing offering to this particular spirit. Though on the full moon, the revel is also a good outlet."
They are both looking at the elevator, then.
The presence of the kinfolk on the 43rd floor does not make Avery storm over, grab the errant Glass Walker by the ear, and haul her into the elevator with a well-rehearsed speech asking her what she was thinking and just wait til your father gets home. Avery has been here long enough to remember hearing what happened on this floor. Avery looks around and tries not to visualize what she heard: what they did before the shrine to Luna. The blood. The body parts. The fire.
How long it took for the smell to leave. She tries not to think of it, though she looks over at the elevator every single time it opens when she is here. She tells herself she would do so anywhere that she considered her protectorate, and that's the truth, at least.
But she does notice when Rafael stops following Avery and Morgan and addresses his maid. Avery knows that this woman is his maid because a moment later, Morgan is saying so. She turns her head quite gracefully, adorned so perfectly in dove-grey and blossom-pink, gold and pearl and diamond. How could she help but be graceful? The Garou who look upon her see her purity atop her beauty, blessings of a proud spirit who soars over the world and loves them, them best of all of Gaia's children. There is something aquiline to her features, her movements, even though she is nothing like a bird. She is not so frail; she is still a wolf.
Rafael has seen her fight. Seen her coated in blood. He knows.
--
A cell phone bill. Mail. Avery lifts a single dark eyebrow. "Mr. York is in charge of retrieving mail for the sept," she tells Cassidy. "Why on earth were you mailing your bill anywhere?"
St. James"Have you ever emailed someone something that you really, really didn't intend to send them, but you did and then you have to hack their email account and delete any evidence of the email having ever existed from the server?"
Again, said like this was completely normal.
"That's what makes this even worse that I was mailing it in the first place, I usually pay this stupid thing online but there wasn't an online option to express my utter dissatisfaction in the fashion I'd originally wanted. They have character limits."
RafaëlWolf's vaguely amused. Lip curls; a smirk.
"So, the snailmail version of an angry drunk-text. Still don't get why you're here. Didn't know Sept has its own mobile carrier."
Avery ChaseTiniest of noises, from Ms. Chase. Behind her lips. High-pitched. Of course: she is too polite to laugh out loud right now.
MorganThe Fiann tilts her head just so. It's wolfish, the gesture.
The way her clear eyes travel in a quick circuit over Cassidy's form as if she were attempting to make sense of her in her entirety. The Kinswoman speaks of technology; the prevalence and familiarity of the Weaver in her every day life and Morgan shifts a little, where she stands. Her hands drop, but flutter around near her sides like uncertain birds; indecisive on where to land.
She is not familiar with computers. Nor cellphones. While not any sort of Garou raised in the wilderness; Firebrand has a particularly spartan lifestyle. She wears clothing for days on end; camps under the brightness of the moon; trades songs and tales with her Kinsman over beer and does not, by all accounts, understand the importance of a lost cell phone bill.
The wolf at once side looks amused. There's a tiny noise from the other that suggests perhaps, some semblance of the same. The Fiann looks between them; furrows fiery red brows and then stares at Cassidy. "Well they aren't settin' anyone on y'on sight, so I dare say you'll be okay." A hand scratches the opposing elbow.
"You didn't send anythin' to them about us, did ya?"
St. James"I accidentally stuffed the letter in the envelope for my hi, I'm here letter. Some people like hard copy versions on top of digital ones so I thought-" she stops, having realized that she hasn't introduced herself to the blonde woman there, so she smiles. Polite. Composed. Completely unlike the utter mess of a lady who accidentally sent the sept hatemail.
"I'm Cassidy St. James, by the way? Glass Walker kinfolk, incredibly embarrassed, it's a pleasure," because now that this was out of the way.
St. James"Oh, no. Not at all. That letter is here," she even took it out of her back pocket, displayed on nice paper and everything. "I just don't want the sept officials to read a letter that's addressed to the assholes in charge of this godawful establishemtn and think I'm talking to them."
Avery Chase"Now," Avery says, aside to Morgan, "I'm sure no one under the employ of Mr. van der Valk would be so foolish."
There's something about the way she says this. Without chastisement of Morgan, nor even of Cassidy, whose name she is missing. There's something of a gentle defense of Rafael himself: that he would never hire anyone who was not of quality and insight.
Overhearing Cassidy's response, though, she's a bit distracted. Brightening: "Oh, you sent a handwritten note? That's so lovely." This, too: genuine. Pleased.
Striding over, she offers the kinswoman her hand. The one with the gold bracelets. The one that is slightly turned, just a touch, so her palm faces downward as she offers it. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. St. James," she says, with all trappings of being entirely sincere. "I have not heard of any errant cell phone bills coming through the mail, though if I do, I'm sure it will simply be pinned up on a bulletin board for the amusement and edification of our population."
St. James(*establishment)
RafaëlThat implicit endorsement surprises the wolf. Turns his head, raises his eyebrows. About to say something about that; how little he had to do with the hiring process. Doesn't. Sees how insulting that would be to both Fostern and kin.
"This is the Master of the Challenge," instead; a tacked-on piece for Cassidy's benefit. "Also a Fang."
Avery ChaseRafael does the most piss-poor job of introducing Avery properly that she has heard in a long time, but she has servants who regularly introduce her to others and are trained in how to do so depending on the station of the person being brought into their mistress's company. He is just an Ahroun, after all, and it is not his job to memorize such things.
"Avery Chase," she says simply, to Cassidy. Leaves out things such as her auspice, her rank, her endless name.
MorganMorgan seems mollified by the fact Cassidy has the letter she intended to send with her; the Ahroun's expression softening from its posture of intent consternation and uncertainty into something far more approachable. She even snorts, softly, at the idea of the letter of vehement indignation being pinned up for public scrutiny and amusement.
There's a grin; a toothy one. She rocks on her heels a little as introductions are made and briefly, cranes her neck back the way they came to check if a new challenge is underway. There isn't, the floor stands starkly empty and the Ahroun's attention snaps back.
"I was thinkin' of heading down to get somethin' to eat." A leading comment that apparently includes everyone gathered around her, but particularly the Kinswoman. Morgan clearly feeling that being on the present floor she is might be making her amenable to eating -- or at the very least, hastily departing it. "I can take y'down with me if you want."
Rafaël
"There a cafeteria in this building, or you guys going out?"
St. JamesShe takes Avery's hand, shakes it like she's a professional, like she's confident, smiles like she's pleased to meet the woman because, well, she is pleased to meet the woman.
"I think my pride could survive someone reading my angry mail for a week, you do something dumb there has to be a consequence," she laughs, a little more at lease since she's fairly certain nobody terriblyimportant is going to get terribly offended by her letter.
"You know, I've not actually had the food here? But I think I would like to try it, unless someone else has objections."
Avery Chase"There is a kitchen," she informs the three of them, "on the dormitory floor. But I cannot promise it has anything in it but mustard. Hosea does try to keep it somewhat stocked, but we have cubs staying here."
Ergo: there is nothing in the fridge but mustard.
"Alternatively, we could order something in. I'm afraid I have a few writeups to finish before I can go out anywhere. But I certainly wouldn't mind some company."
RafaëlPhilodox wouldn't mind company.
Funny thing, that. Because most times wolf would say the opposite. Rather be alone than with someone. Left to himself than bothered. Still; doesn't immediately turn and walk off. Thinks a minute.
"Could order pizza." Some inside joke of his own, here: "Watch old movies."
Morgan"I met a Kinsman of your tribe the other night, actually," this, Morgan turning to announce to Avery. "The night o'the last Moot, when I spoke about the EnerJam situation." The Ahroun flits a quick glance at the Kinswoman, as if mentally weighing up how cautious she needed to be in her company.
"Name was somethin' like Larsson," This, with a twisted expression; Morgan's memory recalling the broad-shouldered Kinsman; his quiet, stoic demeanor. "He said he had a Cub. Was his first Moot 'n verythin'. Told him I'd keep an eye out. Tell people he was in t'city if they didn't know it." There's a beat; then a shrug as if to say: duty done. Thought you should know. Then: "Pizza works."
The Fianna jabs at the button for the elevator. Gives Rafael this sort of abrupt, quizzical look when he mentions old movies, as if she's trying to relay that piece of information about him. "Black and white or color?" She presses; eyes fixed on him.
St. JamesOnce upon a time, she knew a Bone Gnawer. He wasn't anyone important, but when were Bone Gnawers ever someone important? But she remembered stories about him. She remembered two packs sitting down, she remembered hearing the tale that they hated each other, with a vicious, vehement passion. That they were never going to work together, but when a threat loomed upon their sept in New Jersey, he did the unthinkable.
He sat them down.
He made them order pizza together.
Made them argue, made them talk, made them meet a compromise and performed a rite that made sense only to the Bone Gnawer.
Feuds stopped, things calmed, and what she remembered about that tale was something simple: Shadow Lords don't like pineapples on their pizza. There was probably something about unity and the importance of coming together in a crisis in that story, but all she could remember at that moment was that they had ordered a supreme pizza with green olives and no pineapples because pineapples were just wrong.
"I'd be good for pizza. I can order, does anyone have preferences?"
RafaëlWolf's suddenly on the defensive. It's in his body language; head pulled back, brow knit.
"Both." He frowns a little longer at the other full-moon. "Audrey Hepburn."
St. James"You can stream Breakfast at Tiffany's. Or Sabrina."
Avery ChasePizza, he says.
Avery's smile doesn't falter. She is tolerant. And she knows a good place. Doesn't get the movies joke, but gives a small shrug. "I do have a screen in my office. We could get on Netflix, if you like."
They start walking. Or rather: Avery begins to walk. Walks with purpose and grace, slow enough to indicate she intends to maintain the converastion. Morgan is speaking to her, and she attends carefully. "I haven't met one named Larsson, but I'll keep an eye out for him."
There is a tremor of something else behind those eyes, that phrase. A frission of irritation, though it is not directed at Morgan. They get to the elevator to go down a floor. "Basil Doc's," she says, as the doors slide closed. "Large Big Wheel, Large Fargo." Pauses a moment, glancing at Rafael and Morgan. "Large Supreme as well. May as well get a couple of caprese salads, bruschetta, and some beer. Maybe some wine," she adds thoughtfully. "We can send someone to pick it all up."
Since beer doesn't get delivered. Yet. And 'someone', since several someones owe Avery small favors by now. Mostly cubs and cliaths who got into trouble but were let off the hook.
She smiles as they stride out together onto the 42nd floor. "I love Audrey Hepburn. Really an inspiration."
MorganRafael is on the defensive. Morgan looks as if she's half tempted to pounce on the slightest provocation depending on his answer. Both, he says. She waits, then: Audrey Hepburn. There's a twitch at the edge of the Fianna's mouth, it curls eventually, crooking up into this spontaneously bright thing. She looks, in the moment, quite painfully young.
"Alrigh'."
The elevator arrives with a quiet parting of doors; they whoosh open and as they gather inside; she says in a more affable tone as the doors slide shut on them, once the Fostern has finished the food order: "I liked Gone With the Wind."
Rafaël"Too long," is the wolf's rather rude critique. "Too melodramatic. Too much fainting."
Elevator dings to the dormitory floor.
"If there's a cub running around maybe I should track him down. Anyone watching him at all?"
Avery ChaseThe 42nd floor has more people in it. The nerve center, where the Warder stands, where his team works. The offices of the Moonwalker. But there are many closed, empty offices: there is no Master of Rites currently, for one thing. They walk down the angled hallway towards Avery's office, while Rafael and Morgan discuss old movies.
--
In another life, Avery might have also had an office in a building like this. Some gleaming high-rise downtown. Might have been some high-powered executive, dressed much as she is now. Might have been a politician. Would still have been smart and ambitious and principled. In this life, she has an office anyway in a gleaming high-rise downtown. But her name is not on the double, frosted-glass doors. Her position certainly isn't.
Doesn't matter. She is close to the office that used to be the Sept Leader's and is now the Moonwalker's. She is a key member of the leadership of Cold Crescent. She is in the fourth-tallest building in the city, on a floor that is second-from-the-top. She has a view: a glassy panorama of the city, a hint of the mountains -- only a hint. She is on the eastern arm of the building, after all. Her office is large, and open. There is a divider within it, a wall she had installed with a frosted glass door and a heavy lock. Through that little interior door is a small -- as in tiny -- sanctuary, but no on entering with her now sees it.
The Challenge Floor is one floor above them, but not all challenges have to be taken there. The majority of the space in Avery's office is open, open, empty. Angled at a corner of her office is a clean, simple desk, long and broad and modern-simple, with a comfortable chair of white leather and shining chrome behind it. Avery has a computer here, and a sleek wireless printer hidden in a nearby cabinet, and she has a small pot with an orchid growing from it, but she has little else. She has shades that she can roll down over the windows with the press of a button, light-blocking but -- more importantly -- concealing everything else inside from any eyes that might see in, whether by telescope or helicopter.
There is a massive shelving unit against one wall, made up of several rectangular cabinets of varying sizes. There are weapons in that cabinet. There are games both recognizable and obscure. There are many things in those cabinets, fit for many sorts of challenges.
There is a small seating area in another corner, three armchairs and a little table in the middle that has a bowl of white chocolate M&Ms in pink, white, and soft grey. But other than her desk, the cabinetry, and the little seating area, the rest of the office is open, open, open. There's enough room for people to throw punches at each other, for example.
--
As she opens that door to lead them in, she glances back at Rafael offering to track down this wayward cub whose father can't be bothered to introduce himself to his tribe except via an outside proxy, as an afterthought. That frission of irritation, again. Avery covers with a smile. "I do hope that someone is. Other than his father alone." Somewhere buried far, far beneath her words is an intonation suggesting WHAT SORT OF AN IDIOT --
St. James"You know, I've read Gone with the Wind, but I've never seen Gone With the Wind," she admits, though it's not much of an admission.
There wasn't a lot to do in prison. She could either do pushups or she could read and, given the limited selection in the library, she was lucky to get Gone with the Wind. But she read it on the recommendation of a woman who was serving a two year sentence for check fraud. Classy, long legs. Amazing handwriting.
We digress. Linda recommended Gone with the Wind.
Morgan"There was an intermission," she objects with, rather fervently and then emits a low huff of disagreement when he says it was too melodramatic with too much fainting. "S'meant to be grandiose and romantic." There's the decided impression, with the manner Morgan crosses her arms over her chest and sticks a hip out that she's offering teenaged dismissal of his entire argument.
Until the doors open again and they're making headway toward the office of one Avery Chase; the Fiann's eyes sweeping out over the views offered; en route and -- naturally -- within. The Ahroun instantly begins to do an inspection; hands kept to herself, of course. She's curious, impatiently so but she has enough restraint or at the very least, ingrained respect for her betters in Rank, not to touch a damn thing without consent. She simply tours the space; much like an animal scenting out new territory.
"He didn't really say," if his son was being watched. Morgan draws back from her inspection; frowning at that. "I figured he was, if he was at t'Moot." A beat. Her eyes follow Avery, flit to Rafael. "Seemed eager t'be involved in whatever was happening when I told him and another Kin to stay clear o'any drinks named EnerJam." The Fianna's hands unerringly find their way back to her pockets.
"Told them both to leave it t'us." Firm, that.
Rafaël"My housemate says EnerJam's on the shelves now. In stores." While the other full-moon explores the office, the wolf stays still. Stands in the middle of the room, touching nothing, disturbing nothing. Watches the other wolves, though, and the kin to a lesser degree. "You guys seen it?"
Avery ChaseIn her office, Avery goes to her desk, walking around it and pressing a button on a remote. Across the room, a flatscreen descends from the ceiling. She paid for that herself. The television, the installation, and the way to ensure that it could be safely stored away from bodies being thrown into walls.
She looks over at Rafael and Morgan, a wry little smirk curving the corner of her lovely set of lips. "Please," she says to the lot of them, "make yourselves comfortable. Ms. St. James, if you would be so kind as to call in our order to Basil Doc's, I'll --"
she stops. EnerJam. In stores. Avery's back straightens. "I have not," she says to Rafael. There is a clip at the end of the words. She bites them off. "What of the other substance encountered around Christmas? Something to do with a blob-like fomor." She looks at Morgan. "I believe you were there, dear."
MorganMorgan's frown deepens; lines setting into clear regard on her face at that announcement. A flush beginning to crawl up her neck. Stain her fair cheeks as a ripple of irritation; agitation at the knowledge of the product of the Wyrm being on the shelves sinks in. "I hadn't," she grits out, a flare of anger licking out in her tone and then recoiling as she lances it.
Tamps down. "Nutri-Pro," she confirms with a brief shake of her head. "We went out lookin' for more information on it. Talked to a Sept source, she said her room mate worked for a company, brought it home w'her once. Integrated Wellness or somethin' it was called. Traced it down w'the Questing Stone. Found t'girl." Morgan's eyes shift to Rafael, remembering perhaps, exactly what had become of her.
"Whole place was crawlin' with taint. The girl, she called in reinforcements. We killed 'em. Looked around. Cleansed t'location but," Morgan's expression tips into regret. "Didn't find anythin' leadin' to more of it."
RafaëlNutri-Pro.
Wolf files that one away. Hadn't heard it yet. Has his brow furrowed, arms across his chest. "Thought that was just EnerJam. Didn't realize it was something different. Guess I wasn't really paying attention ... right then.
"We should get together sometime. Really try to hunt down more info."
Morgan"S'by the same makers." Morgan qualifies, correcting herself, perhaps. "Figure find one, find the source of both. M'Kinsman was tryin' to hunt down information on Nutri-Pro." She scratches at her chin. "So far, I haven't heard from him if he's had results. Think he's tryin' to turn somethin' up that'll lead us in the right direction."
St. James"Do you think you'll need any help with it? I could ask my room mate if she'd help, too," Cassidy offered. She was, however, getting up and getting ready to make with the ordering of pizza.
Avery ChaseEnerJam. NutriPro. One turning homeless people into sleepless, ravening things. One turning a man into a starving blob.
Avery's nostrils flare slightly as she listens. Her fingertips rest atop her desk. She listens to Morgan. Integrated Wellness, she says. And Avery watches Morgan's eyes skate to Rafael and back. She gives a small nod. "Probably wouldn't be anything in a simple side office," she says. "But there has to be something more out there. We can find more."
Rafael says the same. Avery cuts him a glance. Smiles at him. Steps aside so Cassidy can get on her laptop, order pizza for them online. "If your roommate is a member of the nation, and under the supervision of her tribal representative, yes. If not, or if her tribe declines, then no." She takes a breath.
"I'll circulate the information about it being in stores. This should be brought up at the next full moon, but certainly before that -- it will be weeks before the septs know, otherwise."
Avery shakes it off a bit. "I'm going to remove my shoes," she informs them, just before stepping out of those pretty pumps. "And call Mac to go pick everything up. I rather need a glass of wine now."
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