y'all are cool.

Avery Whitechase

[123 NOT IT!]

Shelby Walker

Someone sent word that Shelby would be coming to town, and that someone was Shelby. She had a letter written all nice and pretty with well thought intentions on someone else's letterhead sealed in an envelope from a purloined credit card payment letter. They always include an envelope. Most people pay online.

It was starting to get cold, people gave Shelby her space when she came through and she looked almost like a break dancer- walking around with a backpack and shiny tennis shoes and a folded up cardboard box (that looks like it had been folded up more than a few times and it's still a little big). She's off by the Downtown aquarium.

She considers, for a moment, whether or not she could get in and see the fish before someone has a heart attack and she is the reason for all the pufferfish in the place becoming party balloons with eyeballs. Shelby needs to make it to the place she was actually headed. Not go sight seeing.

She looks right. Looks left.

Helfs the beat up backpack off her shoulders and she digs through her pack. She has a student ID somewhere for some chick who looked... uh... kind of like her.

"Student dis-cooouuuuuunt," she sings.

they're going to be freaking miserable, but Shelby Walker was going to see some fish before she got to the sept proper.

Rafael

Clerk barely even glances at the ID. Doesn't question it. Says, bored: "Private event going on. I'll letcha in if you want, but might not see much."

Inside, in the entryway: several dozen people in black tie, swanky dresses. Some are mingling. Some are heading for the restaurant. Also: a small busload's worth of confused and disappointed tourists mills about.

Shelby Walker

Swanky people with dresses and black ties and she just beams at the front desk clerk.

She's scrawny. Skinny. Her smile is all teeth and there's a half dozen things that people could say that would make her pretty without realizing the point: Shelby walker is pretty because she is Shelby Walker. Because she walks with her head up and she oozes confidence even when she is edged and harsh and boiling hot at the edges.

Shelby is a bit much to handle, and while she might be a little offputting she is open. Honest. And happy.

"Thanks, man," and heads on in. though, she does head a little closer to the herd of rich people. "What's the event?"

Avery Whitechase

Avery is throwing a party, and she. Is. Thrilled. Sure, it's winter and there's no snow on the ground and the days are sixty degrees and she feels like precious nights of slaughter are passing her by without a single drop of ice to run on but that's okay. Gaia will provide. Global warming is to blame, not Nature herself. Not Winter himself. Just humans. Just humans and their greed and their fossil fuels and so on. Just shortsightedness.

Avery knows the cure for shortsightedness. She is the cure for shortsightedness.

Which is why she knows better than to get up in front of a room full of people for the presentation part of the evening where they discuss the fight to end global warming all the way from the meetings in Paris down to local and neighborhood initiatives such as urban farms and building sustainable, walkable cities. She did have notes on the speaker's words. She made some suggestions over drinks last night during the final 'dress rehearsal', so to speak, and they were written down eagerly.

It is hard not to hope that if one repeats the words spoken by the effervescent, statuesque blonde with the kind eyes and the silver tongue, people will be as persuaded as if she were saying them.

--

Avery is inside sipping champagne from a flute. She was the one insisting that she would not throw a party that was so exclusive that the entire aquarium had to shut down. The most obvious aspect of global warming is that it affects -- and is affected by -- all of us. Globally. Everyone can be educated. Everyone must participate. Everyone is capable of contribution. Or something like that. It was fervent. It was heartfelt. Above all, it was honest.

They are nowhere near the presentation yet, but people are milling about, visiting the guarded silent auction room occasionally, drinking, eating appetizers. Avery is mingling. Avery shines like the sun, and would that it were a metaphor. She gleams: pearls here and there, diamonds. One on her left hand is worth more than you want to consider right now. Her smile gleams, her champagne sparkles. She wears a dress of rich, sumptuous gemstone blue. She isn't the person that Shelby talks to, but she's nearby. And she glances over, her eyes keenly aware of the comings and goings without ever being sharp, and takes a moment to look at Shelby.

Rafael

"Global warming," mutters the clerk, already texting on her iPhone again. "Think they'll let you in if you're interested, though you're supposed to be dressed up."

Shelby Walker

She's supposed to be dressed up.

"I'm wearing my good jeans, damn, how much nicer do I have to get?"

Shelby looks down at her shirt, past her rather enveloping coat to make sure that- yep, she was definitely wearing the clean one. She was going to the sept after this, had to make a good impression and that involved wearing the shirt that didn't have holes in it and didn't have stains on it. It's small enough that it's probably a large in the children's section. Future Ms. President.

When she looks back up and takes in the entirety of the party and the surroundings her answer was pretty simple- a lot nicer than her good jeans and a clean shirt. Takes a look around and sees Avery who is all sumptuous blues and gleaming shining shimmering like the aftermath of the first proper ice storm.

"Ohhhh, shit," she says under her breath. The look on her face is one of awe and surprise. You don't get a lot of Silver Fangs where she's from.

Avery Whitechase

Among Garou, Avery's nature is instantly recognizable. Not just her breeding, the blood of her tribe, her shining ancestors. She is rising in rank, and it shows. And in the straightness of her back and the keenness of her eyes there is even a hint of her moon, halved cleanly between darkness and the light. One look and any of her kind know what she is.

Less obvious are the things that she no longer is: no longer Master of Challenges of the Sept of the Cold Crescent. She's no longer a member of the Sept of the Cold Crescent, because the Sept of the Cold Crescent doesn't exist anymore. Nor is she the Alpha of a pack that once tried to not have an Alpha. Nor is she in any sort of pack at all, nor has she been for... a very long time, truth be told. She is also no longer Avery Chase, even. But that was not a loss; that was a gain.

She sees Shelby look at her. Sees Shelby stare at her. Sees Shelby react to her, and gives a small smile. Then she turns to the people she's standing with and excuses herself, gracious as always, before she walks toward the young Gnawer, her heels -- though high -- almost silent on the floor -- though it is quite hard. It's just the way she walks, lighter on her feet than you would expect.

"Good evening," she says, smiling at the other woman. "Welcome. Are you of age to have a bit of champagne?" she wonders.

Shelby Walker

Is she old enough to drink?

"Yes ma'am I am," she replied, pats herself down for her ID only to realize that she's good for her word on this. her birthday was last week. She's existed on a diet of cheap beer and things people tossed out for years, but as of last week she was given the sacred task of going on her first beer run. There's something to be said about being the one who provides, even if the providing is Budweiser.

"I'm Shelby," she offers- could go through a whole bunch of names and introductions but they're in public, "and if you are offering I'd love t'share some with you. If you aren't, your company's just as nice."

Rafael

There is a dour creature here. He is lurking near the walls, and he is drinking a beer -- some local craft microbrewed weissbier -- and he is not talking to anyone at all. He is, however, dressed for the part: tailored and sharp and cufflinked and pocket-squared, though the cut of his jacket hardly seems to contain the breadth of his shoulders. He also keeps looking at his watch: a very nice, unnecessarily expensive Breitling.

Of late, however, he is looking -- staring, really -- at Shelby. At Avery. He recognizes one. He knows what the other is. Has a guess, anyway.

Avery Whitechase

At that, Avery turns her head. The way her arm moves to gesture at a waiter is like it's in water, slow and graceful. She doesn't beckon. She just lifts her hand, and is noticed. So the young man comes over, carrying his tray of flutes, and lowers it for both of them. Avery takes one and holds it out to Shelby, smiling.

And she laughs, too, at what the girl says. "You're such a treat!" she says, and she's not teasing. She's not false. She means it sincerely, because she is delighted.

She's aware of Rafael. She did, after all, invite him. Not via text. She sent him a proper invitation through proper channels, one of the things his people sort through. But they know her name. They, too, are of the Nation, and on the rare occasion that they might insist that he attend one of these things, a benefit thrown by a tribemate rises to the top of the list. Plus, he's loaded and Avery knows it's his Gaia-given duty to protect her.

(She is honest. She is also driven, and goal-minded, and savvy.)

But she doesn't beckon to Rafael. He is not the sort of wolf you beckon. But then: no wolf is.

"Are you new in town?" she asks Shelby, sipping her own glass.

Shelby Walker

She's held a champagne flute before, but it was at a party and they were plastic . Two plastic champagne flutes, two mason jars, a Dixie cup, and a Big Gulp cup all filled with a cheap bottle of sparkling white. Macy made adren- it's why she got the Big Gulp cup. There's a sort of fondness that comes in the holding and the motions.

She can mirror actions, takes a sip of champagne- brows raise in surprise like she hadn't actually expected champagne to taste like that. Mirrors her awe-stricken cursing from earlier.

"I am," she tells her, "I was supposed to go somewhere in downtown to meet up with likeminded folks but I wanted to see fish."

She gestures out.

"But there's this thing about global warming going on? Which, hey, worthy cause. Education's the way to go."

Avery Whitechase

Downtown.

Avery's smile dims, rather entirely. She fades slightly.

"Indeed," she says, regarding the benefit, the importance of education, et cetera, but then: "Shelby, I must tell you: the place you are intending to go is no longer held in our real estate portfolio, as it were. There are none of our sort involved there any longer."

Rafael

Eventually the wolf -- or wallflower, as it were -- has enough of staring from afar. Or perhaps he realizes what a creep he looks like. Straightens up, takes a gulp of beer, and starts making his way over.

Arrives in time to hear the tail end of that. Nods to Avery. "Long time," he mutters. Looks at Shelby: "Who're you?"

Shelby Walker

It's like a punch in the chest, hard and knocks the wind out of her and she's the type that gets up and keeps moving but she doesn't really hide the fact that the blow leaves her dazed. Leaves her reeling. She looks at Avery like she heard that her grandmother or a favored aunt was no longer with them.

"I am so sorry," all sincerity. Doesn't know how to be anything other than sincere, sees no use in being deceitful around her own people. Even if these people are her people in a loose sense.

Regards Rafael, still a little shocked, "Shelby Walker."

Avery Whitechase

The conversation is not a happy one when Rafael comes over. But unlike most, his first meeting with Avery was not this gleaming, bright, happy sort of occasion. His first meeting with her, she was serious. Very serious. But she was on his side then, and it has not changed. She is always on the side of her people.

Shelby looks disturbed, deeply, at something Avery has said. It's not common, but Rafael has stood in the same place: some truth that unsettles, but needs to be told. If someone has to be the one to speak it, it may as well be Avery. She does try to be gentle, when she can.

When Rafael comes over though, she smiles at him, warmly. "It's good to see you again, Mr. van der Valk. It has been too long." She means this, too. Entirely. But she is also concerned for Shelby, and reaches over with her free hand, resting it on the girl's upper arm. "It was some time ago. The worst has passed, and the caern still stands."

She says it easily, unhushed. People are chattering all around them. No one is listening in on Avery's conversations. She smiles at Shelby, and squeezes her arm bracingly, before lowering it again.

Rafael

Shelby Walker means nothing to him, but it is a name, and he understands that in polite company one offers a name for a name.

So: "Rafael van der Valk. New in town, huh. Working on old intel? Harsh way to find out."

Shelby Walker

People are chattering. the world is going on and she's having to process what precisely is going on. No, there isn't much to figure out. Avery told her exactly what went on.

She takes a second, inhales big and deep and she takes another quick sip of champagne. Swallows and let's out the kind of exhaling that comes when something is satisfied. resolute.

"Well," she starts, nods again, "looks like I'm doing somethin' different... aaaaaand I'm working on my cardio."

Harsh way to find out, Rafael says.

"Yes, Mister Vaan der Valk, it kinda sucks."

Avery Whitechase

Rafael is hardly the most indelicate member of her tribe that Avery has ever met, but he gives some of them a run for their money. She doesn't sigh in exasperation; she doesn't know him well enough to play the 'fond disrespect' game, especially not in front of a perfect stranger. But she gives a small laugh to Shelby.

"Well, if you don't mind waiting til much, much later, I don't mind driving you myself. It's just that I have to stay for the benefit."

She doesn't point out to anyone that it's because she's footing the bill. She doesn't mention that she's so important, so necessary. In fact, from the way she says it, it could be easy to guess that she just doesn't know how to prioritize her time. Nation over galas.

"Rafael," she says, "have you been into the silent auction room? I must confess, I am counting on you to bid on a few holiday gifts tonight. You're so decisive with a pen, I've heard."

Oh god, has she heard. Fucking hand mirrors owned by queens to benefit the whales or something, platinum-level donations for Haiti...

Rafael

"Wasn't like a caern exploded."

Nope. Not the most indelicate. Not the most delicate either, by a long shot. In the wake of that statement he hears himself; realizes it was rude, even cruel. Shifts his weight. Moves his shoulders.

"We'll be fine, is all I meant."

Grunts, then, flicking his eyes around in that reflexive way -- as though to see if anyone else was listening in, hearing about his decisiveness with pens. "No. Anything good?"

Shelby Walker

"Duuuuude," she says, drops her voice to something conspiratorial, "you can't just say wasn't like a caern exploded, you'll fu-" realizes these are Silver Fangs and you do not drop F-bombs in front of Silver Fangs "-flipping jinx it. I've heard stories about that."

Takes a second. Smiles anyway, because it's good natured. Unshaken. If he's not the most delicate of social creatures, then Shelby is pretty hard to ruffle in a certain sense.

"S'all good though, y'all seem cool."

A glowing report for the gathered Silver Fangs- Shelby has deigned that they are cool. Not that it would be hard to gain her approval, people seem to start with positive regard and only get better from there. Then, back to Avery, "and no ma'am, I do not mind waiting. I may liberate some of your leftovers, though. The gorgonzola brie grape clusters are a use-it-or-lose-it food."

Avery Whitechase

She does not chide him. But she does look at him, her lips not smiling, but also not set in a firm, hard line of displeasure. Just a look. A genteel version of a dude, not cool sort of look. Maybe he notices, maybe he doesn't. He realizes it was not cool on his own, anyway.

"He will not 'jinx it', Ms. Walker," Avery says to Shelby, with a soft huff of laughter. "But we will be fine. And thank you so much. Please, you should have some of appetizers. Those in my particular," she adds, pointing out a tray going by full of little bites of thinly-sliced filet mignon seared and wrapped around bleu cheese and tiny tufts of greens, drizzled with reduced balsamic, "are fantastic. The beef is from my husband's ranch up north. All grass-fed, all organic. And the cheese is from an acquaintance of ours who runs a dairy farm near Loveland."

She turns her attention back to Rafael a moment later. "As for the auction, I think you'll have a few items of interest. There are the usual: wine tours, ski packages, cruises, some art pieces, but the more... extravagant offerings include a consultation with a personal stylist and a generous shopping spree. I think there may be a car?"

Rafael

If Shelby was worried she might look greedy in the company of the Fangs -- not that she seems the sort to be concerned -- the wolf puts an end to it quickly enough. A waiter passes with a platter of beef-and-bleu. Wolf reaches out, grabs one, two, three, four, five little beef rolls. Sets them on his plate. Eats them one after another.

Shoots Avery a glance, wary, uncertain if he is being mocked. "I have a stylist," he says, defensively. "I think. Plenty of clothes."

Shelby Walker

Oh my god meat.

A few appetizers go into her mouth, and she has a moment where she looks like she can't tell if she wants to gorge herself on food (and she should- she's scrawny. She could blow over in a stiff wind) or she wants to savor it.

So, she does savor it, but does end up carefully looking around for something to put them in.

"What does a stylist do anyway?" Little beef roll down the hatch!

Avery Whitechase

[YOU HAVE TWO GAROU YOU CAN JUST JOIN IN]

Avery Whitechase

Rafael is, of course, not being mocked. Avery just raises her eyebrows suggestively. "But Mr. van der Valk, surely you have gifts to give this season?"

She sips her champagne. It is very well-timed. She watches them eat. She seems to enjoy it, delighted by their enjoyment, especially since she knows the people making the beef, the cheese, that they're so in love with.

"It depends on the type of stylist," she tells Shelby, to answer her question. "A personal stylist -- well, to tell you the truth, I don't want to bore you with the description." She waves a hand, dismissing the topic. "But tell me more about you. We've both been here for ages," she says, gesturing between herself and the other Fang, as though they're in a club together, "but I don't know anything about you! Where do you come from, what brought you here, what sort of work do you like to do?"

Rafael

"Oh." What hackles may have raised lower again. He frowns. "Yeah. I guess."

And also:

"Personal stylists tell you how to dress. Keep up with fashion trends." He shrugs. "Least that's how I understand it. You want one? I'll buy you a consultation."

Shelby Walker

Does she want a personal stylist?

"Do you... like... keep them in your pocket or some shit? Or is it, like, Wayne and Stacey from that one show?" What Not to Wear. She shouldn't wear a coat that looks like she's going to get eaten by it, for one, "I won't say no to one if you wanna surprise me, but that means... like... I'm getting you a Christmas present now. I said you're good people and now I'm threatening to menace y'all with my knitting."

Said like she is totally an asshole for this.

But! On! More about her!

"I came out from Detroit! I'm all big and official now so people were like you gotta go big or go home and, like, we've been in Detroit for ages. Mom, dad, grandad- generations of us living there before the automotive bubble knew it was a freakin' bubble and long after industry decided it could go take itself somewhere else.

"I'm having my Detroit Rumschpringe."

A second.

"I like to beatbox and cook. Not at the same time. I like finding poetry."

Rafael

"What?" Wolf stares. "No. Just meant the auction. Was gonna buy the consult. With the personal stylist. Gotta give it to someone, so you want it?

"Hell's a Rum-shping?"

Avery Whitechase

The Chase family is considered, by the really good families, to be nouveau riche. Rafael's family, by contrast, is quite old money. But in the two Fangs here tonight, the roles are reversed. Even Avery is a little startled to see how inelegantly Rafael wears his considerable wealth. She doesn't judge; she is just surprised, inwardly, and adjusts her perceptions a bit. Adjusts her assumptions. Tries, in fact, to just stop making them.

This is because he's all, I'll buy you one to a stranger because he cannot think of what to do with all that money. No one ever taught him. But at least his heart is in the right place: give it way.

--

What Shelby says makes Avery laugh a bit. Pocket stylists. Like Rafael just carries them. She covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers as she giggles, and sets her empty glass on a passing tray. She does not grab another. Truth be told, she should be moving on. Mingling with the rest of her guests. But the rest of the guests are not wolves. They don't almost die on regular basis for anything. They only have money to give. To waste. This is important, but her people are more important. So she stays. She doesn't mind.

"Amish," she offers, to Rafael.

Shelby Walker

"Oh! Yeah, okay, cool. I'll take it, that sounds fun."

a second "-and it's the thing, right? Where Amish kids go off into the real world and see all the vices and modern conveniences and crap that they missed being Amish, right? So, when they come back, they came back to where they came from because they chose to come back, and not because they just didn't know anywhere else."

Rafael

"Okay." His ...gift? donation? accepted, he seems scarcely more at ease. Shifts again, awkward in that suit, constrained by that tie. "I'll go put a bid down in a minute.

"Going back to Detroit someday then?"

Shelby Walker

Shoulders go up and then down again, "I dunno. I might? I figured that if I'm here then, like, be in the moment."

A beat.

"I've never eaten a deer. There aren't deer in Detroit." She catches him shift again, how he seems like he probably shouldn't be in a suit even though, objectively, Rafael looks pretty dang nice in a suit.

"If it's not presumptuous.. maaaaybe weeee coooouuuuld..." maybe sometime go hunt real actual food?

Avery Whitechase

This gets her attention. She looks at Shelby, blinking. "Have you ever had elk? Bison?" A beat. "Shelby, what about Kobe beef?"

She looks concerned.

Rafael

Wolf doesn't mention that he's never had bison before. May have had Kobe beef. Isn't sure. Aloud: "Plenty of deer up in the mountains. You angling to go hunt?"

Avery Whitechase

[fyi getting REALLY TIRED now. i will probably have avery walk off soon!]

Shelby Walker

(OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY)

Shelby Walker

(I started dozing at the keyboard)

Shelby Walker

"Yes, yes I am."

Big bright wide-and-pleased smile.

Rafael

Wolf thinks a moment. Then pops a last meat-roll in his mouth, nods.

"Okay. Lemme go bid on a couple auctions. Then I'll get my car, meet you two out front."

[AND THEN THEY HUNTED HAPPILY EVER AFTER. unless kai wants to post again.]

Rafael

[whoops, DLP! we skipped avery altogether.]

Avery Whitechase

Avery is still concerned about their meat intake and lack of experience. She twists her champagne glass in her hands. "I know someone who has property, and a lot of it. Safe for us. Sometimes there are elk roaming across. It would be a bit of a drive, but I think a bit better for the herds to leave the white-tails closer to the city alone. I'll speak to him about it."

As long as they don't kill any of his cattle, it should be fine.

"Now... I have to mingle a bit. Shelby, stick around. Relax, have some apps. We're having a presentation in a bit that you may like. I have some hostessing duties I'm ungraciously ignoring."

She reaches over, rests her hand on Rafael's arm. "You, too. We're going to drive out to Roxborough after the presentation and the auction and all that. You should come with us. We'll make a night of it. Get midnight milkshakes."

And with a few more pretty goodbyes, she excuses herself, heading over to talk to Governor Hickenlooper and his wife Helen. "John, you came!" she says, delightedly, as she leaves the other Garou for a while.

Rafael

In the wake of Avery's departure, the wolf pops a last meat-roll in his mouth.

"Gonna go bid on a couple auctions," he says. "Then guess I'll go out to Roxborough. Got a car, if you want a ride over. Milkshakes and maybe catch a rabbit or two."

Shelby Walker

He says he has a car if she wants a ride over, thinks about it before she smiles, adjusts her backpack and finishes off her champagne. Shelby looked around to see if she could find a place to ditch the flute, can't find it, so she awkwardly holds on to the thing.

"This. Sounds. Awesome. See, y'all are cool," as though her saying it confirmed it. Shelby is a galliard. Her saying it does actually confirm it sometimes.