Morgan -- and Rafael -- are tracked down, and invited via handwritten card to meet with Avery Whitechase at her city residence, please and thank you.
And Morgan -- and Rafael -- are buzzed in at the door to the simple, not-terribly-tall but tall-enough brick building downtown where Avery keeps her city residence, and heads up the elevator to the very very top where a whole other sort of structure exists: a two-story penthouse from which one can see north across the river and south into downtown Denver as well. But she can't see that yet. She -- and Rafael -- are greeted in the hall when the elevator opens by a young maid with auburn hair in a tidy bun, wearing gray slacks and a soft pink sweater.
This maid leads Morgan -- and Rafael -- to the proper door into the residence, though in the hall there is an umbrella stand, a runner rug, a mirror atop a table, and so on. It is pretty.
Just about everything Avery calls her own is, in some way, pretty.
--
The maid takes them inside, and Avery comes sweeping to them, beaming. She gives them what she calls the 'nickel tour' of her multi-million dollar penthouse, but she really doesn't waste much time leading them around to the library, square, with its big white couches and black shelves of books. On the coffee table in the middle of the couches are treats: crudite, canapes, petit fours, a chilled bottle of champagne waiting to be opened. There are edible flowers sugared around the edges of the platters.
"Come, come," she says, waving them to sit. "Make yourselves at home."
Avery Whitechase[for reference, this is the layout of the floor they're on: http://o.homedsgn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/Dietz-Lantern-Building-Penthouse-31.jpg
and this is the library they are in: http://o.homedsgn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/Dietz-Lantern-Building-Penthouse-03.jpg
Rafael van der ValkWas the wolf who gave Avery the contact info for Morgan, but truth is he hasn't seen her for months. A little awkward, showing up at the same time, same place. Standing together downstairs waiting to be buzzed up, wondering if he should say something -- or what.
"Hey," is what he ends up saying by way of hello. And anyway, it's not that long a wait. They go up. Wolf unzips his jacket as the elevator rises. Same jacket as last time, probably: the concrete-grey leather motorcycle thing he almost always wears. Should really get new clothes. Has possibly gotten new clothes, though you'd never know it. Still in jeans under the jacket. Still in a t-shirt.
A maid welcomes them, which makes wolf not know what to do. Can barely interact with his own wait staff, let alone someone else's. The treats, though, he can deal with. He eats the meatiest canapes he sees. Also a petit four. Anyway, by then Avery's shown up.
He sprawls on the couch. A stern headmistress would rap his knuckles, tell him to sit up straight. Perhaps after a moment he grows aware of that. Sits up -- a little straighter. Elbows on knees now, grabbing a handful of pistachio nuts and cracking them.
MorganThere's as little fanfare to Morgan Roche's return to Denver as there was her departure - that being, none whatsoever.
Not that the redheaded Ahroun was ever particularly a creature drawn to explosive scenes (other than those of her own making in her warform). She'd simply packed her things and kicked shut the door to the apartment she'd been crashing in and hitched a ride out of state. Morgan's legacy being a small collection of empty soda bottles and a piece of scrap paper she'd scribbled incomprehensible notes on.
Her return was at dusk, sliding into evening. It was a beast ghosting out of the woods in possession of a very vibrant red coat and clear, intelligent eyes. They'd told her there was nothing to return to, she can still picture it - the proud figures drawn around her Grandfather's worn kitchen table; all that Fianna blood gathered together.
The flicker-dance of Rage passing through their eyes at her stubborn insistence.
We had family there, it's worth a look, 'n I'm goin'.
Morgan, Stands at Dawn's voice prickling the hair at the nape of her neck, her hand on the door. We need you here, not in a ghost town. Your duty is to your family. Come back soon.
-
It didn't feel like a ghost town, though. Striding through the streets of Denver wasn't a quest to uncover signs of life - it thrived and pulsed and bled everywhere the Ahroun turned. But there were changes - deserted apartments, empty Caerns; forgotten rooms and the crumbling potential she'd witnessed firsthand, once. Still - it wasn't what they'd predicted - those Fianna whose blood ran in her veins - who she owed some sort of allegiance to, she knew.
-
There were all kinds of duty, though.
-
She still doesn't quite fit into her skin; this creature that shows up at Avery Whitechase's city home. She's taller than she was the last time anyone had seen her; still with that long red hair and those sharp, clear eyes of hers. Still prone to sneakers and jeans, youthful uncertainty still lingered in Morgan Roche but she walked with more authority than she once, had.
Her shoulders were straight; her gaze had grown bolder.
-
She still feels like a rolling wash of verdent hills and anger, all said and done. She still cranes her head around and gawks at every small detail of the Silver Fang's impressive home, too.
Holds her hands with one wrist laced inside her grasp as if reluctant to touch anything around her.
Avery WhitechaseWhen both Rafael and Morgan were first introduced to Avery, her last name was Chase. Her family's name is still Chase. But by the size of the rock on her left hand, which is -- to put it one way -- big enough to show that He Means It, some things have changed. That would explain the faint scent, here and there, of a male. Of, specifically, a strong Fianna male. Who comes from a family called White.
Get it?
--
Avery is wearing a cream-colored sweater dress with short sleeves and a very slight cowl neck. Her hair is loose, wavy, and her earrings sparkle like the ring on her finger. Her heels click softly on her floor, but she is rather light of foot so each tap is quiet. Gentle, almost. She leads them, and jackets are taken, coats are hung by the maid. The maid is not the only servant here right now, but she is the only one visible. The penthouse is somewhat vast and still and holds an air of serenity, despite the wolf living inside of it.
Rafael sits. And he eats. Which is precisely what Avery asked them to do; she does not ask him to sit up straight. She does pour herself a little glass of sparkling water from a nearby carafe. Offers it to them as well; the maid has made herself scarce.
Her guests are quiet. Shy, perhaps. Uncertain, more than likely.
"Morgan, I am afraid that Mr. van der Valk and I have you at a disadvantage, as the two of us have already had some discussion about the purpose of this meeting," she tells the girl, jumping right in as she pours, as she hands out glasses, what-have-you. She does not touch the champagne. Her eyes lift to meet the girl's. "Recent events have reminded me that to carry on without a pack is not only a practical detriment in dire situations, but can rapidly become a dereliction of duty, allowing harm to fall where it would not, if one were not stubbornly alone."
Avery sips her water. "I reached out to Rafael here because of this realization, and he suggested that I also gather you into this invitation. It has been some time, and we never knew each other well, but I do recall you, Morgan. And favorably. So I will not mince words or beat around bushes: I am here to gather a pack to my side, and I find both of you worthy. I welcome your thoughts." With this, she picks up a petit four and takes a small bite of the pink-iced confection, watching Morgan's face.
Rafael van der ValkThere's something cagey about the wolf, here in his elder's house. Never mind that they speak of pack. Never mind that this would be his alpha. It is not yet. It is simply the den of another, stronger wolf. So he sits like that, hunched and crouched, big shoulders rounded. He eats almost out of instinct: fill the belly, flee the premises.
Blinks when he is offered a drink. Finishes his mouthful of whatever, wipes his mouth quickly -- on a napkin. At least there's that -- before he picks up a glass for her to fill.
Listens. And, before Morgan can quite reply, interjects low: "Told her to come find you 'cause we talked about it. Once. A long time ago."
MorganShe settles down after a minute or two of deliberation, the Fianna female. Stands and stops and sort of - considers, the room. The gawking stops after those first few seconds. It's not that she's never seen lovely homes - she'd come from one, long ago when her parents still breathed - but it's been months of harsher living.
That was a choice of Morgan's.
Much as it was to keep careful distance from her brother while she'd been in Portland. Much as it was to pick fights and scrap with younger Ahrouns who questioned her capacity. She's going to become a striking woman if she allows herself to live long enough to see the day - but she will never shake the twinges of the beast about her; the scraped knuckles she hides in the folds of her slacks.
The new scar that runs across one of her collarbones.
The way her mouth compresses into this thoughtful line as Avery speaks. As Rafael mentions a conversation of months ago - tilt of her head and she sits for a beat, turning over their words before she says anything. Has to clear her throat as if to recall how addresses worked, in these circumstances.
It was different, with family. "I left for a while. Been back w'my family." She begins, quiet. Then: "They talked about Denver at one o'our gatherings recently. Said - " Pinch of fiery brows, constricting down. This tick of her eyes over the pair of them; this twinge of regret. "Said there wasn't nothing f'me to come back to see.
Came anyway." Her chin lifts a little at that, she meets Avery's gaze. "I think t'city needs protectin'. I think that's what I was made to do. I'm not - " she contemplates; plunges on with a spread of those bruised, surprisingly delicate looking warrior's hands. "I got my fists and I got what Gaia gave me. I'd gladly fight w'you, Rhya."
Avery WhitechaseIf Avery notices Rafael's tension, she does not comment on it or attempt to correct it. She seems to understand it, on an instinctive level. More than that: she has her own tension to contend with. They are near strangers. They have no idea how few wolves have ever set foot in this penthouse. Her den.
She listens to Morgan as she eats her petit four, and simply nods, understanding. Family. The stories that trickled out: the fall of the city-centered Sept downtown, the near-decimation of the elders centered at the Caern to the south of the city. Many deaths. Her eyes narrow slightly as Morgan says her family told her that there was nothing to come back to.
Avery would hardly call it nothing. But clearly: Morgan also disagreed with her relatives.
So their eyes meet. And there's a flicker of dominance in Avery's blue ones, also instinct. It's not a warning; it's nowhere near a threat. It's a recognition. In a way, it's a sign of respect: if she did not see Morgan's strength, then Morgan meeting her eyes would mean nothing at all.
Morgan finishes, and then -- like the sun coming out from behind the clouds that cover the sky currently -- Avery brightens. "Oh, that's excellent," she says, happily, obvious in her pleasure. She has never formed a pack where it took more than a conversation, more than a brief discussion of how things would work before looking for a totem to follow. To be fair: this is also only the second pack she's ever formed. So she doesn't press for more: more intimacy, more explanation, more argument, more questions. She just looks pleased, and looks over to Rafael.
"I assume your mind has not changed?"
Rafael van der ValkWolf looks surprised at that. Perhaps a little offended. He's not thinskinned, but he is -- instinctively defensive. Unaccustomed to the company of people, or perhaps at least people who didn't dislike him in some way.
"'Course not," he says. And to Morgan, "Glad you're in."
Avery WhitechaseIt slides off her back: Rafael's touchiness, Rafael's instinctive defensiveness. He always seems to be frowning anyhow. He's still here, after all. He is still answering in the negative: his mind has not changed. He is glad. Avery takes him at his word, and then reaches for the champagne, rising to her feet.
"Excellent," she says, sounding gleeful.
Without further ado, she pulls off foil, levers off the cork, and though it does POP, no foam flies anywhere. Not in Avery's house. Hardly. She already had flutes ready, and fills three of them, wearing a smile so bright it's almost goofy. And she is straightening up, holding two flutes towards each of them, her own resting in front of her on the table.
"We'll work out the particulars shortly," she says, taking the first stride of leadership as though she was born to it, as though it comes naturally.
Which she was.
Which it does.
"For now, only celebration."
MorganMorgan is sampling one of the canapes when Avery jumps to her feet - she hastens to follow suit, the younger Ahroun with momentarily startled, wide eyes and a mouth half full of food. It's so nearly an automatic gesture that she seems, after a beat, quite entirely humiliated for having done it and her cheeks warm as she works to chew her canape and toss Rafael a bright - if still hot faced - grin.
"We can go hunt later and celebrate f'real." A hand reaching for the champagne flute, the Fianna seems stuck for a beat before she adds, with a semi-apologetic murmur: "Not t'this isn't a good celebration. Just that it's not one that involves pullin' something's head off that's threatening the population."
Here's hoping none of Avery's staff have delicate stomachs.
-
Then, later: celebrations. Morgan's almost shy focus on the stone on the Silver Fang's ring. The stirring of something that she contains so often its revelation feels fragile and raw-edged. Effusive questions peppered about a wedding and marriage and her (theoretical) Kinsman.
It made them family, of a certain kind to Firebrand.
Rafael van der ValkBizarrely, Morgan's talk of a proper celebration, one involving pulling something's head off, makes the wolf grin. He dusts his hands of cocoa powder -- he was eating a chocolate truffle -- and picks up his glass, rising to join the others. His packmates-to-be.
Clinks his glass on theirs. A decidedly loud CLANK, actually, saved from fracture and spilled booze only by the quality of Avery's glassware.
"Guess I should give you guys my addresses," he says. "And my number, if you don't have it."
Avery WhitechaseIf either of them think Avery is the type to balk at celebrating by a tawdry, messy hunt, they are both quickly disabused of this notion by the way she squeals to hear Morgan's suggestion. She looks like she could grab the girl's face in both hands and kiss her forehead in delight.
(One day they will meet her mate-husband and he may, prompted or not, describe his very first sight of the wolf who would become his wife. Here's a hint: it involved a bloody, enormous elk-carcass. Among other things, some of them terribly endearing.)
But instead of kissing poor Morgan, Avery hands her a flute of golden, terribly fine champagne. She hands the other to Rafael, then picks up her own, holding it aloft. "You are quite right, Morgan," she says, firmly, decisively. "We'll simply have to -- briefly -- pretend that the Dom is the bubbly blood of our enemies."
She says it so cheerfully.
And she toasts: "To the spirit who shall bless us, though yet unnamed," and then Rafael is CLANKing and she is laughing, tapping hers more gently against Morgan's as well, taking a sip to honor the invocation, and to seal it.
"Yes, yes of course," she says, after the bubbly has descended her throat, cool and clear and ticklish. "We'll sort all that out after we get drunk."
She said celebration.
She is married to a Fianna.
One hopes they both cleared their evenings. They're getting trashed with a Philodox tonight.
Avery Whitechase[I think we should have some FPMs about totem spirits, totem point allocation, etc... I have not given much thought yet to what sort of totem spirits I might suggest so I'm fairly open!]
Morgan[Yesss. We should. I need to read up about totems.]
Avery Whitechase[*fives all around* that was a solid two-hour scene, y'all. less than. we crushed it. thank you so much!]
Morgan[Likewise! New pack for the win. Whoo hoo!]
Rafael van der Valk[w00t! *belated as fuck* i'm pretty open too. i will consider!]
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