John Barrister

[J.B.] Next door to the alley, a door clicks shut, a lock locks, and then a steel-mesh gate rolls noisily down over a storefront.

If they were to look, they'd see a rather run-down office attached to a large, shambling brick warehouse. The previous owners' sign has been removed, but the new sign has yet to go up. Instead, a large handwritten piece of butcher paper is draped where the sign should be. It reads BARRISTER MOVING, and it's spotted with rain.

The man closing up shop is wearing a sheepskin coat and a cap. Not a baseball cap, but a cap in the old sense of the word: wool, with a button on top, and a short brim tucked under. The sort of cap good old boys wore on golf courses, and english squires wore on estate tours; the sort that, if appropriately beat-up and mangled, every Dickens urchin wore. On John it's anything but good old boy or squire, and on his frame it makes him look anything but an urchin. It shades his eyes and leaves bare the hard stubbled angle of his jaw, which will never, no matter how often he shaves, quite be smooth.

He whistles a tune under his breath as he clanks the bars into place and turns to go. It's only in passing that he notices the girls in the alleyway -- the Garou in the alleyway. John Barrister stops whistling and calls out -- "Hi, Thaney." There's a sheaf of newspapers under his arm. He waves with the other hand. "You people make a habit of lurking about alleyways?"

[Danny Jones] She shoots a grin at Kemp, even as he steps away to lean on something or another and speak to Skadi. her attention is caught by the sound, and she's shifting her weight back and forth as she studies the guy who apparently knows Thaney.

She runs her fingers through her hair (15 kinds of awesome, that hair!) and then down to scratch the back of her neck slightly. She shoots a grin toward the man and shrugs. "Seemed the best way to get noticed at the time..."

[J.B.] And then Skadi and Kemp ran off over the rooftops, like batman and robin!

[Danny Jones] (I just wanna know who's wearing the green tights.....)

[J.B.] *sneezes on you*
to cricket

[Thaney] (( Auuugh! FINE. ))

The two get of Fenris trust Thaney to get Danny to the caern - to get the bonegnawer worked over, her head checked, her spiritual alignments tweaked if necessary - and they go off to (a) find a ticket on Skadi's car, which she them crams into the glove compartment, for some poor kin (hi, John?) to deal with later and (b) start looking for Loki.

That's when John says, Hi, Thaney. The young Fianna leaves the snark to Danny, for now; runs her fingers through her hair, and glances past J.B. to the sign that declares BARRISTER MOVING. Her mouth quirks, wry. Coincidences. The way they happen in Chicago. Enough to make you believe in a higher power. Something with a vested interest in how everybody's lives played out. But is the interest benign?

"We're loitering. Don't worry; not for long. Hi, Jaybee."

[cricket] Ewww. Damon germs! *will never be clean again!*
to J.B.

[J.B.] "Huh," coming out of his barrel chest, it's very close to a grunt, though J.B. doesn't like to think of himself like that: grunting, grumping, slouching about, neanderthalic. The man takes some care in his dress and appearance so as not to look like a tree trunk. It's a fact that Thaney's never seen him in anything but button-up shirts. Still, there's something husky and brawny about him, too rough-hewn to be truly refined.

The lights from the street angle off the lower half of his face as he looks over his shoulder. The cut lines of his bones bespeak his heritage, though only faintly. He's of the same blood as Skadi and Kemp, and from the familiar nod he'd given their departing forms, it seems his tribe has, indeed, found him.

Huh, anyway: "Loitering. Are you planning on egging my office?" He swings back toward them. His eyes are shaded, the brim pulled low, but his grin is clearly visible, a slow white crescent in his tanned and weathered face.

[Danny Jones] "Well, we weren't..." the grin returns, and she moves to close the distance because hello - shouting is rude. Just because she does it, ain't mean she's totally uncouth, right? And just because it's not that much distance, and she hasn't raised her voice really - well fuck. She's just being polite, ok? Ok. "But now that ya mention it... it's a pretty good target, hey, Thaney?"

Innocent. Honest.

She looks him over, and the way he had nodded to the Fenrir, and offers him a hand and a lopsided grin. "I'm Danny."

[J.B.] (be warned. if you don't post within 5 min, i'll post if i'm ready >:D)
to Danny Jones, Thaney

[Thaney] Because it looks like Danny's alive and well (better, indeed, than she was last time Thaney saw her; did all of her memories return?), Thaney is relaxed enough to say, "I've got some chalk in my pocket. Could draw you a pretty picture. Write you some poetry, even. It's not National Poetry Month any longer."

Beat. She lets J.B. introduce himself. Then: "We could use a ride," she says, serious. "Are you closing up?"

[J.B.] "John." Barrister shifts the newspapers to his left arm and shakes her hand with his right. The alley's dark enough that details are uncertain, but Danny certainly seemed young. Barrister, however, has resigned himself to the fact that Chicago's Garou/kin population had a median age of approximately nineteen and takes yet another warrior of Gaia young enough to be his daughter in stride. "Nice to meet you, Danny," he says, seriously: because it was nice, sometimes, to meet a sixteen year old Garou who wasn't convinced she was the second coming of christ.

And Danny was Garou. He was certain of this. Call it circumstantial evidence; call it a product of the just-past-full moon burning overhead. Call it kinfolk intuition, or plain experience.

"Yeah," he replies to Thaney. "I am. Come on. I'm parked this way. Are you both heading out to the woods, or what?"

[J.B.] soooOOOoooOOoo.

i got maddie signed on for a forseti, veracity for a skald. where's my godi!?
to cricket

[J.B.] or theurge.
to cricket

[J.B.] and: christ, my right nipple ITCHES. WHAT THE FUKK?
to cricket

[J.B.] *peers down shirt*
to cricket

[Danny Jones] Her hand is warm, and strong, but she doesn't see fit to prove the strength he already perceives as lurking under her skin. "Ditto" is her answer though, as she shoves her hands into the pockets of Rafi's sweatshirt. Needs to get clear and get her stuff from the Caern, dammit. She wants her phone. Feels naked without it.

But he mentions the woods, and her gaze darkens, and she shudders. "Uh. nah. I'm a child of concrete, and seen enough green shit and wild flowers to last me a while..." but she lets Thaney give him directions.

Her memorys back - but it seems she's the (at least temporary) ability to shove it away, for now. She's a (wyld) child of extremes now. And right now, she's extremely happy to see her friend again.

[cricket] why do I have to be the Godi?! *frowns fiercely!* Ha. I said before that I'd look into making one! You clearly don't pay attention when I speak. And: god, for a second, I thought you were peering down MY shirt and was about to slap you about. *LOL*

I don't want to know why your nipple itches.
to J.B.

[J.B.] well, you dont' HAVE to be, but then i'll need to recruit another godi *LOL*
to cricket

[cricket] *grins* nah, I can make a Godi, I'll just want to download the books and all, since all my WtA stuff was on my now dead notebook PC.
to J.B.

[J.B.] veracity has a copy of the pdf. i'll ask that it be sent to you!
to cricket

[cricket] Good boy. *pets*
to J.B.

[Thaney] "We're going down to the old waterfront," she says, and then, "the old docks. You know the place I mea She wants him to drive them to the caern.

[J.B.] Stepping out of the filthy alley, John kicks a rumpled bit of -- well, he didn't want to know what -- out of the way. It's not much of a walk: his truck is parked in the driveway of the warehouse. It's the big Chevy Thaney will remember from the other night, long in the bed, four wheels on the double rear-axle, built for heavy duty towing. The remote entry chirps open. The king cab is a four-door, big enough to easily accommodate all three. Even so, Barrister fills up the driver's seat from top to bottom, side to side.

"Actually," he says, shutting his door, "I haven't been there. Could you give me directions?"

[Kendra Peterman] (( Anyone object to a sudden interjection of Kendra? ))

[Thaney] (( ....(stares at post) Whoa. That's what I get for not paying attention. How did the chat butcher that? ))

[Thaney] (( Naw. If J.B. can crash -- (grins) ))

[Danny Jones] He leads the to the truck, and she whistles low. Nice. A gal could live in a truck like that for a year or two, easy. For someone who prefers boxes, that's quite a step up. She climbs in, let's thaney have the front passenger seat, as she, herself, tries not to get the seat dirty with the pants she's been wearing since gaia knows when.

[Kendra Peterman] (( Does the back have a shell or no? ))
to J.B.

[J.B.] (no, it's open)
to Kendra Peterman

[Kendra Peterman] Someone once asked Kendra where she usually spent her time in Chicago, where her favorite haunts where, which part of town she frequented. Her answer was a chuckle and an open-armed shrug. Anywhere th'wind and my feet take me, baby. Okay, well then where can we find you? they had asked. Just keep an eye open, she answered. I tend t'just kinda... turn up places. She had grinned, and the conversation was left enigmatic and open-ended.

Tonight she took every word and proved it true.

It didn't matter what part of town they were in, be it Bronzeville or the ritz. Kendra herself probably wasn't even too terribly aware of how ghetto or sparkling clean her surroundings were. She just drifted tonight, walking and thinking, hardly paying any mind to where she was. When she discovered a familiar truck was the clearest her mind had been in hours. She made a descision to climb up into the back of it-- why not? She was feeling lonely, and the driver would return to it eventually, right? Right.

So when John and Thaney and Danny return to the truck, they may or may not notice the girl laying on her back in the bed of the truck, arms folded behind her head to act as a pillow, her big red sweater unzipped to show a bronzed and muscular stomach, generous breasts covered by a bright yellow bikini top, and a pale pink burn scar, a shining contrast to the bronzed tan of the rest of her skin, spreading across the top of her chest to narrow out over her collarbone and wrap to an end on the lower left side of her neck.

[Thaney] Thaney follows J.B., although it doesn't take more than half a minute for them to arrive at his chevy, and in response to his request for directions, she pauses. She closes her eyes, briefly, as if she had streetmaps behind her eyelids, streetnames and maybe mapquest. "I can do that," she says, calmly. Then her eyes open a slit, and she reaches out to open the door for Danny. It's already open. She watches Danny settle, and for the perceptive, it's clear to see that she's watchful for a reason, protective even, cautious even more, and then she smiles at J.B. No teeth. "You start by going south on _____. Then you get off at _______. I'll give you directions as they come. Did you know you have a girl in your truckbed?" Deadpan.

[J.B.] The interior is surprisingly well-appointed. Gone are the days when work trucks were simply that; now baby boomers wanted to drive big trucks and the missus wanted luxury. So this is the compromise: incongruous leather upholstery in a truck built to tow trailers. The cabin is surprisingly neat, but there's quite a bit of junk in the bed -- toolchest, hedge trimmer, a small lawn trimmer rattling around, and a big coil of orange extension cord.

And one Kendra Peterman.

"Yeah, she's been there since I started closing up, at least." He's tickled by this; another man might be upset. Or at least, surprised. "Knock on the window there and ask her if she wants to ride in the cab, will you? I'll let you all figure out who gets shotgun."

Meanwhile, Barrister starts the ignition. The whole truck rumbles with the powerful chug-chug-chug of the diesel-inhaling engine. A Prius, this was not.

[J.B.] (brb!)

[Danny Jones] There's a huh?

She twists (oh and probably smears something under her ass on the upholstery... whoops) and peers through the window. She grins a little, and does as she was asked, knocking on the window, to get her attention.

She n' Kendra, they ain't always get along - but well, right now, after having forgotten everything for a few days, it's just nice to see someon, and know who they are instantly.

[Kendra Peterman] The knocking on the window doesn't gain much attention at first from the young Fianna lounging in the truck bed as though it was hers to do so in. She just shifted legs left bare by cut-off denim shorts, lifting her knees into the air and crossing one over the other, then turned her head to look toward the window at the girl tapping on the glass. She recognizes the short-cropped teal and red hair, and offers a faint polite smile, a hollow and ironic shell of what the expression used to be on the Galliard.

Those pretty, dangerous belly muscles flex, and Kendra pulls herself into a sit, twists about to look at the window, and waits for it to slide open so she can hear whatever the denizens of the cabin want to say to her over the roar of the started diesel engine.

[Thaney] "I've got it," she says, meaning shotgun. She's giving directions, after all. She lingers, half-pulled into the truck, half-dangling over the cement. Danny bangs on the window. John starts the engine. Thaney ducks her head in, to give J.B. one of her contemplative looks (asphalt and rain, wet with the moon, black with the lightlessness of a city tunnel), then she leans out, again. "Kendra," she says, raising her voice to be heard. "We're going to the docks. You want a ride?"

[J.B.] "--inside," John supplies. A ride, inside. It's uncertain if Kendra hears him or not.

[Danny Jones] She turns again, and lets Thaney do the actual asking, shoving her hands back into the pockets of pilfered sweatshirt as she waits.

[Kendra Peterman] She thought about the offer for a second, then nodded to Thaney, not bothering to fake a smile for the Philodox. Thaney knew, she didn't have to explain herself, didn't have to pretend politeness. She just moved into a crouch, put her hands on the edge of the truck's bed, and vaulted her way out onto the pavement. In through the back door she would crawl, so she could sit behind the passenger seat.

She appeared a little chilled, the temeprature had dropped a good deal since the sun went down and the clouds filled the skies with fresh threats of rain that many doubted would be held to promise. Despite her scant attire, Kendra did not shiver. Goosebumps were visible on her flesh, but she didn't respond to them. Just nodded and murmered her hellos, and leaned back in her seat.

[J.B.] While Barrister waits, he lets the engine idle and warm up. Takes his cap off and musses his short dark hair. Kendra can see John's eyes in the rearview mirror after she climbs in -- his eyes, and an oblong sliver of the suntanned, windbeaten face. His dark eyes study her thoughtfully for a moment, then flicker back to the road without comment.

"Okay," he says, "off we go, then."

He's rarely had a stranger set of passengers. 'Never' might not quite be true -- but rarely.

[Thaney] "Danny's alive," Thaney informs Kendra. Of course, Kendra can see Danny there; smell her, too, no doubt. After those days in the woods. But the fact that she feels the need to - unnecessary as it may seem - to say the words is indicative of how glad she is. The door slams shut after her, fingers curling around the handle even after the door is shut, while the seatbelt is forgotten, and she says, "You got any music, J.B.?"

[Danny Jones] Danny's alive. And that she is. And truth be told, she doesn't smell exactly... bad per se, just.. a little ripe. And it's mostly the clothes. Should one lean close enough to take a wiff (and really, why would you?) she smells... wild(wyld)... like...

...flowers. Odd.

[Kendra Peterman] Kendra didn't bother to buckle herself in, not yet. She glanced to Thaney when she announced Danny's state of health, presence, life... what have you. The answer to this was a glimmer of a smile, a real one. A touch of warmth shined through, lit up the freshly bronzed face, and Kendra leaned forward to touch a hand to the top of Danny's head, to spread her fingers through the short hair on the girl's scalp, to feel the unwashed hair softened by its lack of proper gelling.

"That she is, ain' she?"

This was the best answer that one was likely to recieve. Kendra withdrew her hand from the 'Dox Raggie's head, leaned back, and buckled herself into her seat.

[J.B.] The streets are quiet at this hour. They're somewhere south of the river, southwest of Cabrini-Green, in the warehouse district. Not quite the bulletridden projects, these, but still not the sort of place tourists liked to go. Or, for that matter, white adolescent girls. But then they all knew the three in the truck weren't girls at all in the strictest sense of the word, and of the quartet, J.B. was easily the weakest.

"Yeah," he says. He'd been whistling again, low and quiet, and pauses to nod at the glove compartment as he steers the big 4x4 to a red light at the highway entrance. "Check in there. See if there's anything you like."

Inside: vehicle registration, a small first aid kit, some maps, the packet of manuals and whatnot that came with a new car, and a small soft-skinned disc wallet. His music taste is mostly mainstream rock and hard rock; a little dated toward the '90s, with plenty of Pink Floyd thrown in for good measure. Godsmack too.

He's aware of a bond between the three garou that he was somehow on the outside of, by virtue of blood or gender or age or all of the above. They were an entity, loose and incohesive though it may be. They didn't quite have the synergy of a pack, but still, looking at them, the lines are clear. They are a unit. Barrister is not part of it, though he is associated. He studies the two in the backseat through the rearview mirror for another moment, then returns his attention to the road as the light blinks green for the freeway on-ramp.

[Kendra Peterman] (( Help me here... Who's in the back with Kendra and who's in the front with JB? ))

[J.B.] (John / Thaney up front. Danny / Kendra in the back.)

[Danny Jones] She ducks her head, but allows her hair to be tousled, submits to the warm welcome home from Kendra. She wrinkles her nose after though and makes a show of fixing her (desparatelyneedingwashed) hair again. "Ya'll act like ya ain't spect t'find me at all, leastwise in one piece. Fuck, I'm ain't that big a wussy, am I?"

But truth be told, she's kinda enjoyin the fuss. After all, not like any of her pack has made a point to search her out just yet. Though Loki's still missin. She'da gone with Skadi n Kemp, but for the fact she needs that ole checkup.

She slouches in the seat next to Kendra, and catches that studying gaze in the mirror and brazenly winks at JB with a little grin.

[Thaney] Danny and Kendra are sitting side by side; considering their history, how odd. J.B. and Thaney are up front; less odd, and perhaps less odd still, that they seem so easy together, the older Get of Fenris kin, the young Fianna garou; natural. Kendra smiles, and Thaney is smiling too, even though she's turned to investigate the glove compartment, to keep an eye on the road. The streetlights cast the shadows of her eyelashes on her cheeks, blurred surrealist. There's a faint curve to her mouth, which disappears soon. Maybe because of the music selection. "GooGoo Dolls?" - she glances a question at the kinman. Tells him to take a left.

"I didn't," she says, seriously. Didn't expect to find Danny in one piece, that is. She sniffs, delicately. Then sniffs again. "You wearing perfume, Kendra? Or - hey, Jaybee. You got a date?"

[Kendra Peterman] "Y'know damn well th'on'y perfume I wear is m'own sweat."

Thaney's question is answered by a wry smirk sent up into the front seat. Kendra had been seen in a skirt once-- once, and she had no other options at that point in time, and looked about as unnatural and uncomfortable in it as one would assume mister John Barrister would look in one too. ...Speaking of...

"If'n John here had a date, I don' think he'd be wearin' no girl's perfume anyway..." Followed but a shrug. Who knew, maybe he would?

[J.B.] It's quiet in the cabin. There's conversation, but it's quiet. The silences are long, though not quite tense. The space between is simply thick with it, filled up, as though with a viscous fluid.

It doesn't seem to sit poorly with John. He slouches easily in his seat, a smile flickering quick and genuine over his face as Danny catches him looking and winks. She can see the smile, too, in the creasing at the corners of his eyes. When he looks forward again, those eyes become serious, the straight dark brows over them serious. There's a sense that Barrister might be capable of great focus and intensity. There's a sense of a latent and slow strength in him, like a river.

Left wrist draped over the big wheel, he steers with the ease of long practice. On his fourth finger, his wedding band glints faintly in the passing lights. Absently, he loosens his jacket with his right hand as the heater kicks in and begins to shift the temperature to a warm 72 or so. Goo Goo Dolls, Thaney says, subtly steering the conversation as he subtly steered the car: somehow, John reflects, she's taken a sort of responsibility here, a leadership role. It suited her, he decides after a moment, and glances sideways at her, wryly.

"College," he replies; if she does a little quick math, it doesn't quite add up to the usual college-at-18 scheme. He went to college later than that, older than that. And, with a low chuckle, a baritone rumble more felt than heard, "No, floral isn't my scent. Skadi -- you know her? -- she's been trying to set me up with some kinswoman though. She won't tell me how old she is. I've my suspicions."

[Danny Jones] Flowers? She sniffs. Then lifts her shirt and sniffs it. And makes a face. Oh. my. GOD. that's rancid. Then she sniffs her arm, and without preamble, shoves her arm under thaney's nose. "It ain't ME is it???"

[Thaney] "I don't know," she says, "You could have spilled some on you. By accident." That, clearly, to Kendra. Then, speculative, "No, probably wouldn't wear a woman's perfume. He doesn't seem that metro. But maybe a woman he's already seen would, you get?" There's nothing safer than speculating on maybe women with an unmated (once mated, that ring) man.

She didn't put in Goo Goo Dolls. She put in a mix CD, preferring a surprise. I am milk. I am red hot kitchen. The voice is low, but ethereal at the same time. And I am cold. There's a driving beat, very 90s. Cold as the deep blue ocean. Good chill out music. I am lost. So I am cruel.

The fianna sits back, and remembers her seatbelt. Also, to say, "Turn right." Then, "Yeah, I know Skadi; I like her. Who's the kinswoman?" There's a beat. Thaney turns around in her seat, and peers at Kendra and Danny. The seatbelt came off almost within seconds of being put on. "Here, Danny, let me smell you."

[Danny Jones] "Let me smell you" she says - and that could be a dangerous proposition, but she offers her arm, and leans forward - carefully still, so she doesn't muss up TOO much of JB's car. She tips her neck too, so Thaney can sniff out the mysteriously flowery smell.

"Just don't sniff that stain on my shirt. I did. ew."

[Kendra Peterman] Danny expressed distress at smelling like flowers, so Kendra leaned over, put her nose over the girl's upper arm when it stretched out into the front seat, and sniffed. "Yup. Hate t'break it to ya, but it's you. Cryin' shame, fer ya t'smell like flowers. Wanna rub yerself in m'armpit, fix that up?" The smirk showed that the sarcasm was all for play, for jest. The smirk was a 'get away without a bloody nose free' card.

As for John's mention of Skadi...

With a shake of her head, the Galliard addressed the kinfolk behind the wheel in the same low, dry sort of voice that she had been using since she migrated from the truck bed into the cab. "Skadi's a crazy sunnivabitch, but I like 'er. Wouldn' be anythin' less than wary of whoever she's settin' ya up with, though. Skadi's a young'un, an' every goddamn Fenrir kin I ever seen so far is a young'un.

"An' not t'be talkin' shit 'r nothin', but if th'name Moira comes up, I'd be careful. Th'girl drags drama 'round behind her like a lil' kid with a cat by it's tail. Dunno if she means to 'r not, but god damn does it ever happen. S'cos'a her tha' Joe got his face busted up."

[J.B.] As the sniffing begins, John is briefly and hilariously reminded of -- no, not dogs in a park, though that would be the obvious analogy. No; instead, he's reminded of slumber parties his sisters used to have; pre-teen and just-teenaged girls flopping around in their jammies, doing their hair and playing with makeup and spritzing one another with the most awful -- what were they called? Body sprays? Here, try this. Let me smell you! Okay, now you smell me.

Who's this kinswoman, Thaney wants to know, and before John gets around to telling her, Kendra warns him away from Moira. John laughs a little under his breath. "I'll keep that in mind," he says.

[Thaney] There is a subtle change of expression on Thaney's face. This is the expression she wears, the neutral one, whenever Danny offers her food, while perched on a dumpster - and she, inevitably, asks, How fresh is 'fresh', Danny? This is also the expression she wears when she's talking to shadowlords. Especially when she's talking to shadowlords about other shadowlords.

Sniff. Then, "Aw, it smells pretty. Not like - perfume, really, at all. Like real flowers." Then, a frown. "But that's weird." She wraps her arms around the seat, and rests her chin on the top of it. Moira, Kendra says, and there's something of - maybe? - agreement in the set of Thaney's shoulders. But what she says is, careful, "To be fair, Joe doesn't really need any help getting in fights, does he? He's - " a pause. " - scrappy, yeah?"

Beat. "He got his face busted up?"

[Danny Jones] She wrinkles her nose at Kendra and Thaney, and sniffs her own arm again. Then, to be fair, she shoves her arm in front of JB. "S'really stink like flowers? ME? A child of the concrete?? FLOWERS?"

She seems offended by the thought, really. And when he's done sniffing she flops back in the seat with a mutter. "Flowers. Now I really need a shower."

But she listens to the rest of the conversation, a brow lifted slightly. "Joe? the one what buys me fancy ice cream, Joe?"

[Kendra Peterman] And here was an oppertunity to tell a story. Perhaps for the sake of distraction, Kendra dipped back into her well of memories to explain the occurances that caused Joe's face to get busted. She also chose to correct the assumption that Joe was 'scrappy' while she was at it.

Danny questions which 'Joe' they're talking about, and Kendra nods to confirm that she has the right one.

"Joe ain' scrappy. He's too.... laid back t'be scrappy, really. He's a smart ass, yeah, 'n all but asks fer people t'beat his ass, bu' he don' go around lookin' fer fights, y'know? ...Bu' yeah, tha' Eagles kin? Th'gay one, Tristan? I s'ppose Joe was havin' coffee, 'n Tristan recognized him fer some reason 'r another, they must'a met before, 'n went t'join him. They got t'talkin', 'n th'mention of th'possibility tha' Joe might'a gotten Moira pregnant came up.

"Joe said 'I never touched Moira without a condom.' Tristan took offense, figured tha' Joe was callin' her dirty 'r somethin', which I don' think he really was, it just came out tha' way. So Tristan threw a fit 'n knocked hot coffee inta Joe's lap on his way out. Joe, a'course, got pissed off. Who wouldn', after havin' hot coffee spilled on their dick? He stomped after Tristan outta th'shop, 'n they got into a fist fight."

Here, she shrugged, and the smirk grew a little broader. "Tristan handed Joe's ass t'him on a platter. Fucked 'is face up good."

[J.B.] Mentally, John makes a note to have a talk with Skadi about who she was setting him up with.

Not so mentally, he resists the urge to laugh. It doesn't go very well. His lips compress, then twitch, then twist. Finally he laughs, silently, crinkle-eyed in the rearview mirror.

Aloud, "So, just for my edification -- how old is this Moira?"

[Kendra Peterman] "...Nineteen? Twenty?"

She shrugged, uncertain. But then, who was she to talk about age gaps between lovers?

[Thaney] "Hey, what's wrong with flowers," she protests, because she's not a child of the concrete. No, she's a child of a man with a sense of humor, maybe, but she's certainly very much a creature of her (fianna: wild: celtic: moors and toors and wind and hills and cold stone and white water) blood. Then she listens, intent. "Tristan," she says, "is pretty bad ass. You know he fought at the raising of this caern? He's got such a scar," she says.

[Danny Jones] The subject turns to ages, and more specifically age differences, and Danny goes quiet. She leans her head back against the seat, and turns away from the others to stare out the window at the passing (and thankfully familiar) scenery.

It strikes a nerve, it hurts, and it twangs with an ache and threatens to pull everything she's trying to hide up to the forefront again. She works at it silently, without looking away from the window, while listening to everyone else.

[J.B.] "Huh," John says -- it really is a grunt this time. Then he lapses into a quiet, his attention piqued by Thaney's comment.

[Kendra Peterman] "...They had t'fight t'raise th'Caern?" Here was a subject Kendra was fairly ignorant to. How Caerns were raised, how they were made. "...Were you aroun' fer when that happened? Shit, 'm pretty sure I was crawlin' m'way through South Dakota when Maelstrom was built."

That was another chronicle in the life of the Galliard, one of many despite her young age.

Danny went quiet, and Kendra looked toward her, noticing the newfound silence from the fresh young Ragabash. She was an empathetic creature, this Fianna-once-Fury. She understood that a Galliard had many roles to fill, many paths that they could chose to take to fulfill their moon-born duty to the nation. Moon-Dancers were meant to sing, to tell tales, to recount lore and deeds. She believed that all of that existed for one reason-- morale. Galliards were there to lift spirits, to keep everyone enthused to be alive, happy to fight, estatic to live their lives. She grew to understand peoples emotions well enough, so that she could keep those spirits high.

She also knew, to an extent, Danny's situation, and had somewhat of an insider's point of view on such a topic. She felt for her old friend, felt a sympathy pang of emotion in her chest at the disquieted look on the Gnawer's face. Without much thought of consequence or permission, Kendra leaned over across the back seat and wrapped her arm loosely around Danny's head, laying her fingers lightly on the girl's jaw while leaning over to press a kiss to her temple.

No words accompanied this gesture, none were necessary as far as she was concerned. Soon as her lips parted from Danny's temple, Kendra leaned back to sit on her own side of the seat.

[Thaney] --and thus did Danny die of shock.
to Danny Jones, J.B., Kendra Peterman

[Danny Jones] She stiffens, briefly - just a fraction of a second, really - as Kendra reaches for her, but then she relaxes into the touch, and the meaning behind it. It's taken in the spirit it is offered, and there's even a little sad smile for the songster. When she turns back to the window, she lifts a hand to scratch under her ear, and on the sly - hopefully on the sly - brush away an errant teardrop that couldn't be held back.

She swallows hard, then, and listens to Kendra and Thaney tell their stories.

[Danny Jones] (*LMAO* all but! *g*)
to J.B., Kendra Peterman, Thaney

[Kendra Peterman] (( Oh cute! :3 ))
to Danny Jones, J.B., Thaney

[Thaney] "No, I wasn't around. But I asked Susaa to tell me the stories. You should go listen to her when she tells them; she's good at it." It isn't that she's a gossip. It's that she's communicative. She doesn't say too much, not in detail; J.B. is kinfolk and Thaney has never been comfortable talking, in detail, about the daily gruesomes of garou life before kinfolk she doesn't claim as her own. The corners of her eyes wrinkle, for a moment, when Kendra kisses Danny's head; her mouth almost quirks, too, serious girl. "Heard Tristan's story from his own mouth, though," yeah, she'd noticed John's interest. "He was torn apart by a black spiral." Quiet. Then, "He also got shot by that Imogen. The one who's with that Silence."

[J.B.] John is, of course, disappointed when the caern story ends so inconclusively. He doesn't push, though. There were details the Garou were willing to impart; there were those they weren't. And there were details he thought he wanted to know, and details he later wished he hadn't.

Instead, he allows the conversation to be steered onward. The corners of his eyes crinkle. It seems like a wince at first; then it resolves itself as a smile: "Shot? Good grief. What for?"

[Kendra Peterman] Kendra was content to lean against her window and be quiet, wait to hear what tidbits of the story that Thaney was willing to give out. Though, at the mention of Imogen, she had to add her murmered comment: "Always new tha' lady was one'a th'bad guys. Like an evil scientist, her."

[Danny Jones] She can't help the little quirk of a grin at the mention of Imogen. "Don't know if this Tristan is a bad ass? But I know the Doc is. He probably mouthed off or somethin..."

mostly murmured, but amused. And at least her voice didn't waver, or give way to everything else inside.

[Thaney] Serious, Thaney. "He got in her way," naturally, but wait: "while she was trying to shoot a real bad guy; she changed her aim, so she just got him in the shoulder, 'stead of the heart."

[J.B.] Barrister laughs under his breath, shaking his head. "You keep this up," he admonishes gently, "I'm going to be more afraid of the kin than the Garou."

Assuming they were kin, anyway. Though it'd be mighty odd to be impressed with a Garou being torn apart by a Black Spiral, and Silence was a terribly strange name for a kin.

They're nearing the docks. John points at a road sign flying overhead: "Should I take this exit or the next?"

[Thaney] (( Heh. Yeah, let's see. In this convo it has been established:

Joe: smart ass.
Tristan: bad ass.
Imogen: scary bad ass.
Moira: young drama-hauler.

Three garou girls: Slumber party little sister-like! ))
to Danny Jones, J.B., Kendra Peterman

[Thaney] "The next," says she. "Then go straight until you see the _____. Take a left. Another left. Pull up in front of the _____. That will do."

[Kendra Peterman] Kendra, too, had lapsed into silence, with nothing to add to the conversation.

Besides, she was looking a little carsick. Was probably concentrating on not vomitting in John's nice truck.

[Danny Jones] "The next," She answers the question with Thaney, though lets her continue the instructions. After all, she normally walks. Everywhere. But she has been watching out the window, soaking in the flow of the city, the familiar walks and textures and sounds and smells (flowers. HARUMPH! And look - the scent is making Kendra turn green...)

She muses, quietly. "takes a lot of calm t'adjust aim on the fly like that. Always knew the Doc was badass..." Grinned, just a little. "an' don't worry, John. We won't tell the other kin ya skeered." beat. "too often."

[J.B.] John laughs again, the gruff, unashamed sound that they would grow to know well if they spent any amount of time in his presence.

The big truck parks at the edge of the bawn. John peers curiously into the dark, but the caern does not give up its secrets to him so easily. All he sees is chainlink fencing, broken concrete, rubble and darkness.

"All right," he says, by way of goodbye, "take care, all of you."

[Danny Jones] They arrive, and she opens the door to climb out. She uses a hand and tries to wipe off the seat where she smudged....something... and looks up at John a little sheepishly. "Thanks for the ride.. sorry bout the seat. Least it ain't blood, right?" Slight grin, and a shake of her head. Little does he know how many vehicles she has bled in. Hopefully this muck'll be easier to clean out.

Least if vaguely smells like dirty flowers. ew.

She shuts the door, and shoves her hands into the pockets of her pilfered sweatshirt, her shoulders hunching slightly. She feels fine, sure. (Well.... except...) but it's like going to the doctor knowin something could be wrong. It likely ain't, but it could be, and thus she's a little nervous.

And hungry. Dammit, ain't no one fed her yet - as her loudly grumbling belly attests too. Threatening to hold her other organs hostage, likely, until she gets something to eat. At least she's got her appetite back, hm?

[Thaney] The girls leave J.B. One probably gets brains; one, a heart; the other, courage. Or maybe it's just an Auntie Em moment. Thaney thanks J.B., of course, as grave and serious as ever.

Finis.