We Be Clubbin

[Imogen Slaughter]

A Friday night on the full moon. She often sings on nights like this - a pub, a bar where there are people surrounding her, filling her life with humans as the Garou whom she knows begin to rage and seethe beneath the skin. Tonight is no exception. She is sitting alone on the stage, her guitar on her lap, her fingers on the strings. The lights dim the audience from her view and the sound of the music, the microphone mutes the din. She sings with a clear, clean voice, rich and low, her fingers quick on the strings. "There's a bone in my ear Keeps singing your name Sometimes it's like pleasure Sometimes it's like pain It's a small voice and quiet But I hear it plain " The guitar piece is intricate, a constant melody undercutting her voice. There is more emotion in this song that Marrick has likely seen in conversation with her. A pause for breath, an expression in her voice. You cannot sing without emotion - at least not well. And Imogen does nothing that she cannot do well. "Can't drown out the whisper Or the scent of your skin Don't know where it came from But I know where it came There's a bone in my ear Keeps singing your name" When the last notes die, she is done. It is nearly ten pm, time for the main act to come on. Applause is a little more than polite, a few cheers, scattered clapping. She thanks them, her voice brief, melodic through the microphone and informs them that Blue Dawn will be playing for them soon. It does not take her long to break down. She unhooks her guitar from the amplifier, rolls up the cord and slips both instrument and cord into its case, snapping it shut. The lights are out now, and she navigates her way down the stage carefully in the half light of the pub, her eyes on the stairs and their dim outline. The slight redhead, dressed in jeans, a peasant's blouse, stops at the bar first, leaning forward to speak to the 'tender. A moment later, she is passing her instrument over for safe keeping. While she waits for her drink she turns away, one elbow still resting on the bar's edge, her gaze moving over the main room.

[Marrick Fisher]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6) (please for the love of all that is Holy, be coherent today!)

[Marrick Fisher]

It was a Friday night, and the moon was full. It was almost counterintuitive; she shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be around people in any sense of the wor, not when the wrong look from the right male might send her into a fit of you-don't-want-to-know. By all rights, she shouldn't be here. And she knows this. Marrick knows better. But, as she sees it, she survived high school. She survived week after week of having to deal with people who got on her nerves and teachers desperately trying to ignore the back corner of the American National Government class. She's not staying at home anymore, they said, you know that's got to make a girl a little off. It's a damned shame she quit track, though, we could have made it to state again. In a state like Oklahoma, not living at home anymore became everyone's business. Marrick Fisher was one of the few ahrouns who could boast having completed high school. If she could deal with freshmen, she could deal with anything. So, on nights like this, people gave her some space. Some looked concerned, others tried to ignore her presence, and others still became irrationally anxious. They looked for exits and potential weapons and thought of excuses to stay away from the otherwise pretty blonde girl. But, that said, Marrick wans't paying attention to those around her. She was paying attention to Imogen. She was paying attention to Imogen because she was on stage, and she was singing. Imogen was nothing like home. Marrick had only been there for the last few songs, but it seemed enough for her. Attire was comfortable, and for once she actually looked like she might belong here. Jeans, sans holes, and some shirt she had picked up for four-fifty at the local consignment shop. Retail? Probably closer to forty-something. Marrick had no idea it was last season, and really she probably didn't give a shit if it was. She looked good in red.

[Imogen Slaughter]

Imogen is dressed in this season's attire, a pair of pale skinny jeans, a loose, light blouse with faint embellishment along the lapels, the cuffs. She is stylish, she is poised. She makes money, she is clearly intelligent, having made it past more than simply high school, but medical school as well. With her flaming hair, she would never look good in red. This is to say there is almost nothing similar between Imogen and Marrick. Socio-economic status, tastes, experiences, nothing blends, nothing fits. Still, each woman knows the other. Tied through things which they do not choose or define for themselves. She sees the Fury Ahroun first by identifying the pocket of space around her. She is familiar with it, having seen it - likely at this very pub - more than once. Decker, sitting there with a half eaten plate of wings. Kemp, sprawled out with his coffee, disgustingly filled with cream and seven or eight packets of sugar. And now, Marrick - with whatever she may have. The kin's dark eyes rest upon the Garou for several seconds before she turns and reaches over to take her pint glass from the 'tender. "Ta," she says, taking a sip to lower the liquid's level from the rim of the glass, her hand lifting to her mouth afterwards, swiping few droplets away from her mouth with her thumb. A few more seconds pass, and then the good doctor steps away, weaving through the crowd toward the Ahroun.

[Marrick Fisher]

Imogen is something that Marrick isn't, nor will she probably live to be. She's well-educated. She makes money, she's intelligent, and she's poised. She's experienced things, and she can sing. Imogen Slaughter does nothing that she can not do well. As Marrick sees it, Imogen Slaughter does damned near everything. She finishes off a glass of water, and for now the food of choice seemed to be cheese fries. Cheese fries and the corpse of what could have very well been boneless wings once upon a time. She was fell-fed today. The ahroun takes a bite of her cheese fries, and catches a glimse of where the small, red-haired female was wandering off to. Of course, she was coming towards her, which made things easier. Marrick was content to meet her halfway. "Hey," she says. It's the only thing she can think of to say, and after she just got on stage, the Fury assumes that everyone and her dog must have told her that she plays well, that she's got a great voice, and some drunk enough or stupid enough might have even considered trying to get her phone number. That said, the Fury does eventually come out with it. "How long've you been playin'?"

[Imogen Slaughter]

"Hello," she greets the Garou, setting her beer down on the table. A tilt of her head indicates the chair opposite her. "May I sit?" Provided permission is given, she takes a seat, crossing her legs at the knee. The question that Marrick answers, to be truthful, is one she's been asked before. it is, however, usually one after the usual barrage of other predictable comments or statements. It is the variety she appreciates, if nothing else. Her mouth moves slightly, a faint twist, "Long enough tha' I don't actually recall starting," she says. "I'm told three or four years old."

[Marrick Fisher]

May I sit? "'course," she said with a nod., The Fury pushed her cheese fries forward a little, brows raised briefly, and the offer remains unspoken. The conversation goes towards when Imogen learned to play, and the Fury's attention doesn't waver. This, of course, is odd considering that under normal circumstances she was little better than a self-aware pingpong ball. She started around three-or-four. "An' ya kept up with it?" she asks. Well, yeah, duh, obviously she did. "Is there anything you don't do?"

[Imogen Slaughter]

She kept up with it? Imogen nods slightly. "I never saw a reason t'stop," she says, picking up her beer glass and lifting it to her mouth to take a swallow. The amber liquid moves sluggishly, and the shadows shift at her throat as she swallows. She sets the glass down eyeing the younger woman at her semi-incredulous question. It does not seem to please her or offend her. It in fact seems to provoke no reaction at all, merely a steady, still gaze and the smooth planes of her expression. "Quite a lot, I imagine," she says after seconds pass. "But I'm not entirely sure that listing them would be at all useful."

[Marrick Fisher]

"I mean," she starts. Then stops. Then, decides that it is time for a damned cheese fry before she comes up with a good response. When in doubt, stuff your face, because it kept dumb things from coming out. This also said, after the night she's had, she simply doesn't have it in her to be anything but upfront. "Yer a doctor, you play guitar, y'sing like it's no one's business, you're a fuckin' badass-" a beat. "I guess I'm tryin' ta say that yer pretty cool." Another bite of cheesefries.

[Administrator]

spy vs spy, welcome to Lake View (Northside) (Now)

[Imogen Slaughter]

You're a fuckin' badass. Imogen's eyebrow arches upward. She leans back in her chair, glancing over her shoulder at the Blue Dawn which is still setting up under the dimmed stage lights. Her attention returns to Marrick. "I don't believe I've been called a 'bad-ass' before," she remarks. The way she frames the appellation makes it almost seem like a foreign world, even if it is familiar to her. "But thank you. I think." There is irony here, and not really any gratitude. Some silence, then. She takes another swallow of her beer, wiping her mouth with the side of her thumb as she lowers the glass. "S'the difference," she says eventually, "o' not spendin' yer life devoted to the war." A faint twist of her mouth, a smirk which is mirthless and perhaps a little cutting. "The chance t'hone other skills."

[Marrick Fisher]

The comment is cutting, somewhat mirthless. Marrick doesn't say anything, instead she simply looks at Imogen for a moment. She inhales, then takes another bite of food. That's how things were- you'd be surprised at what you can do when you don't have to worry about a war all the time. "Yeah," she says, "must be nice." She takes a drink of her water, swallows, and then continues. "Can't not focus on other skills too," she shrugs.

[Imogen Slaughter]

There's a pause. "I'm sorry," she says, "I don't understand what you mean."

[Marrick Fisher]

"Y'focus too hard on one thing, an' you're weak in others. Fitness is a mind and body thing. Focus too much on the physical, an' the minute somethin;' that requires a little thought comes up an' yer screwed. Focus too much on somethin; martial, an' ya forget that you gotta interact with th' rest of th' world," she says. A beat. "I dunno how t'really put that into other words."

[Imogen Slaughter]

A shake of her head, slight. "Those words are fine. I understand now." Her eyebrow lifts faintly as she takes another drink of her beer, "S'not particularly a practise tha' most Garou hold to, however."

[Administrator]

spy vs spy has left Lake View (Northside)

[Marrick Fisher]

"It's not," she states, "but I dunno. I c'n follow the logic. Life's short, y'gotta try an' fight the way you can. Focus on somethin' immediate." She shrugs, but it's odd. She's not a particularly intelligent young woman, or at least she doesn't regard herself as such, but damned if she didn't seem to enjoy thinking. a pause. "Why do you think that is?"

[Imogen Slaughter]

She doesn't answer right away. The music starts up behind her and she turns her head to look over her shoulder at the band, people she undoubtedly knows or at least has met, seeing as she opened for the band. Seconds later, she turns back. One might wonder if the straying of her attention had been to buy her time. This conversation strikes her as odd. It is not one she traditionally would hold. Not one she would normally entertain. The reasons why she allows this one - this particular one continue is a question she will mull over later. Along with the details of this conversation. Still, she answers: "Because fighting is what's needed fer yer immediate survival. S'the short term gain. Anythin' else is long term effort, long term gain. And yeh're all told tha' you are very likely to ha' a limited life span." A beat. "So why bother wi' the long term?"

[Administrator]

Boy, welcome to Lake View (Northside) (Now)

[Marrick Fisher]

There was a chance that this all came with being young. That she was thinking about being a complete package, or even of her own mortality because she was young. Because she was eighteen and already past her prime. Because, by now, she has lived longer than some of her companions. Maybe it was just because she hadn't slept well tonight, because mistakes and flaws and could-have-beens were fresh on her mind. This conversation is odd. "Think we have limited lifespans because we don't think long term, or we don't think long term because we have limited lifespans." A pause. She seems genuinely invested in Imogen's opinion. That was the strangest thing, to Marrick. "I remember one of th' first things someone told me was that my life was gonna be short, it was gonna be brutal, an' that I shouldn't expect t'be around too long. An' lookin' back..." she pauses, "I dunno."

[Administrator]

Wendy Berber, welcome to Lake View (Northside) (Now)

[Boy]

to Imogen Slaughter, Marrick Fisher, Wendy Berber ((Places?))

[Imogen Slaughter]

(they're in a pub with live music)

[Imogen Slaughter]

There is a brief silence on Imogen's part, the band playing behind her. "You must realize by now it my habit to be blunt," she says then and perhaps it is a warning. "But tha' you've survived this long is not a symptom that the person who told you that is wrong. You are an exception." A lift of her shoulder and she picks up her beer again, a deep swallow.

[Boy]

Music wasn't an over 21 thing. It wasn't even an over 18 thing. Music was universal, at least to those that could hear it, feel it. To Boy, it was all new. To Boy, everything was all new, all over again. The night before he looked like the walking dead. Like a man (a very young man) gone through hell and back. Now he was really back. Hungry, awake, alive. Eagerly, he burst through the doors of the pub one second, quickly surveying the place, and back out the other second. When he's back he's got a certain skinny, mousy girl in tow. His hand grasped around hers, they begin wading through the crowd. "You have to hear this, Wendy." he said over the din, as if introducing her to this brand new thing. "It'll be great, I promise!"

[Marrick Fisher]

A beat. "That's kinda fucked up." Another beat. "But it makes sense."

[Wendy Berber]

*She's looking better rested. No nightmares this evening meant a full four hours of rest all in a row. Spindly fingers curled around Boy's hand as she wades through the crowd with him, letting the younger teen part the crowd.* Whats this genre.. do you know?

[Imogen Slaughter]

Imogen shakes her head slightly. "S'just the way it is."

[Marrick Fisher]

Attention wavers, that's just the way it is. The door opens, people come in, and were it not for the full moon outside, Marrick might not have noticed it open. Her head turns sharply to see who entered. Wendy's tall. Wendy's always been tall, but it's not the kin that catches her attention, but rather, the Uktena who gets her attention. The sound of his voice is masked, briefly, but the sound of the music playing. The rest between chorus and verse is enough for her to pick it up. She looks genuinely pleased for a moment. A pause. "Imogen, you met Boy, right?"

[Boy]

"Genre? Uh...I dunno. Its...Oh hey! There's Marrick!" He's dragging her over now, making his own path through the crowd toward the two of them. "Hey Marrick! I'm back!"

[Imogen Slaughter]

The kinwoman's eyes move as Marrick's do, coming to rest on Boy, then Wendy. She hears Marrick's voice, dimly off to her left and turns in time to her most of what she says over the music. "I have, actually," she says, her gaze flicking briefly back toward the pair, then back, "Just last night."

[Wendy Berber]

*And she'd drug, pulled along awkwardly as she offers a very nervous smile to the ahroun. Acutely aware of what the moon is like outside.* Um, Hey. Hi!

[Marrick Fisher]

"How was it?" she asks. There is a genuinely, physical reaction that comes across her features. She looks tired today, but it doesn't seem to hinder her. Her smile is bright- too sharp and too feral. They're all aware that the moon's full, and that it bleeds across so many aspects of her demeanor. That said, she has to try her damnedest not to tackle the philodox. It was a good thing.

[Boy]

"Uh. Not easy. My feet still hurt a little. Hi Imogen. Good seeing you again. You guys mind if we sit with you?" He was different, somehow. It was almost like he was happy. Happy to be alive. Happy to be home. Happy just to be.

[Imogen Slaughter]

The kinwoman gestures briefly to a nearby - empty table at Boy's query if he can join them. "Pull up a chair, says the Briton.

[Wendy Berber]

*Wendy remains, quiet, moving to get them both chairs, a knock of her bony knee against the table. Clumsy, but eager to help. She recognized Dr. Slaughter from the Kin moot. A shy smile of acknowledgement.*

[Marrick Fisher]

"We gotta get another truck," she admits. It was an honest admission, then again Marrick and Boy both knew where her old one went. A beat. "Glad yer back home," she tells him. First time Marrick's acknowledged Chicago as being something like a home in a long, long time... or, well, ever.

[Boy]

He was grinning, oddly enough. And while she talks at the same time that he sits, you can almost see the tensing in his body, the way he almost stands and leans over the table to get at blonde Fury. Instead, he grins, and pulls a little closer to Wendy. "How you been? Oh man, I shoulda known you knew about this place. Isn't it great!"

[Imogen Slaughter]

Imogen casts a glance at the shy, gawky Kinfolk, her eyes touching on the girl's small smile. "Wendy," Imogen greets her. "You're well, I hope." It is politeness that spurs the statement. The kin's beer is near drained. She lifts it for another swallow, turning her head slightly to glance over her shoulder at the band as they complete a song with a flourish. Her forearm rests on the back of her chair, her fingers tapping absently against the wood, following the beat. Her chair is at an angle - the three others still in her line of sight.

[Administrator]

crow, welcome to Lake View (Northside) (Now)

[Wendy Berber]

*The tall swizzle-stick kin fold herself into a chair and scoots close to Boy. Thankful Marrick's attention is on Boy, rather than directed entirely on her. But she's quiet and calm. The topic of a truck comes up, and Wendy pipes up timidly.* Um.. Mr. Ortega offered to g-give me a company car. But I can't drive. Want me to, um.. well, take him up on it anyway? *Its then Wendy looks to Imogen again and dips her shaggy head in a nod. * I am. Thank you um. Dr. Slaughter. ..You? *A quirk of her lips. Alright, so Dr. Slaughter reminded her of some villain character in a video game. She dips her head to hide her amusement.*

[Boy]

"Doctor? You're a doctor?" How that is more surprising than the two of them knowing each other is a bit of a wonder. "I dunno. I think giving your company car to us is a good way to get fired. Something might...y'know...happen to it."

[Administrator]

crow has left Lake View (Northside)

[Imogen Slaughter]

Her head turns back to look at Wendy, her eyes lowering slightly to touch the girl's lips to assist her half-hearing in this noisy environment. "Well enough," she answers Wendy. Her attention flicking to Boy and his incredulity. "I am," she says. "A Forensic Pathologist." Then, to no one in particular and the three in general, "There are a few sites 'round Cabrini Green and Bronzeville tha' have cars and car parts and so on. Might ha' some luck there."

[Marrick Fisher]

"S'cool," she tells Wendy, "don' wanna ask yer boss for much. Though, I think after hearin' what Imogen just said we could pick one up on southside pretty cheap." She paused. "Wendy, y'wanna learn t'drive? Could teach ya."

[Boy]

"That's usually the way we get most of our stuff." He says with a smile. "Its like...living off the land. Or the best we can do that in a city. When we start the backyard homestead, I'll let you know."

[Wendy Berber]

Oh um, no. Thank you. I.. I don't think that would be v-very pr-practical. Um. Thanks though. *Wendy tilts her head to to Boy.* Backyard, homestead?

[Boy]

"Yeah. Tomatoes, potatoes, mulching. What else do you do with a back yard?"

[Marrick Fisher]

"Eh, gotta tear up the carpet, though," she admits. The Fury pauses, and reflects for the time being. She thinks for the time being, but she taps on the table. It's a telltale sign of being restless. "We gotta set up security, too."

[Wendy Berber]

*Wendy nods* Maybe.. rhubarb? Its hardy.. I can.. make pie?

[Administrator]

Mackenzie Walsh, welcome to Lake View (Northside) (Now)

[Boy]

He nods in agreement, not missing a beat. "No barbwire. That's where I draw the line. It stays a home. But...we gotta do something about things coming in from the other side too, somehow. But...not tonight. Its a Friday. That's gotta mean something, right? We shouldn't be thinking about work. We should be...I dunno...having fun?" He looks around the table. Looking for agreement, maybe? Or perhaps he was still looking for suggestions on this fun thing he's heard about.

[Imogen Slaughter]

The conversation turns to such things as backyard homesteads - rhubarb, potatoes, etc. Imogen's attention strays away again and back toward the band. When a waitress passes by, she picks up her glass, catching the woman's eye, and tilting it in query. The younger woman, hurrying between her various customers, approaches warily, leaning in so Imogen can tell her what brand she's drinking. She looks around at the group, and steeling herself asks the others if they need anything.

[Mackenzie Walsh]

to Boy, Imogen Slaughter, Marrick Fisher, Wendy Berber (I'm going to be annoying and ask where ya'll are at. :D)

[Imogen Slaughter]

to Boy, Mackenzie Walsh, Marrick Fisher, Wendy Berber (GAWD, JACQUI! *tsks* *grin* We're in a pub with a live alt-folk/acoustic rock band)

[Marrick Fisher]

"We should," she said. Marrick pauses, and takes some time to think. A pause. She thinks for a minute. "We should do... something," a pause, "is the lake gross? Can we swim in that?" a pause. "What do you do for fun in a city?"

[Wendy Berber]

... Swimming is fun. I know a beach where they um, let you build a fire. i could buy Marshmallows?

[Boy]

"Swimming? I don't...fire? We could build a fire. I like that." to Imogen, he just shakes his head. The closest thing he knows to a polite refusal.

[Imogen Slaughter]

Imogen turns her head briefly toward Marrick's question, her mouth twisting faintly. "You go to a bar," she says, wryly. "And listen to live music." It was not Imogen who asked if the others wanted anything, but the waitress. When everyone seemed to be alright, she hurries offer, eager to be free from Marrick's rage.

[Mackenzie Walsh]

There was a collection of lawyers sitting up at one corner of the bar. How they were known to be lawyers was anybody's guess. Some would say the suits threw out the assumption, others the conversation if you got near enough to listen in between bouts of laughter. Some cynical individuals simply said they had the same empty eyes of the sharks those in the legal field were so often likened to, devouring the purse strings of the suffering. Whatever the profession of the collection of suited professionals - a slighter body was gently pressing herself past them with an expression of strained politeness on her features. Mackenzie Walsh was not alike to these men in appearance, she too wore a dark suit and white collared shirt beneath it, but hers was far neater and tailored to her smaller frame. Her dark hair was straight and carefully arranged in a twist at the nape of her neck and unlike her colleges, Ms Walsh's cheeks were not ruddy with drink. Rather, as she stepped around her co-workers and leaned into the huddle to speak, it looked as if she was pardoning herself.

[Wendy Berber]

*Wendy leans toward the boy beside her and mumbles something near his ear, tilting her head and waiting for his answer.*

[Marrick Fisher]

"That... sounds..." she pauses. It's moments like these that Marrick Fisher realizes she doesn't quite function like most people. That, in these situations, she's neither sure of what to do or whether or not she wants to function like city people. Ironic, of course, because before she moved here she was a suburban child. "We can do that for the next set. After that, I kinda like Boy's idea. Let's burn something." Completely unaware of how awful that sounded.

[Wendy Berber]

to Boy Can you swim? I'm not very good at swimming. But being in the water is still, kinda fun.

[Boy]

He just purses his lips and shakes his head to the girl's whisper, adding a bit of a shrug to it as well.

[Mackenzie Walsh]

During a lull in the music, when the conversation roars to fill the silence, Mackenzie approaches, having glimpsed a flash of red hair through a parting of the crowd. She has unbuttoned her jacket, and her shirt beneath is indeed white with silver threading running down it so that the fabric glittered as she moved. "Doctor Slaughter," she says from behind the group, her eyes a matching shade for her hair, a wine glass partially consumed in one hand. "I thought I noticed a familiar face."

[Imogen Slaughter]

Imogen's mouth twists faintly at Marrick's pause, then her continued words. "I wasn't suggestin' that yeh needed t'stay here," she says, her wryness remaining. "Please," a wave of her hand, absent, "feel free t'go and -" beat, "burn things." The waitress returns with her beer - she takes the pint glass off the offered tray with a muttered, "Ta." As she turns back, Mackenzie steps up, "Ms. Walsh," the women greet each other formally. Titles, family names. A glance at Boy, Marrick, Wendy, a pause. Then, almost as if it were an unnatural moment of politeness, the beginning of introductions, "Are yeh familar wi' anyone else here, then?"

[Marrick Fisher]

"... Mackenzie, right?" she asked. She looked at the Fury kin, and her head cocked to the side. The blonde was smoldering. She was all heat and rage and tensions and nervous energy that was in desperate need of an outlet. "Charlie get you home okay?"

[Wendy Berber]

*The thin kin blinks at Mack and squints behind her glasses. She recognized her from somewhere. But for the life of her Wendy couldn't figure out where. A small smile, and the tall teenager dugs her head, murmuring in a dark joke to herself.* You'd think we'd have enough of th-things burning. heh.

[Administrator]

John Thornton, welcome to Lake View (Northside) (Now)

[Wendy Berber]

to John Thornton (you! you're never on aim! *laughs and greet-tackles*)

[Boy]

He turns to Mackenzie, gives her the once over, and jerks a chin upward in greeting. Wendy's comment gets a gentle elbow nudge and half a smile. "Enough burning? No such thing."

[John Thornton]

to Wendy Berber ((I had to change my aim name... And I couldn't recall yours accurately enough to type out in the search thingie. It's MandrakeV2 now. I lost my old password, and when my comp died, I couldn't have it remember it for me anymore.))

[Wendy Berber]

*A goofy grin and a snicker as she looks to the table and blushes a little. Pleased. Wendy pushes up her glasses and listens to the music.*

[John Thornton]

((locations?))

[John Thornton]

to Wendy Berber ((Please im me so I can add you to my new aim buddy list))

[Wendy Berber]

((a round a little table in a pub with a live band))

[Mackenzie Walsh]

It appeared that Mackenzie and Imogen were not yet familiar enough to greet one another informally. Though both women seemed quite at their ease with the formal titles. The darker Kinswoman turns her gaze on the Doctor's party after a neat moment's pause and while she can certainly tell the Garou from the non-Garou the young lawyer does not seem overly flustered by the burning Full Moon. Rather, she inclines her head in a manner of respect toward Marrick. "Heard of, but never laid eyes on. Pleasure, Marrick, isn't it?" She smiled slightly at mention of the Metis' name. "That he did, he was quite the gentleman." The tall slender girl and the younger boy with her are unknown to the Fury, and she offers the same sort of introduction one might at any sort of social function. "I don't believe we've been introduced. Mackenzie Walsh."

[Wendy Berber]

to John Thornton ((I think I did Aim message you. :P I'm chumblefuzz@gmail.com we'll see if it works other way round!))

[Boy]

"I'm Boy." He says to her, but doesn't offer a hand or really anything more than the pleasant look on his face. "This is Wendy." One of his hands move to pat the skinny girl next to him on the shoulder.

[Wendy Berber]

*Wendy ticks shaggy hair behind her ear and lifts a too skinny hand up in an awkward wave.* Nice to, um, meet you.

[John Thornton]

In the cooling night air, where a full moon looked down from above and peeked from behind a thick mantle of puffy dark clouds, a man enters the pub. He was dressed in a suit and tie, and had by all appearances come straight from work. Now, however, the bloodshot eyes seemed to search for something other than business to occupy his time. He walks to an empty stool at the bar, and sliding off the gray suit jacket, folds it neatly and sets it on the seat beside him. Then, after loosening his maroon tie, unbuttoning his collar, and rolling his sleeves to the elbows, he takes the empty seat and waves over the bartender. For once, his badge and gun fail to make an appearance... It is only after he's ordered a glass of scotch (neat), that the hazel eyes, a subdued gray by the dim pub lighting, begin to make their circuit of the other patrons...

[Marrick Fisher]

"Good," she says with a degree of certainty. Yes, Charlie walked her home, and he was a perfect gentleman towards Mackenzie. This was acceptable, and the Fury spoke with a surprising amount of professionalism. "'m glad, he's a decent guy." her attention wavers, and it falls on John. The man was drinking, and for her part she didn't seem to surprised. The Fury glanced at Boy for a moment, then those around her before heading back to the bar. She wasn't sure what Thornton was up to, but for some reason his presence made her sit up a little straighter.

[Wendy Berber]

*Wendy looks up. Oh hey. John. She offers a shy smile across the distance.*

[Mackenzie Walsh]

The dark eyebrows do rise when the boy introduces himself as, well, Boy and for an absurd moment as her eyes tick over to the tall girl beside him she wonders if she's about to be introduced to Girl and the lawyer's lips threaten a smile for a short moment before she settles her expression back into the more banal one reserved for social merriment. "Pleasure, Boy, Wendy." Mackenzie Walsh's accent was decidedly un-American. The Fury hailed in fact from the island of Australia, but her time spent abroad had softened it to a degree that every so often she was mistaken for another nationality. Something trans-Atlantic but undefinable. Good, the Full Moon says as if she'd unwittingly confirmed some suspicion, or desire and Ms Walsh merely agrees with a noise and lifts her glass to her lips to sip the sweet chardonnay.

[Boy]

He catches that look from Marrick, and follows it over toward the bar. It takes him a while, but he recognizes the man, and it encourages him to nod in recognition. "Hm. Should we see how far down the bottle he gets tonight, or just step in now?"

[Wendy Berber]

m-maybe, um.. now? We'll replace it with m-marshmallows?

[Marrick Fisher]

"If he doesn't stop at two, we should," she says with a nod. She wasn't John's keeper, not by a long shot, but it didn't seem to stop the Fury from being concerned. a pause. "We should at least say hi, though."

[Imogen Slaughter]

Imogen's attention has returned to the music. The shift in the conversation draws her attention back, glancing in the direction that everyone else looks, seeing the Fenrir Kinsmen, her eyes moving slightly toward Boy when he speaks. An eyebrow arches slightly, before she turns back to the table, picking up her beer glass, and taking a deep swallow of amber liquid.

[John Thornton]

The scotch arrives, and as the man behind the bar turns to leave with the bottle, John stops him and shakes his head. Then, he withdraws his wallet, an overfilled and stretched piece of black leather overflowing with scraps of paper... Numbers, names, addresses, a mountain of information useless to any save those who knew what they were looking for in the jumble. Somehow, in spite of the apparent disorder, he opens it swiftly to the section where his money sat neatly folded, he withdraws three or four bills and sets them on the bartop. The bartender seems surprised at first, though the man shows little hesitation in releasing the bottle and scooping the bills from the bartop with practiced ease. The gaze of bloodshot hazel focuses on Marrick as he feels the eyes upon him... his returning gaze unwavering, direct... devoid of fear or hesitation. Unclouded by the numbing touch of alcohol... So far, anyway... From the look on his face, the simple gleam of scotch in the glass, and the greater volume of amber liquor waiting in the bottle he'd just purchased, his sobriety was to be a fleeting thing. The hazel eyes then consider the other faces at the table from whence Marrick stared, a curious brow raised as he notes several familiar faces... Wendy's shy smile is returned with the merest nod of greetings, as is Boy's nod, before the man moves to down the glass of scotch... With only the merest hint of tightening about the jawline to chase the burn.

[Boy]

"Yeah." He says simply, and stands. He starts by patting the back of the chair he was sitting on and addressing Mackenzie with a "Sit" that didn't sound like a question. Then he was approaching the bar, tilting his head toward Marrick as he was headed toward John.

[Wendy Berber]

Oh. um. Hi. *Wendy gives Mack a slightly apologetic quirk of lips and a shrug. Boy was .. bossy. Sometimes.*

[Mackenzie Walsh]

Boy tells her to sit and the woman's dark eyes slip over him, she offers a rather enigmatic smile. "No, thank you, I'm quite comfortable." It's a refusal shrouded in her infallible polite candor. After they depart, her eyes follow them a moment before she shifts to take one of the vacated positions beside the Doctor and sets her wine glass down on the table, noting, as she does over the music: "There seems to be a certain level of care being taken of Detective Thornton lately." Ms Walsh knew him but fleetingly, a face in a sea of others glimpsed at crime scenes, at the station when she'd been there to speak to an officer regarding a domestic violence incident.

[Imogen Slaughter]

Imogen's mouth moves slightly, a mirthless smirk. "Two drink limit, even." Her gaze moves briefly in the direction of Boy and Marrick headed for John, then back again, picking up her beer glass, taking another swallow, "Tough limit fer a Friday night."

[Wendy Berber]

*She shifts uncomfortably. Picks at her t-shirt.*

[Marrick Fisher]

She looks at Wendy briefly,cocking her head to the side. That said, the Fury stood and went to go... well... wherever Boy was going. Wendy was in good hands.

[John Thornton]

As Boy approaches, the scotch glass is already being filled anew... The edges of his cheeks darkening with the merest hint of flush as the alcohol starts to percolate into his system. The hazel eyes, which after greeting those who cared to do so, had steadily floated about the room, now turn to Boy with the same direct nature... "Aren't you a bit young for bar hopping on a Friday night?" John stands the bottle back on the bartop, his fingers curling around the glass. "Whoever did your fake id must be a pro..." And like that, drink two disappears down the voracious maw... The uncaring burn doing little to slake his seemingly unending thirst.

[Boy]

"You gonna arrest me, officer?" He says, half smiling. He doesn't sit at the bar, but he leans up against it one side of John, tapping on the counter to the rhythm of whatever band was playing. "How you been?"

[Mackenzie Walsh]

"Mm," she agrees, her fingers absently threading in a fine chain around her neck. "That man doesn't want to be babysat, I can tell you that much." Mackenzie's eyes briefly stray toward her co-workers, rowdy at their own corner of the bar, slapping one another's backs and calling for another pitcher of beer to share amongst themselves. She cannot repress a brief smirk before her gaze returns to the newly formed trio at the bar. In her estimation, it was only a matter of time before tempers frayed. "So, Wendy," Mackenzie's attention is deliberately shifted to the shy girl beside her, the lawyer's dark eyes friendly, despite the clear intelligence of them. "What do you do with yourself?"

[Wendy Berber]

Um. *Wendy looks up from a very important string on her t-shirt to Mackenzie, blinking and pushing up her spectacles.* Oh, I um, work coding, and I um also work at an occult b-book store fulltime.

[John Thornton]

"Lucky you... I'm off duty. And fine young people such as yourselves aren't really my department." The hand sets the empty glass on the counter as the hand again moves to the bottle of scotch waiting patiently on the counter. As before, the glass steadily grows dark as the amber liquor is emptied into it. John shrugs, the wan not-a-smile he now seems to wear spreading across his lips. Then, the flush in his cheeks growing more prevalent by the minute, he answers... His fingers releasing the bottle to take the glass in hand yet again. "I'm..." The words trail off, and John just shrugs again. The hazel gaze considers Boy for a moment, and then Marrick for another, before he continues. "How are you two?"

[Imogen Slaughter]

Imogen's gaze merely acknowledges Mackenzie's comment about John, little else. Her eyes move beyond the other woman for a moment, then back to the conversation, glancing at Wendy as she answers the question. "She works fer Hector Ortega," says the redhaired kinwoman as she pushes her chair back, getting to her feet, bringing her beer with her. "The bloke tha' ran th'Kin Moot." She drains her glass, setting it down on the table. "You'll ha' t'excuse me," she says, without explanation to both women. "Goodnight." Farewells are offered or not, and Imogen steps away, weaving through the people to the bar, closer to Mackenzie's partying colleagues than to the Garou. One recognizes her - and waves, yelling "Hey! it's Dr. Slaughter! HEY! DOCTOR SLAUGHTER!" until his buddies quiet him down and fill his beer glass to distract him. Imogen merely raises a hand in response, narrowing her eyes in the lawyers' general direction. She retrieves her guitar from the bartender as he passes it over the bar, before heading for the door.

[Marrick Fisher]

"Sometimes, things play out for us," she says with a slight grin. The Fury slips her hands into her back pockets and she adopts a more comfortable posture. She was needing something to do with her hands. She needed something to do. The moon was too bright, and people were just a little too... loud for her tastes. She was on edge, that much was certain. "We're holdin' up, been better been worse. You know the drill."

[Marrick Fisher]

to Boy, Imogen Slaughter, John Thornton, Mackenzie Walsh, Wendy Berber (brb, rounds!)

[Mackenzie Walsh]

The female lawyer seated beside Imogen does not seem to find offense with the redhead's abrupt departure - perhaps she's used to it. Or perhaps she senses that this is in part the Doctor's tendency around others. Whatever her reasons for remaining so detached and calm she merely inclines her head as she leaves the pair at the table, and, closing her eyes with a slight groan -- witnesses her colleges inebriated greeting to the departing Fianna Kinfolk. "Well, that was suitably horrific." She murmurs, opening brown eyes and glancing at Wendy. "So you work for Mr Ortega then, he seems," she strains for a defining word for the man. "Capable." The wine glass is lifted to her lips again, and the muscles in her neck convulse as she swallows. "An Occult bookstore must attract some interesting clientele, have you had any spooky customers yet?" She asks, as if they were not mere feet from two creatures of supernatural mythology itself.

[Boy]

"Yeah. Its not all easy going, but its going, y'know?" He eyes the bottle and the glass, and he especially takes a close look at John, trying to see what kind of shape he was in. "Well, we just thought we'd come over and say hey."

[John Thornton]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6) "I believe I've participated in the drill periodically, yes." With that, drink three joins its prior brethren as the amber liquid is swallowed in one large gulp. The flush about his cheeks continues to darken, and he sets the glass down rather more slowly than he had mere moments ago. It was the practiced action of an accomplished drunk, one fully aware of how the numbness dulled motor function and took pains to avoid appearing overly inebriated. His brow raises curiously, as the gaze focuses on Boy once again. "Careful... You may not like what you find there." ((Perception + Empathy, diff = 6 You just thought you'd say hey and...?))

[Wendy Berber]

*Wendy's brow pinches together slightly, before Imogen gets up and goes, accosted by drunkards. Wendy looks to Boy, Marrick and John, before her glasses are pushed up and she responds to Mack.* Mr. Ortega is.. um.. nice. *A quirk of her lips.* Some um, kinda weird people. I had a gentleman,um, ask me if I knew.. where to find people, who want to be vampires. He was really weird. *She gives a frown and shakes her head.* We get some.. strange people.

[Imogen Slaughter]

(thanks for the scene, guys!)

[Administrator]

Imogen Slaughter has left Lake View (Northside)

[Boy]

"Take it easy, alright Man?" He doesn't clarify exactly what he means by that, but he looks to Marrick, tilting his head in a 'what do you think?' sort of expression.

[Boy]

((Scratch that last bit. Mindy's not here, man.))

[Administrator]

Callie, welcome to Lake View (Northside) (Now)

[John Thornton]

"Sure... You too." With that, John's hand again reaches for the bottle, his motions again almost excessively deliberate as steadily more drunken fingers clasp the glass neck. He then moves the bottle back to the glass and pours another... The bottle is returned with the same practiced care. ((It's cool. I actually have to leave soon... Probably best if we just let John drink here while I fade him from the scene.))

[Mackenzie Walsh]

The lawyer's lips quirk. "I hope you steered him in the appropriate direction, then." Mackenzie drains the last of her chardonnay and presses her palm down on the table, rising to her feet. She jerks her chin toward the bar to indicate her intention and takes the empty glass in hand. "Excuse me for just a moment, Wendy. I'm going to see about a refill." A beat, she shucks a hand into the pocket of her work-slacks. "And potentially rescue a Detective from the overzealous Garou safe-guarding his Whiskey bottle." With a small smile burgeoning at the lower corner of her lips the litigator navigates her way toward the Detective, taking a position up close by at the bar, setting her glass down to wait for the barkeeper's attention. Her eyes wander over John. "Evening, Detective," she says in a pleasant tone. "Can I persuade you to buy another arbitrator of the law a drink?"

[Wendy Berber]

*Another small frown, looking from John to Mackenzie. Not sitting when Boy asked her to. Interfering in Garou business. She was one of those kin. Wendy scratches the back of her neck and nods.* Kay, um, night.

[John Thornton]

"I might be talked into it. Though it seems a deposition would be a good first step." He waves over the bartender, and retrieves anew the overfilled wallet. There is the merest bit of fumbling as he pulls the wallet from his pocket, as steadily less dexterous fingers struggle to clear it. Then, opening it again precisely to the money, he withdraws a crisp twenty. "What would you like?"

[Marrick Fisher]

She heads back with Boy, and she had listened quite well the whole time. the Fury shrugged; she had pad attention. She tried to keep her attention level; Boy was the leader here though. Position aside, he was the one who was calling the shots for their pack.

[Callie]

*Walking past, her attention caught by the music emanating from the pub. Live music too, nothing canned . . and that's always worth at least a few moments of her time. Note the name of the place, the day . . maybe come back another time. So she sticks her head in just to check out the place . . and spies Mackenzie at the bar with some unknown whose rapidly demolishing a bottle of scotch. Well maybe Mack can tell her if this place is any good. So she threads her way through tables and chairs and their accompanying bodies, bags and assorted clutter to join them* hi Mack

[John Thornton]

((I gotta jet... Is it okay to say John buys Mackenzie her drink, then finishes however much of the scotch bottle he'll make it through there at the bar? I'll just assume he got a cab and woke up at his apartment, unless I read otherwise via fpm or on the forums in character board.))

[Mackenzie Walsh]

(sure, np dude! Thanks for play!)

[Administrator]

John Thornton has left Lake View (Northside)

[Mackenzie Walsh]

Mackenzie's svelte frame turns on its side to face the Detective more fully, her elbow propped against the bar-top, her dark eyes alighting on both the fumble in his movements and the depleted Scotch bottle beside him. She returns her eyes to his face before he finds the twenty dollar note and he finds her returning his words with a risen eyebrow and a smile on her face. "Well, I was actually thinking that I might sample some of what you're having there." She inclines her face. "Unless you mean to hog all the hard liquor." Smiling still, she does not at first recognize the Garou addressing her and merely nods toward her with a straightening posture, it is when she looks again that she places Callie's face, and taking her newly purchased glass of scotch in hand turns toward the Garou. "Evening, Callie. How are you feeling?" She had a vague notion of the female being injured the last occasion she'd seen her at the Brotherhood.

[Boy]

"Think I'm gonna get outta here. It's getting late. See you back at the house?" They'd hardly made it back to their seats, and Boy had barely given Marrick a chance to answer him before he was throwing an arm around her shoulder, and meeting it on the other side with the other arm. It was and oddly awkward yet natural hug. "Good to see you. Good to be back." And when he's released her, his hand finds Wendy's hand, and he moves in to whisper loudly: "You wanna get outta here?"

[Wendy Berber]

Yeah. *Fond as she was of Marrick, the idea of being left alone in a bar with her on a full moon, was not as appealing as it might sound. Wendy twines spindly fingers between Boy's and gives a small smile, nodding shyly.* I'm glad you're home.

[Callie]

oh, all better now . . *she grins, and she certainly shows now real sign of any lasting injury, though her jeans and battered grey hoody cover most of everything quite effectively. She glances from the bottle to the man accompanying it, but doesn't comment out loud* I got suckered in by the band . . they have music here often d'you know?

[Marrick Fisher]

She gave Boy what one would consider a "side hug". It was awkward, the kind of thing you see in pictures, but it was genuine. It came naturally, and something about that brief moment of contact relaxed her enough, made her smile. Her attention went back to the Uktena and she nodded. "See you at the house, I'll probably be home soon," she admits.