Katya
Thu 01:45AM CST
Far behind the BMW sat like a dark monochrome beacon of Weaver in this place of the Wyld. Long since this one had stepped from it, a creature of modern, human beauty, with the trappings of modern luxury, and sweet scent.
But now she wasn't such a creatue. She was where the wild things grow, and the dark, sleek wolf fit right into the idylic scene. Her eyes were even more silvery grey in this form, so extreme from her birth. Like piercing fiery ice. The panorama of smells were awash with sensory inofrmation that told her the trail she was on was the correct one. One sniff and she knew how far she was from the nearest Man, and the nearest trappings of Man things. Forepaws treaded with lithe grace, making her seem like a ghostly phantom in the moonlight.. travelling to the appointed home ahead. Ears swivelled forward, as the bitch's small head occasionally lifted to test the air, panning right to left, with her expressive tail swishing high for exquisite balance.
Stormbender
Thu 01:59AM CST
These woods only grow thicker and darker. There is no true trail beyond that of scent; nothing wide enough that a human could go deep into these lands. Even she would be tested to go the way she does, from the last driveable position into the heart of the Stormbender's land. Many of the blocks are natural - streams rushing too fast to cross, trees growing too dense to navigate through. But then there are, also, blocks that were entirely fabricated - entire areas purposefully blocked off by boulders rolled into place, trees felled, and the like.
His scent is patchy; it lingers heavy as musk here, and is entirely gone fifty feet past. Like any true Theurge, the only proper path into his home is Umbral, but when she called to say she would visit him, he called back and left a very short message, curiously growled out.
"Don't sidestep."
At last his scent grows strong and solid. Pass around one last towering tree and there is a natural outcropping of granite. In the shadow of a protruding ledge is a Crinos beast, apparently sleeping. It's an odd sight. The warform is not one often associated with rest and recuperation. Even when wounded, most Garou prefer the Glabro, the Lupus...something less evident.
But there he is nonetheless, on his belly with his legs sideways like a wolf, but his chin atop his folded arms like a man. He does not seem aware of her presence at all, the great eyes shut, the broad back rising and falling slowly.
Appearances, then again, often deceive. And she tread in a Theurge's home now.
Katya
Thu 02:06AM CST
Instinct said to mask her scent, to silence the tread of those already phantasmal forepaws, and to blur the already dark silhouette she cut with Gifts of Gaia. However, protocol, and simple courtesy demanded that one announce one's presence when entering the territory of another.
This form was more suited than most for such a task. The wolfbitch did not approach directly. Hers was the circle of a wolf. Moving wide around the wide crinos, the lithe figure of the lupus made certain to scuff her otherwise precise forepaws noisily. A twig here, a leaf there. Anything more obvious would be insulting. The circle did not end on the first pass.. It became an ever descending spiral. Slight yips, and barks, subtle communication, along with the swish of her tail, and the high head of her open panting forming soft clouds of frost in the air.
Finally, she came still, near, yet not too near.
Stormbender
Thu 02:22AM CST
And somewhere between the fourth spiral and the fifth, there comes a change.
On one pass the eyes are shut.
On the next they are open, frigid blue, cold as the stars are distant.
For a very long time he contents himself to watching her, making no sound at all. For a long time already he has contented himself to listening; and for an even longer time before that, he had contented himself to listening to what his bound spirit-serfs had to say about her as she made her way through the barriers.
That he has let her get this close is a good sign.
Then, with the deliberation of an earth-dragon rising out of its element, the Crinos' chin lifts from his forearms. The maw opens wide, but the eyes slit shut. The tongue curls and the jaw stretches into a yawn. Muscles of the arms and shoulders ripple like oil beneath dense, coarse black fur. He levers himself upright the way a mechanical platform-lift rises: the crossed arms straightening with absolute steadiness until he sat rather like a wolf, handpaws on the ground between hindlegs.
Now he towered above her like a mountain, huge and broad and slow and steady. Whatever threat there is, however, is innate and intrinsic, not expressive. The great wolven head lifts; the nostrils dilate and quiver. Abruptly he whuffs out.
Garouspeech: "You have no scent. How did you come by this abnormality?"
Katya
Thu 02:31AM CST
Finally, her efforts were answered, the sleek quadraped, completed her loop to stand in front of the rising figure. Instead of answering immediately, the Garou began the slow, inexorable progress between the forms with median level ease, of a homid.
And in this form she finished. Hair, black as night was tied into a tight, functional bun. Her lithe, athletic frame was partially covered in a form-fitting jacket, somehow showing the swells of her feminity beneath the heavy packaging. The supple swells of her hips, thighs, and calves were even more on display, sheathed in a tight, flexible yoga pants, dark as her aforementioned hair. Those eyes remained upon the crinos's massive form throughout the shift, full lush lips pursed into a pensive expression before answering.
"A Gift," her slavic tone was hard-yet-soft, guttural yet feminine, "And it is not always masked," To accentuate her point she allowed her scent to flow forth. Feminine. It spoke of dark vistas, and secret pools, tinged with the slight modern smells of the city, tobacco, and vodka. Utterly slavic.
"And .. your choice of clothing for the evening, Vaclav?" one high-arch tilt Russan eyebrow raised, her lip quirked in slight amusement.
Stormbender
Thu 02:42AM CST
As her scent is loosed to the winds the Crinos-beast lifts again his broad muzzle. Even in lupus, no naturalist would ever recognize this particular subspecies of wolf. The shoulders so broad, the chest barreled; the limbs thick and stocky, the muzzle not the long and graceful taper of modern wolves, but wider, almost blunt, thicker. He resembles the humans' image of Canis lupus the same way a lion resembled a leopard.
This time he can smell her. This time his cold cold eyes narrow; the pupils dilate, and in their core is a spark of something hot.
They are so close to their Beast in this form. And the very core of a Lord's ambition, one might say, is the double helix of the greed for what cannot be his, and the willpower to hold him back from should not be his - or spur him onto claiming what should, regardless.
She knows her effect upon males. She cultivates it. But the bender of storms is not her fool.
"Fur suits me perfectly," growls the monster, darkly amused Garouspeech to her English. "Don't tell me it frightens you. You are a guest in my home. Under my protection. What have you to fear?"
Katya
Thu 02:51AM CST
Her hint of amusement blossoms to a full, small smile, and the canting of her head with her simple nod, "As you say, it would be insulting to imply fear of harm while in your home," Though her scent betrayed none, which they both were aware, "I merely find the form.. cumbersome for more than war," she enunciated the word with a delicate wave of her slim gloved hands, before folding them casually, shifting to stand hipshod on her right leg, accentuating that all too feminine form. Crinos was not for trading recipes, after all.
"On the other hand.. it is comforting to be around more wyld surroundings. The trappings of the city occasionally grow.. distasteful," the barest flare of her nostrils.
Stormbender
Thu 03:22AM CST
He laughs. With her, or perhaps even at her. The sound is like distant thunder, rumbling deep in his barrel chest.
It would be an unbelievable sight, were a human to witness it. The slender, lovely young woman conversing so casually with the hulking, monstrous black beast who, sitting, was fully as tall as she was standing. Her Russian-accented words to his incomprehensible snarls and growls, yips and rumblings.
Then again, a human witnessing the scene would run the other way in mindless terror. The point is utterly moot.
Suddenly he moves, the laughter sliced away neat as a knife. A massive handpaw reaches forward, the rough pads catching on the threads of her jacket as he pulls her close, eye to eye, ice gray to ice blue.
"Let's cut. The pretty bullshit," he grates out, in halting and growling English, "Katya."
Then it's Garouspeech again, "War is everywhere. It is unavoidable now. It will kill us one by one if it can. But perhaps not together."
The grip of that handpaw is almost painful, deadly claws digging through jacket into flesh. He shakes her once, lightly, but it still rattles the teeth. She can almost taste his hunger for the bond, the inexplicable and unexplainable comfort of pack, which he, like any Garou no matter how great or how base, craved with every last fiber of his being.
"I speak of pack. Give everything. Hold nothing back. What is yours is mine is yours. Can I trust you at my back, Dark Moon?"
Katya
Thu 03:46AM CST
To say she took the grab and subsequent shake stoically would be a lie. No one takes the laying on of hands by those in War form, while clad in homid, stoically. Her lush lips part exhaling a breath, of possible startlement. Lithe frame coils, eyes search out his, she may think at first in challenge, but she looks beyond them to the reflection of herself in his huge glassy orbs.
Ever the pragmatist, her instinct is to find the nearest reflective surface, and here those ice-blues serve her needs. Her spiritual foot was poised to do the very thing he had forebade.. Do not sidestep .. when she saw that it was no a surpise attack..
Those icy silver orbs refocused on his own gaze and broken english, before his incredible grip scores ribs, and causes the slight hiss of pain after the shake.
She's standing there remarkably poised on her toes, on the balls of her feet, ready to shift - to lupus of course. Live and strike from secret - or sidestep. She ponders his words, the barest knit forming on her pretty brow.
A slow swallow, "For one who would draw insult for those fearing their safety in his home, you work hard to cultivate the emotion, Storm-bender," low calculating, her chin dipped, giving the feral edge as she stared through dark lashes.
He was not alone in his longing, the vodka-tinged near harrano had haunted her nights, and allowed the icy facade of detachment crumble to trembling in the lonely hours of the night.. utterly alone.
"Da," she said simply, "Know what you ask for when you ask the bond of my moon. Your strengths will be tested, your weaknesses will be rooted out, your patience will ebb... " Then there was a slow smirk, as her form coiled serpentine, "and your self-marshalling.. will be shown," Oh yes. She did indeed cultivate it.
Then the pretty bullshit was gone. No smirk. Full lips straightlaced. Her expression serious, almost coldly calculating, "But your shadow will be my cloak. Your enemies will not approach from behind, and will instead feel my cold bite upon their hamstrings."
Stormbender
Thu 04:15AM CST
For an eternity the huge, wild eyes - which in this form she could see were not at all the pale blue of a northman, but instead the clear frigid blue of a mountain wolf - hold hers. Bore into hers. Not in challenge but in questioning, in measuring, in weighing: the weight of her words against some imaginary feather of gold. The truth in her eyes, against the deceptions she, a Ragabash of the Shadow Lords, must be all too capable of.
Theirs is not a tribe that trusts easily. Some might say theirs is not a tribe that trusts at all. Even in the desperation of loneliness, he would never dream of throwing himself into the orbit of an unworthy pack.
But, that she had not burst into her warform instantly at his grasp was telling. And Theurge that he was, the secrets of the heart are mirrored in the eyes. He read in hers the same hunger for a pack.
Perhaps trust could exist here after all. Perhaps it could grow.
Slowly, his crushing grip loosens. The handpaw settles to the earth with a soft thump, dust eddying on either side. He regards her eye to eye, sitting on his haunches in his half-man, half-wolf form.
"I know what I ask. And now know this: when the moon waxes round, I am bound to this form. I can take no other. This is my first weakness, which I give you to unasked." His nostrils flare. The moon he speaks of reflects in his eyes, twin points of burning light. Then he chuffs a breath out. "Test me, taunt me, harry me and hound me. But do not break my trust, Merciless Vengeance."
He does not add a threat to that.
Katya
Thu 04:39AM CST
For a long moment those facetted eyes of glacial ice take in the warform, which was not revealed as a once-monthy curse. One weakness, indeed. One freely given. Perhaps to hide worse.. Perhaps merely as an offering of good faith.
When she is released, she shifts stance, if not form, before giving a slow nod, "Agreed. Treachery against packmates is intolerable," That much trust had to be given. And, moreover he'd agreed to the rather harsh role New Moons of the Shadow Lords were assigned: The harrying of their leadership to cull the weak, and hone the strong.
She took a long moment to consider him, marvelling at the readability of the crass war-form, and it's lack of sublety. Someone who wished to dominate.. to crush others.. at the same time utterly alone without the conforts of pack.
"We should discuss specifics.." her lips parted. Closing. Then finally speaking anew, "But the hour grows late."
Stormbender
Thu 04:53AM CST
"Discuss..." he echoes, laughing softly, as if to himself.
No more on that subject.
Abruptly the Theurge rises to his feet, towering now, huge even for a Crinos. In the light of the moon he, straightening, reveals the multitude of hairless scars across his chest, shining and smooth amongst black fur. Glyphs: Clarity, Protection, Strength. The next she sees them, they will not read the same. Then he turns away, his back to her now as he spreads his arms, their proportion longer than human. Without fear of being overheard he calls to the spirits in their native tongue. To one who does not understand it, it sounds like gibberish, not even sounds a human, or wolf, or even Garou throat should be able to make.
The burst of noise travels ten feet, dying exponentially, much faster than it should - devoured whole by the unseen creatures on the other side of the Gauntlet, taken and ferreted away, passed about, spread over acres and acres. His servants, bound unto his will by brute intimidation and bribery by turns, since he did not yet have the Gift to command them outright.
When he finishes, all is silent as it once was. He does not turn back to her.
"Sidestep without fear. They will not harm you now." Halfway his head turns, enough that she can see the wolven profile over the furred shoulder. "I will seek you out tomorrow, Ragabash. Be ready for it."
Katya
Thu 04:57AM CST
When he turns she was no longer where he left her. Like a mist on the breeze even her scent is gone.. like an ephemeral dream.. making one wonder if she was even there in the first place..
Till the low chuckle flows like the wind blowing upon dark branches between the trees.
"If you find me.. I shall be impressed,"
And then the wind blew... and she truly was gone.
the ties that bind.
beginnings.
Václav Andrushko
Sat 09:33PM CST
To most the crowd here the man in one of the darker parts of the tastefully underlit bar must seem quite underdressed. In a sea of glistening metallic weaves and fancy hair, he is all but invisible in casual street clothes, dark, the cut deceptively simple but the weave expensive. His hair is cropped close to his skull, brushed forward. The planes of his face bespeak east europe and its square brows, broad sharp cheekbones, angular jaws.
At ease, he watches the ebb and flow of the human tide with slightly unfocused eyes, seeing not the detail but the pattern, the weave of the whole. A few things rouse his attention now and again. The crash of a clumsy customer sending his drink to the floor is not one of them. Phoebe is, that which is wolf about her, and pure about her, catching his eye and sharpening it.
A beat passes; in this flickering artificial club light, the color of his eyes is impossible to determine. Soon enough his gaze moves on, somewhere between restless and deliberative.
He's here for a reason: he's fishing. Hunting. Seeking.
Katya
Mon 11:34PM CST
This one had not been amongst the sweltering, fast-paced club atmosphere for long, but enough time to make the wandering eyes of others wonder how she maintained such easy grace and balance in those boots. Spiked heels gave way to shining patent black leather that stretched past her slim ankles and calves all the way to her knees. The teasing glimpse of shapely thighs clad in fishnet stockings swept upward for several inches to the material of a black dress that wrapped the feminine swell of her hips and thighs like a christmas present. The thin material bunched around her taut waistline due the undulating movements of her hips, to the pulsing pounding beat. Hair like a black, silken waterfall cascaded over creamy shoulders, exposed by the spaghetti-strap top to the little black thing she wore. A black cross hung around her neck on a simple thin thong, sometimes flying free, and other times resting between the warm embrace of the milky swells of her modest cleavage. Her pale skin glistened with the perspiration of moderate exertion, and glowed with the barest flush of blood raised to the surface. Grey eyes glinted like silvery ice with fire beneath. The current male who had earned her attentions also earned the smallest of smirks upon her lush, pouty lips. Here was the daring splash of color (Red) on the landscape of black and white. Her liquid grace was like that of moonlight dancing in a shadow grove, with the underlying menace of a predator hidden from view.
Inwardly, she held, somewhat, to the professional cool that allowed her to keep a calculating eye around the interior. Exits. Entrances. Notable figures. Where money changed hands, and where it ended. Many maintained the rule of never mixing business with pleasure. This dark-haired beauty broke that rule with style.
Ian Kovago
Mon 11:51PM CST
Alright, boy... It's how his father started every sentence. Nineteen, and already Ian was starting to say it to himself. He sat behind the wheel of the Cougar, tapping his gloved fingers along the rim; his gaze was focused on the front doors of Club Phoenix.
His dinner from earlier that night wasn't settling well; it was good, overpriced steak - but it was cooked the way he preferred. Still, he'd been feeling nauseous for days now ever since he'd arrived, from some vague instinct he couldn't place. He didn't like it here. Only sheer force of will kept him from snapping up some plane tickets home.
But he did the next best thing - he asked his waitress where her favorite place to hang out would be if she were dark, beautiful, and dangerous.
Thusly, he'd ended up here. After another moment of pondering, he climbed out of the car and entered the busy club, the cold of the night outside fading like a morning dream. He slid out of his brown overcoat, shaking loose strands of black hair away from his face, and started unwinding his scarf as he looked for an empty table - and for a certain femme fatale he made a frequent, accidental acquaintance.
Václav Andrushko
Mon 11:59PM CST
And when he finds, the game is on.
Easing off the barstool, the Theurge wades into the crowd. Václav will never be called graceful, quick, sleek, svelte. His is a broadshouldered, deepchested physique, powerful but slow. When an unwary dancer who's had too much to drink crashes into him, he takes a single step sideways while the other stumbles back half a yard or more. Thus does he move through the dance floor, not so much sliding between people as he bulldozes a path through them.
As for dancing: why bother? He only came here because the young people of the generation favored these spots, and for the most part, sadly enough, few enough Garou lived past youth.
"Mind if I cut in." It's not phrased as a question, and when Katya's partner of the moment turns around, he finds himself staring up some four or five inches at the frowning, imposing Theurge. A beat. The broad brow remains faintly furrowed, but then the bristle of a three-day beard parts as he shows his teeth. It must be a smile. "The lady and I have common interests, I think."
His eyes flicker at Katya before returning to her partner. There's an impression of some pale, piercing color, shockingly at odds to his dark hair, olive skin.
Heidi Schwartz
Tue 12:01AM CST
She has absolutely no idea how she was talked into this little outing. Well, that’s not quite true – she has a bit of an idea. It went something like this... It’ll be fun, Heidi, you’re always so serious Heidi, oh come on, it’s Monday, it won’t be that crowded, it will be fine. You can’t study all the time – and for heavens sake classes don’t resume until next week, have a little fun will you? ....until finally she said alright just to get them to shut. The hell. Up.
So that leaves the question – just how, and why, did she end up here, at a table near the dance floor. Alone. Simple – they all brought dates, and have since disappeared, leaving her here just waiting for the night to be over, fingers wrapped around the glass on the table, leaning back in her chair, slender legs crossed. The boots are heeled, and come up just above her ankle, legs sheathed in stockings clear up to the leather skirt that – when she’s standing – falls just above her knee. A silken tank top, simple golden chain at her throat, and her hair falling down in thick blond wave to brush her shoulders while nail taps against glass in bored tattoo.
Katya
Tue 12:13AM CST
Most women travelled in groups, or packs, when they frequented such nightspots as this. The diversary tactic that females used to cover for one another, made the advances of males confounded, and more easily kept purses from being filched, and drinks from being spiked with dangerous drugs. Yet, she is alone. And still she attracts the attention of only the bolder variety of males. Still she is fearless of her purse being left behind the bar with the bartender, and her drinks shall remain untouched.
The irony is that she was never meant to be alone, never meant to be a lone wolf. Her nature was to pack, and be a social creature. Perhaps, that's why she frequented these places. For the feeling that she still had that familial bond of spiritual ties and common purpose. The longing for it sent some wolves into deranged, depressed moods. Harrano... and even worse.
So, when the sheep male clung a little to tightly, hands taking liberties that weren't invited, she smiled.. at first. It was less a smile of interest, and more a smile of nostalgia, and uncharacteristic tolerance. Finally, the smile became something all the more colder, as she broke her reverie, and bored into the man's gaze with her own. The raven-haired beauty didn't like what she saw there.. a slight flinch.. a bit of nonselfassurance.
Turn off.
The hand that had caressed his masculine chest, poised to drive fingers into the notch just below his adam's apple as a friendly reminder of his place...
But that was interrupted with the arrival of the individual with the striking, stormy eyes. With but a glance her impression was that he bore the demeanor of a Lord (ah yes.. there it was.. Hero's blood in the lineage), with the build of a working man.. a body used to toil.
Her slim arms crossed, while her full lush lips formed into a smirk as she watched the sheep's eyes avert, and heard his mumbled reply get lost in the beat of the din. It really didn't take long at all.. a few moments before Katya stood alone amongst the throng with the newcomer. One russian high-arch-tilt brow arched with a slight speculative expression, as she folded her slim arms (doing amazing things to that spaghetti-strap top)
Ian Kovago
Tue 12:21AM CST
Ian's scarf slowly came to rest over his arm, along with his coat, and he made his gradual course along the outside of the dancing throng of people. He felt something like the fish out of water, but he hid it well. Humongous social places that really served no purpose beyond being a glorified dating service competely mystified him. The thrumming music hurt his ears. The overwhelming scent of humanity, even to his homid nose, was mildly offensive, and the utterly dramatic stench of womens' drenched perfume would give him a migraine before the night was through.
And, naturally, by the time he spotted Katya, he discovered her to be occupied - with another Garou he recognized after a moment. The scent of the pair stuck out pregnantly in the rest of the stinking air.
Ian came to a sudden stop right by Heidi's table - a lean young man, wearing a green turtleneck that contrasted his hair and a pair of dark slacks. A bit preppy, given the area, but the shaggy hair and goatee threw off that image. His eyes were focused on something in the dance floor, his mind clicking through the possible scenarios if he approached and tried to both snag Katya's attention and present himself suavely to the other Garou.
Pretty much all the scenarios ended up with him looking like a dumbass.
With that thought in mind, Ian draped his outerwear across the back of a chair and dropped himself to a seat - only to realize a second later that the chair across from him was occupied by a bored young woman.
"Ah.." He blinked, immediately half-rising back out of the chair. "Sorry, was this seat taken?"
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 12:29AM CST
A plethora of soft, feminine giggles fills the air over the heavy, pulsating music; a hot little vixen, barely clad in a racy red silk dress and stiletto high heels, playfully teases her gentleman caller at the one end of the bar. Butterscotch blond hair rolls past the slender slope of her bare shoulders in thick curls to the middle of her bare back, where the dress dips dangerously low in V shape. Well-manicured hands touched and caressed over her suitor’s arm, shortly holding his interests.
Deeply, enticing, amber-hued hazel orbs bore into the pretty blues of the Blond sex kitten, capturing her gaze to hold it briefly; feigning his interests to her whatever subject she kept blabbering on off topic. The chiseled cut of his lean, well-muscled frame poised against the edge of the bar, leaning most of his weight upon his right arm. Black silk stretches tightly across a wide expanse of broad shoulders, tapering down a narrow waist to tuck into loose-fitting black cargo style slacks. Black boots, steel-toed, hid beneath the pant hem, hooked into the leg bar, partially straddling the cushioned stool. A short crop of sable-brown curls sweeps across the strong line of his jaw, tapering down the nape of his neck. Dark brows furrowed with disinterest across a roguishly feral appearance, which wrote a hungering look into the man’s expression. Something whispers just beneath the surface of his skin, a dormant wolfish nature slumbering in the faint purity of his pedigree. Slowly, eventually, those amber-hued eyes drift away to slide across the bar, searching out for something a little bit more exciting than the sex kitten, so desperately trying to win his affections.
Václav Andrushko
Tue 12:29AM CST
A working man's body? Ah, the ice princess is perhaps too well sheltered in her castle of storm and rain. An occidental archer's physique. Close enough to the first at first glance. Enormously powerful back, chest and arms, like a blacksmith. But the difference is in the eyes, sharp as a griffin's, and also in that the bulk of his strength is in his back rather than his shoulder, all the better to draw back even the stiffest bow, loose the fastest arrow. It's a dying art, sadly, one only Olympians, Indians and select Garou cared to practice anymore.
Call him amongst the elite.
As the sheep male finds other, easier things to latch onto, Václav's striking eyes fall squarely to his tribesmate. All around them the humans dance unaware. Neither of their rage is strong enough to create a buffer zone, though the Theurge's is beginning to border on the uncomfortable for the weaker-willed.
The smile has faded; his look is fierce and measuring, and seems to go on just a moment too long. Perhaps he is seeing if she will flinch.
Abruptly, then, the smile returns, somewhat more genuine, somewhat darker. The lordly brow is ever-furrowed. "So, little sister, is this how you would welcome one of the family? With silence and an insolent stare?" There's an accent there, but it's slight, hard to place. Slavic Europe. Nothing more specific. He herds her into the curve of his arm but does not touch her, gesturing to the bar with the other. "Come. I'll buy you a drink, and we will speak."
Heidi Schwartz
Tue 12:30AM CST
Watching the dancers, the innocent (oh so obvious though they try so hard to be relaxed) and subtle (like a freight train) moves made between temporary partners, the beg for attention, some who really should fade into some silent corner instead. A slight smirk curves her lips as she remains lost in her thoughts, not even noticing the young man until the outerwear is dropped to a chair across the table.
Coat, first, his eyes focused on the dance floor. There’s a flick of dark gaze to see whom he watches (fancy that. It’s the same pair that everyone watches. Most men want her, most women want one or two things. To be her, or to kill her and thus boost their own chances of getting laid at some point tonight.) and then back again. Eyes slide over him, lean strength, turtleneck and slacks – somewhat preppy in a shaggy sort of way. Lovely.
He drops into the chair, and then stands back up so quickly he might have had one of those buzzers embedded in the seat. Normally, perhaps, she’d give off a very cool ‘of course it is.’ but for some reason, the sudden jump and apology curves that almost smirk into something of an amused smile. “It is now...” and tap of nail pauses to flick fingers in gesture, inviting him to sit once more.
Ian Kovago
Tue 12:42AM CST
Ian smiles back with a hint of the apologetic, and sinks back into the chair. He sits straight, arms folded on the table, feet flat on the floor, giving him a kind of perched appearance. "Thanks. Things as crowded as they are, I'm surprised I didn't end up in some raver's lap." A ripple of nervous energy rides from the base of his spine up to his neck, and he jiggles his knee under the table. Brown eyes sweep the nearby area again, taking in nothing but dancers and thrill-seekers - and, naturally, two tribesmates out on the floor - but still bothered by his instinct warning him he was missing something.
Katya
Tue 12:48AM CST
For a long moment that small smirk remained etched upon the young woman's pretty face. His ice-blue, piercing gaze was reflected with the glacial grey, silvery gaze of her own. Does she flinch? Full lips move to give more an expression of a bare smile, rather than the darkly mischevious smirk. In the end, the pure magnetism, bearing and lineage of the newcomer caused the New Moon's arms to unfold, body becoming supple, and the reward of the barest of nods to he. It was as if she gave him a gesture acknowledging his strength of manner. It was her duty to test, poke, and prod those holes after all.
When the larger male steps beside to her with her hand, her chin turns dropping slightly as her eyes moved to the gesture. With no noticeable change in expression, her eyes raise, like crystalline facetted orbs of Luna to gaze at him anew with answer, "No offense was intended, dear brother. I merely wished to allow you be given due course to present yourself, since you went to the trouble of approaching," her answer was accompanied with a chuckled that sounded throaty and low like the rest of her slavic tone, "Very well," she went on as her supple grace molded around his herding hand, gliding with a slow feminine sway to the bar, "Vodka.. for the sake of home," she intoned low.
Heidi Schwartz
Tue 12:49AM CST
There’s a flick of a brow, an amused tilt of that smile in reply to his comment. While he perches and seems ill at ease, she certainly doesn’t seem overly comfortable either, though she handles it as she handles everything – with cool reserve. She is out of place, not really belonging here in the place of ravers and trancers and other alternative stylists. She has a smooth professional look, even in silk and leather.
“Somehow...” Her voice is cultured, though it has little trace of any accent, a local girl, perhaps. “I hardly think most around here would have minded.” Though its clear, most likely, that she is not one of them. Sharing a table is one thing – her lap, another.
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 12:50AM CST
"Markari?" his name sputtered on cherry-red lips, pursing together in a cute pout. The Blond straightens up, sliding her manicured hands to the soft swells of curvy hips. "Markari, are you even listening to me?" again, she speaks as her words almost fall on deaf ears. Suddenly, her left hand lifts up to slap across his chest.
A subtle shift in the well-muscled frame, slinking a bit more in a hunch to draw back from the swiping hand. His left hand snatches out to lace, thick fingers in a steel-vice grip around the slender wrist of the Blond. "What is it, Portia?" the baritone of his voice growls out at her, flavored by the faint undertones of Mother Russia. Amber-hued orbs snap back to narrow on his companion, watching the pretty features on her face draw in a soft wince, from the tightening of his fingers laced around her captured wrist.
"You aren't listening to me at all. Not a word that I was saying, Markari." she sulks at him, trying to pry her hand loose from his.
A sharp his of breath exhales from the grim line of his mouth, thin lips pressed together. "Leave me be and go whore elsewhere. I am in no mood to hear the gossip of your tongue, woman." he mutters, turning away from her finally to face the bar, settling the full weight of his frame upon his forearms. A nod of his head gestures to the bartender for another drink.
Ian Kovago
Tue 01:01AM CST
He snorted a bit, though it turned to quiet chuckling. "Them, no. Me, yes." His accent was subtle, the barest twinge of the northern U.S. - maybe even Canadian. But his voice was clipped and smooth enough to indicate he was a comfortable speaker. "So... I'm Ian." He shrugged. "Figure since I was so kind as to hijack your table, I may as well introduce myself."
There's something unnerving in those sharp features, if anyone wanted to look too deeply - but it could just as easily be a fabrication of the lighting. In the correct darkness, everybody has a glimmer of the wolf in their eyes.
He's doing his best to repress it and just relax. Otherwise, his impulses would have in a corner, bristling his fur and just awaiting for an adversary to appear so he could lunge for it.
But that's not very logical. Besides, he'd found what seemed to be surprisingly sane company in this place. (Katya, most definitely, could not be classified in the 'sane' category of existence.)
Heidi Schwartz
Tue 01:09AM CST
In the right lighting, everyone has a touch of the wolf in their eye. In any lighting, she has the tug of familiarity, the purity of something within that tends to gather notice – whether she wishes it, or not. Not that she’d give anything off that suggests she would care one way or the other.
He introduces himself, and she nods, before leaning forward, slightly, and offering her hand. Nails are trimmed – not painted, long, cheap – and clean, her fingers slender and strong, but not overly so. “Heidi.” Yes, she’s well aware that her name is somehow too perfect, somehow to suggestive of her cultural background if one were well versed in such things – should she add her last name, it is even more so.
So she refrains.
“Nice to meet you.”
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 01:09AM CST
Once released, Portia drew her hands to her chest, rubbing fingers across her left wrist. A downward sweep of dark lashes makes those pretty blue eyes vanish briefly. Cherry-red lips pursed into a thin smile, trouble written into her expression now. She steps forward, pressing her curves into Markari's side. She slides a hand across his back, lightly toying her fingers into the sable-brown curls at the nape of his neck. "You know... Markari, that is only the beginning of rough foreplay. Keep it up and I might have to take advantage of the situation." words purr out in a sultry voice across his ear.
Broad chest expands, exhaling out another sharp hiss of air. His eyes roll close, counting down ten seconds quietly, feeling the flex and coil of his muscle tighten with tension. "Portia, I would not pay any less the money you charge to nestle any part of my body between your thighs. You're as rotten as twelve year old cheese. Moldy at best," a callous chuckle shot back at the blond clinging to him. This only seems to piss her off. The bartender comes back with a drink Markari's drink, a shot of vodka set before him. He turns his head away from Portia, looking down the length of the bar to pass his feral eyes over Katya and Václav.
Markari distracted, his interests suddenly sparked anew by someone else, draws Portia ire upon him even more. Her only response to his retort was to grab the vodka shot, wasting a perfectly good drink to slap it against his face. Murderous words spat at him in a heavy Russian tongue at him, slamming the shot glass down upon the bar to gain attention.
Václav Andrushko
Tue 01:11AM CST
Firmly, "Over a shared drink, as is proper."
As she begins to move his hand falls to hover over her lower back, giving the appearance of casual contact without actually making it. At the bar a bottle and two shotglasses are ordered and paid for. Vinogradov, and when they don't carry it, Stolichnaya. It's a table Václav moves toward, and not the closest either. One farther from the crunch and the crush of the dance floor, around the bend of the bar - secluded, insofar as anything in this bar may be secluded.
"Sit, please," he invites. A chair is dragged out a ways for her, and he settles into the other. Farther from the strobe lights and the hip blues and greens near the bar, the true color of his eyes can be seen. Indeed, ice-blue to her glacial grey.
He waits quite patiently for the vodka and its accompanying glasses. When the waitress brings them he raises a hand to beckon her down, lifting his chin to speak into her ear while he passed her her tip.
"We don't wish to be further disturbed. You will be called if your services are needed." And leaning back, he uncaps the Stoli and pours, his cast of his attention away a dismissal in and of itself. "Thank you."
Left alone with his tribesmate, then, Václav slides one shotglass to her, keeps the other for himself.
"My name is Twilight-Beast, called the Stormbender. You may refer to me as Václav in public, or Mr. Andrushko if you insist on stifling me with manners. I was born beneath the crescent and I am, thus far, Cliath." He raises his shotglass to her. "That is me. Who are you?"
Ian Kovago
Tue 01:22AM CST
A light smile touches his lips, and he nods to her. "Nice to meet you, too." A quiet pleasantry, as he was feeling genuinely, kindly-disposed towards Heidi. Talking to her was actually starting to chase away the twinges of paranoia - whether through distraction or a calming presence, he didn't really know. However, his eyes jerk to the bar - initially with the histrionics of some blonde bitch, then with the relocation of Katya and the other wolf to a more secluded spot. Likely to make introductions or speak of things more relevant to their kind - and instinct bade him to follow.
However, curiosity kept him seated where he was. Ian tilts his head a bit, Heidi coming under more scrutiny than she has so far. A quick sniff (damn winter weather) and a brief flash of pride goes through him.
She is blooded. Kin. Something of a surprise, though he guessed he shouldn't be - everyone in Garou society seemed to congregate together somehow, as if through magnetism.
"So are you a student?" She seemed about the right age, and her demeanor reminded him of.. well.. himself.
Then something else drew his attention, before the question was even fully drawn from his lips - his gaze slips over Heidi's shoulder, fixed on the bar again - on the black-clad Russian apparently on bad terms with the upset blonde. His eyes narrowed slightly.
Shit. Another one?!
He should've tipped that waitress more.
Katya
Tue 01:32AM CST
When the chair is made ready for her, she molds into it with the supple poise of a serpent. Slim hands slide over the skirt, smoothing it over her thighs so that it doesn't reveal too much of those stockinged fishnets.. or where they end. Shapely legs cross demurely - if that's possible - letting the leather boot of her upraised right leg bob slightly.
Her silvery orbs flickered to the shotglass, fingers closing around it with a small smile. A glass that small would be moved often, with the need to refill. It was when he was busying himself with the waitress that she allowed her gaze to turn toward the commotion at the bar. The bitch with the attitude problem was given only cursoray inspection, her full attention being held by Markari. The hint of breeding upon that mouthwatering feral visage, was just a little too well-timed for a chance meeting with this new wolf across the table. Even, though it was unlikely there was a connection, she was still on her guard inwardly, determined not to reveal too much until she was sure.
That on guard feeling relaxed, somewhat, when her gaze happened upon the Judge seated with the unknown Heidi. She marked his position, resolving to keep he, and Markari in her peripheral vision.
When Vaclav began his introduction he earned the full bear of the attention of her focused gaze. Finally, she raised her own shot glass, leaning forward, the action causing her raven hair to spill forward on either side of the milky swells also accenuated by the necessary lean to be heard only in that small space, "Ekaterina Valentinovna Lashkova," she apparently graced him with the full formality of her name. Patronymic, and Familial along with her formal first, "I am called Katya," she handed him her diminutive name as his own, "Also Merciless Vengence," Princess, and bitch were among those, but that hardly mattered, "I am also cliath, tribesmate," she nodded and allowed herself to imbibe of the fiery beverage first, going slow out of politeness
Heidi Schwartz
Tue 01:40AM CST
He sniffs, and though most would have figured it for cold weather, she’s been around enough to know what it was – especially when followed by the surprised, and the grin, as it is. She lifts the glass before her, condensation leaving a perfect ring on the table that she mars with the trace of a finger. She sips the drink, and sets it down once more, her gaze following his as he follows the trail of others around the bar, then rests upon him again.
“Yes. Pre-med.” Pause. “and you?” idle curiosity, perhaps, or merely politeness continues the conversation.
Václav Andrushko
Tue 01:40AM CST
"Well met, Ekaterina Valentinovna."
Politeness. Well, that's the extent of his. He bought the lady a drink, offered her a chair, gave her his name first, accepted hers gracefully. Now the shot goes down fast and hard, head arm and glass swinging down on the same smooth arc.
The glass doesn't bang down on the table, though. It clicks, very deliberately. His exhaled breath is close to a pant. Vodka burns its way down and he's already turning in his seat to follow her glance in the direction of the bar and its noisy occupants. In particular, Mtsislav and his rude woman, the sight of vodka dripping down the face of the former inciting a short bark of a laugh from Václav.
"The vodka flows easily tonight," with this comment he pours her a second shot. "So tell me, Katya, how long have you been in this city and what faults have you discovered in that time? And by the way," his chilly gaze moves over her shoulder and he inclines his chin briefly in the direction of Ian and Heidi, "two more of the blood that way."
Ian Kovago
Tue 01:50AM CST
"Transfering." He says vaguely, before shifting his attention back to Heidi. "Going into political science." A half-truth - he hadn't actually been enrolled, nor would he be, formally, here. Correspondance courses, perhaps, to feed his mind's quest for further knowledge, or maybe he'd just stick with his books. He wasn't sure yet.
And while his answer might give a clue to his second vocation to certain groups, it likely wouldn't tip anything off to Heidi.
Ian lifted a hand to shove a few strands of hair back, flitting his eyes from kin, to kin, to Garou, and Garou. Some kind of connection between them all? If so, he'd feel rather terribly out of the entire loop.
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 01:51AM CST
A temper seethes beneath the hard line of muscle that suddenly flexes to life beneath damp black silk. The stone cold grimace etches in the tightening of his jaw; vodka falls in tiny droplets off the hard, chiseled lines of his face. Dark brows knit forward into a dark scowl upon his feral visage. Amber-hued hazel orbs crinkling into thin slits, narrowing fiery golden daggers upon Portia. For the first span of seconds, he remains calm, letting it all sink slowly. Left hand snatches up a few napkins, dabbing at the droplets of alcohol on his face. “Waste of good vodka,” hissed out in a calloused, cool voice, letting his eyes burn into her pretty blues.
Portia stamps her heeled foot, not quite getting the reaction she had wanted. “Coward, Markari? Too chicken shit to defend your pathetic manhood in front of a crowd of strangers?” she taunts coldly at him, smiling a malicious grin. Her hands perch once more upon her hips, waiting for his response.
A subtle shift in his movements, slow and calculating as he turns his head to glance back at Portia, the napkin crumbles on to the bar. Thin line of his mouth wore a darker grimace now, “Normally, Portia, I don’t hit women, but in this instant. You’re not a woman, just a childish whorebeast,” he spits out in a low growl back at her. The wide flat palm of his open hand snares out, violently, to meet with a loud smack across the side of Portia’s face. The woman’s head reels back from the force of a strong blow, staggering into the empty stool behind her. Her hands fly up quickly to her reddened cheek, which would start to discolor to a nasty yellowish-purple. Tears quickly welled up in her eyes as she just stares at Markari, aghast, but put back into her place. Uncaring and unfeeling, Markari did not give a damn what the reaction might solicit. He stands up from the bar, pulling out his wallet to drop a few bills on the counter for the bartender and turns on his heel to walk away from Portia.
Katya
Tue 01:52AM CST
Her hint of a smile seems to deepen with the slightest turning up of the corners of her mouth at his behavior. Much more agreeable. Though, that was not the only thing she was smiling about. His spotting of the individuals she had previous was a statement of one of two things. 1) He was observant, and therefore possessed a worthy survival trait. 2) He already knew they were there, and was in some way connected.
She sided with 1. Ian was the shrewd sort, and if he had some sort of advantage played with Vaclav, he wouldn't blow it with such a chance gambit.
"Thank you," she inclined her head slightly while pulling the shot to her lips. This time her draught was more akin to his, showing the accostumed slavic nature to drinking that was her birthright. The fiery liquid poured down her pallate smooth, and without trouble. It tasted like home. The glass was clinked against the table, not once, but twice.
Head still deeped, exhaling a pleased, appreciative sound to the drink, her pale cheeks took upon the slightest flush as she lifted her eyes to him, "The male is known to me. A tribesmate, as well. Ian. I expect it will not be long before he introduces himself,"
A slight pause, and she went on with answering his question, "I have resided here since the wane of summer. The faults I have discovered are too numerous to name. Same story, different level of dire need," her slim fingers idly circled the empty glass as she intoned, "The entire thing teeters on the edge of ruin," she gave a small shrug, symbolic of her slavic all things shall come and pass culture. Then it was her turn to look long and hard, peering into that ice blue sea for a response, "When did you come? How long do you plan to stay?"
Heidi Schwartz
Tue 01:59AM CST
Political science. How.... droll. She nods, feigning interest, perhaps, as her eyes rest on the couple at the bar, the damp vodka covered man, and his companion. It is the stinging slap that pulls her shoulders from the back of the chair, a minute shift that straightens her spine in time with the narrowing of her gaze.
But in the end, she resumes her relaxed stature so quickly that perhaps the subtle shift in stance may not have been noted at all. Finally, voicing after another swallow of whatever drink has taken her fancy tonight. “Interesting. You do not look the political type.”
Václav Andrushko
Tue 02:05AM CST
He matches her second shot, then leans back, acknowledging her comment on Ian with a simple nod. The joints of the chair groan under his weight as the big Theurge leans back, settling his hands behind his head, laced. For a while he simply meets her look levelly, the line of his mouth upturned into a slight, meaningless smile.
Then: "On the edge of ruin. Of course. Such is my luck, as always. Ah, well. Exciting at least, no? Another drink?" He motions to the bottle. Whether she accepts or no, he pours himself a third.
And to answer her, "Not long after the New Year. Relatives in the area have procured an apartment for me; otherwise, I can be found in the woods. As for how long I will stay - as long as I have reason to, naturally. Given your estimate of the situation, perhaps quite a while."
From the smack behind him and the rush of concerned clubgoers toward the bar Václav can discern that the man has lost his temper with his woman. For his part, the Theurge does not seem overly inclined to rush to the lady's aid.
Leave that for the knights and the dragonslayers.
"You will have to inform me of the details of the present situation later," he adds to Katya, moving his head two inches to the left to avoid the flying elbow of a clubber running past, "in a more private spot. Whom do you run with?"
Ian Kovago
Tue 02:10AM CST
Ian's eyes darkened as he watched the scene play out. He lost the veneer of the out-of-place student - that part of him melted like an ice cube in the Sahara.
It was replaced by that of someone who'd go through little short of death to drive his point home.
With a hammer, if it came to it.
His first impulse at seeing the woman struck in anger would be resolved with violence, flat-out. A kin should know better, especially one that seemed of his tribe.
At least in public.. if his father's reasoning was followed.
But that reaction was stamped down - not here. This wasn't the place to be stamping a wayward kin back into place. Wasn't protocol.
Instead, Ian turned his attention to finding any members of security, to direct them over to deal with the individual on account of assaulting a lady and causing a disturbance. Probably too much vodka.
Getting tossed out into the cold might improve his temper - and if it doesn't, then his attitude would hit a pretty stalwart brick wall with the first Garou that got him cornered.
And if that'd have to be Ian, so be it.
"I'm not." He responds distractedly to Heidi. "I prefer criminal justice."
Was never approved by the family, though. They needed someone following his father's footsteps.
Katya
Tue 02:18AM CST
Her gaze washed over him, trailing down to her empty shot glass with the offer, "Da," she gave a slight push of the glass with her fingers. It was here that her attention was divided, noting the resounding slap. Eyes like crystaline ice fell upon the man with his brazen assault on the woman. Well. Less like an assault and more that of a callous gesture, "I do not know him," she murmured barely audible to the wolf across the table.
At his final words she turned to him anew, holding the newly poured shot poised. "Truly. These environs are not suitable for much in the way of detail. What is your primary mode of contact?" With that she raised the cool glass to lay upon her parted lush lips, tossing back the liquid fire with one swallow. Savoring the burn she slapped the table, spinning the container errantly, before digging into her purse. She produced a card, laying it face down on the table, "This is the number to my cellular phone," she explained.
Through it all she marked the position of Markari. That was one she planned to speak to..
Katya
Tue 02:19AM CST
((Addendum)) After withdrawing her slim fingers to the card, she intoned slow, feeling the stillburn of that vodka, "My running mates are.. gone," perhaps lending strength of the dire situation.
Heidi Schwartz
Tue 02:20AM CST
Her gaze flicks over to watch Ian and his reactions to the scuffle as soon as she decided (near instantly) to remain where she was. It was, after all, none of her business, and there are people trained to deal with such things in an establishment such as this. It also stands to reason that should she have tossed any drink in one of her ‘family’s’ face like that, she would be hard pressed to walk, not merely nursing a bruised, or even shattered, cheek.
Thus, she finds his instincts, his reactions, the subject of her attention rather then whatever happened next over there. Distractedly he attempts to answer her question, and with a somewhat droll expression, she countered. “Then why.” Though she has little interest in the reply at this point. It is more so to continue the semblance of conversation, perhaps for reasons deeper then to keep him at her table until she finishes her drink and is able to make a graceful escape, or perhaps not. She would be the last to admit either of the possibilities.
Finally, another comment, brow arching slightly. “Am I keeping you from something, Ian....”
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 02:32AM CST
A muffled whimper stifles in the back of Portia’s throat, hand covering her bruised cheek, she looks around at the few club goers that watch her, humiliated; she storms off in a tear-stricken fury towards the women’s restroom to disappear from sight.
Markari kept his stalking gait away from the bar, ignoring the quiet murmurs that erupt from behind his back. Scowling grimace set in stone upon his feral visage, sliding those intense amber-hued eyes across the expanse of the bar and over his peripheral to take in any on-coming advances from some schmuck that wanted to play knight in shining armor. His path drawn to a sudden halt, not by security, but two burly, well-dressed bodyguards that had slipped away from some private booth to speak with him; there was a low murmur of voices, conversation drowned out over the heavy din of music. Markari never put on airs, quietly listening as the bodyguards chewed out him for the ill-treatment of Portia, one of which daringly grabbed Markari by the scruff of his shirt collar to threaten him. It was taken with a grain of salt, not much of a response came from the cold, callous demeanor of the Russian man. He waits until the manhandling was over with along with the idol threats of pounding his face into the pavement.
The chime of a cell phone distracts one bodyguard, turning away to look off towards the women’s restroom, nudging his partner with a quick slap to the upper bicep, he nods his head away. “Leave the piece of shit, deal with him later.” Comment tossed out in disgust.
Markari lifts a dark brow, watching the bodyguards leave to walk off to the women’s restroom, Portia slipping out to join up with her entourage. She shoots a dirty look to Markari, speaking low to the two burly guardians and soon exits the club with them. Markari lets out a low sigh, starting to head out vacant table, when the sudden bellow of the club manager and two of his burly black security guards heads towards him to divert his path once more. “Mark, what the fuck was that all about? You are hittin’ my customers now. She’s very prestigious dame…” the club manager barks out, frowning deeply. “You and I need to have a talk, before my boys toss you out on your ass and out of my club.”
Václav Andrushko
Tue 02:36AM CST
The chill eyes fall to the card face-down on the table, but when he reaches out it's to lay one finger on her haphazardly spinning shotglass, stilling it.
He drinks his third shot slower, in two parts, filling his mouth with the taste of it that burned his lips and tastebuds to numbness. Leaning back, he pats his pockets cursorily for a pen, finds none, extends his fingers.
"A pen and another card, if you please." Provided she carries a pen, he jots his number on the back, folds it over, and hands it back to her. The handwriting is bold and rough, not a gentleman's at all. "That is my landline. I don't own a cellular. Leave a message at the beep, but I do have a maid who comes on Fridays, so have a care what you say."
That she has been watching Markari's progression through the crowd has not escaped his notice; that the other was coming up at his back certainly does not. And now, the manager and his goonies were coming at them from the other side. What a treat, to be at the center of this little conflagration.
"What a coincidence," he adds, his eyes on the manager and his two thugs. "I left my friends behind." He says this so carelessly, but then his eyes glance off hers. There's anger sparking in the depths. The second half of the third shot tossed down like the rest, the glass slammed down nearly hard enough to crack it. "They were terribly fucking incompetent. Unworthy. Pardon me a moment; sir--"
A hand extended bars Markari's way cleanly. He holds Katya's pale gray gaze another beat, then looks up at the man. The expression on his face is masked and hard to read. It might be amusement. He tips his head a small ways, indicating an empty chair.
"Please, have a seat. I believe my companion wishes a word with you."
As for his part, the Theurge rises to deter the management.
Ian Kovago
Tue 02:41AM CST
His gaze flits back to her. "No reason you care to listen to, I'm sure." He responds dryly. Hell, her questions are just blending into statements now; it's pretty obvious she's not overjoyed to be here. He also doubts her desire for conversation extends anywhere beyond the want to keep ennui at bay for a few moments.
"But no, you aren't keeping me from anything. I'm keeping myself." Keeping his ass right in his chair, before he's tempted to do something unwise. His attention is caught up for a moment as security catches up with Markari, and then his brows furrow in confusion when, seemingly, one of the higher ups in the club bellow out to him.
First name basis? Interesting. Katya's companion stops the kin's progress, and it seems that table is about to become the center of all the excitement.
He debated internally whether it would be wiser to stay where he was, or get involved. Considering his company was significantly less than intrigued, he decided to take his chances at the other table. Rising gracefully to his feet, Ian snapped up his coat and scarf, giving a polite nod to Heidi. "Excuse me. Apologies for interrupting your evening." With that, he turns away to maneuver a path to busiest table in the club, currently.
Heidi Schwartz
Tue 02:45AM CST
Lips curl into something of an amused smirk as she flicks her fingers in a grant of leave perhaps. It was clear he wished to be elsewhere, just as it is clear that pleasantries are not her forte. So from here, she is able to fall silent, and watch the scene across the way unfold.
Katya
Tue 02:55AM CST
Indeed, it was no problem for Katya to produce the requested items of a writing utensil and surface. While Vaclav ranted to himself, or possibly her, about the situation, she merely rested her pert chin casually upon one palm. When the heavily proportioned crescent moon stood, she blinked, before giving a slow smirk at his manner. It was evident that his action were at least partially due to her interest. Eyes stared back into his, wondering at his game, and the extent of it.
And just as if he had read her interest, the interesting Kin was plopped down in front of her. First name basis with management.. two differing sets of bodyguards.. and with the obvious line of her tribe flowing in his veins. She pushed down the last bit of interest.. that of the eyecatching feral masculine beauty that made her wonder a bit more at his particular branch of lineage. Gazing into those eyes for a moment she took him in, seemingly measuring him with the wolfish glint to her facetted ice gaze.
This time it was she that reached for the vodka, giving a low chuckle in her throat as Vaclav broke apart from the pair for the moment, "That was quite a show. Very unsubtle," her eyes flickered to the theurge, and back to the newcomer, as she poured herself a glass, and reached for a third, pouring without asking. It would sit untouched or be used later.
"What is your name? You remind me of a cousin," slowly her slim finger touched the rim of the glass, then wrapped fingers around.
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 03:13AM CST
Whether Václav’s sudden interruption was seen as a blessing or an annoyance was hard to discern in Markari’s cool demeanor. Those feral eyes of his, flicker down to the hand that bars his path and then over to the lovely Slavic companion. Perhaps, his gaze lingers a little too long on Katya, not ashamed in the way he takes his time to check out her lovely accoutrements. “I think I will do that.” Words flowed in this flavored accent of his obvious heritage. A slight turn of his head towards the club manager and his security guards, “We’ll have to talk later, Tony, business as usual. You know how that goes,” a casual shrugs of the shoulders and he finds the empty chair to settle in his lean, well-muscled frame upon. Amber-hued orbs meet the icy silver gaze of Katya, twisting a smirk upon the thin. “I don’t tend to enjoy sudden displays of drama, overtly. Draw too much attention, but this time I couldn’t stop myself.”
Markari watches the extra shot glass fill with vodka, half-wondering what this woman’s interest was in him all of sudden. A glance flicked back up to her male companion, before answering her question. “Markarios Mtsislav,” spoken in the dialect of his native tongue, “But most people simply refer to me as Markari.”
The club manager’s cheeks puff out as his face becomes a swollen blush with anger, beady eyes dart back and forth between Markari and Vaclav, bristling, “Yea, sure. Whatever, Mark..” he replies with a short nod, motioning for the two security guards to step back. Something about Vaclav making them want to just walk away.
Ian Kovago
Tue 03:20AM CST
Markari takes a seat and introduces himself, and just a beat later, another shadow falls over the table - one Katya's shrewd perceptions likely did not miss. The Hungarian-descended, if not born, Shadow Lord stops next to the last empty chair; scarf and coat dangle from his left arm. Shoulders straight, sharply-cut features curling into the barest indication of a sneer as Markari ogles the Ragabash. Ian slides one still-gloved hand onto the back of the empty chair, sweeping his brown gaze across the three of them to stop on Katya.
"Forgive my intrusion. Might I join you?" The question mainly aimed at Katya, though Vaclav counted as part of her company - as well, far be it from Ian to dismiss one of his tribemates.
Markari rated somewhere around insect level, right at the moment.
Václav Andrushko
Tue 03:22AM CST
A pause by Katya, his hand on her shoulder, leaning down from his imposing height to murmur beside her ear: "I'll take this as my cue. It was good to meet you, Ekaterina Valentinovna. I'll be in touch."
The thick-shouldered Theurge straightens, squeezing the (deceptively) slender shoulder in his large palm, and then moves on past to the manager. A few quick steps brings him there before the other has a chance to make his exit.
"Excuse me." Polite as can be in tone, so why do those icy eyes gleam so? "The lovely lady. This prestigious guest. Who is she?"
Katya
Tue 03:27AM CST
One long glance of hers also noted vaclav's position, before she returned the gaze of the newcomer. For a long moment she simply watched him, not alleviating his curiosity as to her interest. To she, it was plain that he was Kindred or Garou, most likely the former due to his lack of unsettling nature. And frankly, she'd be put off if a Garou had that beguiling feral aura about them. He would be a walking Litanny-breach.
The glass was gripped lightly, and then lifted, to press against her full, red lips again, tossing back the liquid, that now felt like a familiar buzzing warmth in her small belly.
After another appreciative sigh to the quality of the beverage, before she answered in Russian, "Pleased to meet you Markari. You may call me Katya, I'd be interested to know who you are affiliated with," His overt stare at the view she gave him with her lean forward on one elbow amused her, and she did nothing to change her position.
It wasn't until the shadow fell that she turned her attention away, gracing Ian with a small smile, "We'd be delighted, Ian," she took neither pleasure nor guilt at speaking for the Kin, it was her right, after all.
The strong presence, and equally strong grip of the archer theurge was noted with naught but the shifting of her eyes to glance sidelong, and give him a good bye nod at his whisper, answering in English, "Until next time," noting his progress out the door.
Finally, she took her time, to lean back in her chair and notice Markari again, "Markari, Ian.. Ian.. Markari. Ian is a family member of mine," she stated levelly, eyes matching that feral gaze from the newcomer.
System Admin
Tue 03:27AM CST
The club manager turns his head to regard Vaclav with a furrowed brow, hesitant, at first to answer the question. He shrugs his shoulders beneath the tailored jacket. "Portia Miloslava."
Heidi Schwartz
Tue 03:28AM CST
A moment, watching the goings on, and she finishes her drink. Standing, she slips on her jacket and retrieves her purse, before slipping through the crowd and out the door.
Ian Kovago
Tue 03:33AM CST
Ian takes his seat, sinking into it like a snake coiling up. Resting his chin on one palm, he arches one thin eyebrow at the kin.
"Charmed." Yeah. Downright ecstatic.
He kept his civility. Turning slightly, he draped his outer garments across the back of the chair once more, and then peeled off his gloves to move them to his coat pockets.
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 03:36AM CST
His large frame nestles back to press into the chair, large hands relaxed atop his thighs. The strong line of his jaw works slowly to ease the build up of tension from earlier. "A pleasure, Katya." he remarks with a small incline of his head, amber-hued orbs dared to hold her gaze briefly, tearing away long enough to glance at Ian, before they flick back to Katya and settle not quite on her face, but on her cleavage instead. Who could blame him?
In Russian, "My affliated family would be those of the Shadow Lords, Katya."
Václav Andrushko
Tue 03:40AM CST
There was, of course, a curt nod of greeting to Ian before he left. But now he was some twenty feet away, conversing with another.
"Portia Miloslava."
The name given, repeated, and mulled over briefly. Then he smiles. "Lovely. And what, exactly, makes her so important to your establishment?"
Ian Kovago
Tue 03:40AM CST
Ian kept quiet, eyes flitting between the two. No clue what either of them were saying (Katherine had tried teaching him Russian, but the lessons had been cut short - all Ian remembered were the basics: "Hello", "Goodbye", and "Stop talking in Russian, dammit.") so he did his best to follow along with vocal tone and expression.
Everything was staying very polite. Perhaps unruly behavior was acceptable here. Ian's shoulders relaxed, the aggravated tension easing out of his neck.
System Admin
Tue 03:43AM CST
The club manager seems more hesitant now, standing on his guard. "She's... a V.I.P. 'nuff said, anything else you need help with?"
Katya
Tue 03:47AM CST
Idly, she ran her finger along the upper lip of the empty shotglass, electing not to refill it again so soon. She didn't alter her position, even when she saw the Kin brazenly oggling the slight pink flush growing upon her skin, or surely he was looking at the cross that nestled between the soft embrace of her acoutrements.. surely. A small bemused smile she held as she went on in English, "Then you are in good company. Both family members," Obviously talking about Ian and herself.
Turning to the aforementioned Philodox, she inquired with the lift of one brow, "Vodka?"
Ian Kovago
Tue 03:48AM CST
Ian shook his head at the offer. "No need, but thank you. I'll be needing to leave soon." He marked the statement with a glance to his watch.
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 03:49AM CST
"Mhmmm," his head bobs in a slight nod, causing a brush of sable-brown curls to sweep across his eyes. He pulls a hand up, brushing it back, lifting his gaze up away to look at Ian again. "Always nice to see family around."
Václav Andrushko
Tue 03:51AM CST
Václav chuckles under his breath, lowering his voice that the two bodyguards standing behind the manager would have a harder time of eavesdropping. "You know more than that. Come now, a few more details. Who knows. Humor me now, and I might be able to help you in the future. Who is she? What makes her such a V.I.P? What is she to my friend over there, the rowdy one? And for that matter, what is he to you?"
Katya
Tue 03:56AM CST
When Ian made his farewell, she turned back to the Kin, brushing the hair that had cascaded forward over her milky shoulder like a silken waterfall, back out of the way. A subtle adjustment of her top that was supposed to cover herself more, ended up merely calling attention to herself,
"Yes it is," she agreed in turn, "And we are without many in this town. Your meeting is fortunate. Tell me.." she began as she poured the clear liquid again, slowly, "Who warrants such attention as your friend?" with a meaningful glance at the bouncers, "And from yourself as well," her lush lips made a devlish smirk as the notion of him battering the woman so publically.
System Admin
Tue 03:57AM CST
The club manager was starting to turn away, waving a hand nochalantly in the air. "Eh, some snotty rich girl that blows a lot green in here. Mark's her latest play toy at the moment... or he was." a slight chuckle ebbs in his throat, he looks back at Vaclav. "He's a friend. We do business together."
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 04:01AM CST
Those amber-hue eyes tilt up to meet her icy gaze, perhaps a little too bold for a kin. His callous demeanor returns at the mention of the blond woman. Quickly feeling disinterest in Katya's sex appeal. "I'd like to consider it a mere whim of fate, nothing but chance, perhaps." a slight roll of those broad shoulders, beneath black silk into a shrug. "Portia? Nobody to be concerned with. A casual fuck."
Katya
Tue 04:06AM CST
She seemed to take him at his word, simply letting the matter drop, without another utterance about it.
"You speak Russian well," she said as she leaned back in her chair, straightening with that graceful poise she could affect when she chose. Eyes seemed to take him in entirely, the subtle details aside from his brazen, golden gaze, "You are not from here. What do you do, Markari?" she asked with a slight curious expression.
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 04:08AM CST
"First generation Russian, mother's from Moscow. I'm from New York. I run a pawn shop." ....among other things. But he doesn't quite speak tell her that. His eyes roam once more over her body, allowing them to resettle on her chest again. He seems to enjoy staring there and not at her face when he spoke to her.
Václav Andrushko
Tue 04:09AM CST
"Thank you," replies Václav, bowing out of the conversation and leaving the manager to his duties.
Not too long thereafter, the Lord makes his way out of the club. Onlookers see him make his way to a night-black BMW motorcycle, as expensive as a small car and twice as fast on the open road.
They see him ride away, north along Madison, and then west onto Portland. What they don't see is how, after he arrives at his upper-middle-class apartment on the fringes of downtown, after he takes the elevator up to the eighth and top floor, after he enters his flat and tosses his keys on the kitchen counter, sifts through his mail - how then, he concentrates hard on his dim reflection in the microwave oven and ceases to exist on this side of the wall.
Into the Umbra.
Katya
Tue 04:18AM CST
Getting stared at brazenly brings a smile.. having a man talk to your chest, reminds you of the sex object men will always think you are. It helps on the job, usually, but is always perturbing to a degree. Of course, it's also perturbing when the men seem to look disdainfully at the cleavage a woman so pointedly attempts to show them.
Really, men had a fine line to walk.
"Little Odessa?" she arches her brow, as he mentions New York. The region she named known for being the center of Russian Syndicate beginnings.. and also where she resided before New Jersey.. "I have not been in some time," she smiled, "Where did you reside?"
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 04:22AM CST
His attention was suddenly snatched up, chin lifts up, fixing his eyes back upon her face. Not so brazenly challenging just watching her. Thick arms curl up to fold over his broad chest, the slight pull of black silk molds over chiseled cords of muscle. If anything, Markari as a fine specimen for breeding stock. Attractive with that feral appearance that exumes in his the hard lines of his face. "Manhattan, actually. I live on the other side of town, near downtown."
Katya
Tue 04:29AM CST
The gaze reflected back to her own, caused her to pause longer, picking out the details of his eyes. Not a bit of flinching. It wasn't exactly rare, as she didn't have the burgeoning cauldron of Rage that many of her brethren sported, but still uncommon, as many of the weaker willed could be unsettled by her modest feral fire.
"Manhattan," she enunciated slow, "It has shown many improvements over the last decade.. despite the one incident," Everyone knew what that was.
"What brings you to the Windy City?" she asked in that same conversational tone.
Markari Mtsislav
Tue 04:34AM CST
Markari unfurls his arms from his chest, leaning forward to rest his forearms flat upon the table. He speaks in casual, yet blunt tone of voice. "To fuck you." the intense gaze never leaving hers, thin lips pull back into a feral grin.
Katya
Tue 04:45AM CST
For a long moment her gaze remained upon his, after the slight initial widening of her heavy-lidded gaze. She was equal parts begrudgingly respectful of his brazen eye-to-eye words, and wanting to smash his smug, alluring face with the vodka bottle. No stranger to analyzing her emotions under fire, she admitted that the latter was mostly due the fact that, something - beyond the pure breed - called to the wolf within her on a primal level. Worse, he knew it.
But, she was female. And there was an inherent advantage therein. A slow smirk formed upon her full lips, as she dug into her purse. This time she produced a silver cigarette case, opening to deliver one of those cancer-inducing cylinders. Flame was struck, with a wiff of butane and then expensive tobacco. Her suggestive lips encircled the cigarette.. the end glowing orange, before she paused a moment.. and inhaled a long slow gout of smoke in his direction.
Which of course only intensifed her subsequent smirk, "That's a long way to travel," she remarked idly, leaving off the implied to no avail.