[Cordelia] Caucasian females are notorious for doing things like jogging at night in very little clothing, accepting drinks from complete and total strangers, and wandering around in parks in the middle of the night with their translators because-
"Celiaaaaaaaaaaa- I wanna hotdooooooooooooog!"
Because this particular white girl wants cheap park food in the middle of the night and she is willing to do just about anything to find it. She had been out in the middle of the night, in a short, short skirt and some ridiculously tall heels that she's carrying around in one hand loosely. Cordelia's barely existant ass is sparkling because of the stupid dress and Celia-
remember Celia? The one that holds the keys to the Spaniard's hotdog having privileges?
is sitting on top of her boyfriend on a parkbench trying to see if she can reach his tonsils with her tongue. She's a short-ish Puetro Rican woman who got half an education thanks to someone feeling guilty about not admitting Latinos and the other half because she was damn good at what she did. They aren't brokering real estate, though. Right now, she's deadset on drunkenly making out with her boyfriend and trying to make a baby on the bench.
"Ceeeeliiiiaaaaaaa-" Cordelia whines.
She gets no reaction,a nd half staggers off to go find her damned food.
"CeliaI'mgoinghomehastalueeeeegoooooooo"- and this is where we start our scene. With a tall blonde, a little tipsy, searching out some sausage.
[Winston] Sometimes a guy just couldn't get any sleep.
He'd figured that the park would be a decent place to crash tonight, softer than an alleyway floor, with the smell of autumn and a soft cushiony bed of grass and dead leaves to curl up in. Just so long as he stayed in the shadows and out of sight, patrol probably wouldn't find him and make him move someplace out of the tourist's eye. But this:
Ceeeeliiiaaaaaaaa, hotdooooooog!
would wake the dead. Winston awoke rumbling and scrubbing his unshaven face, rolling over onto his stomach and squinting up past the dark toward the sound of a voice bleating out into the darkness in some mish-mash of English and Spanish, betraying her position (and condition) shamelessly. He huffed, groaned, coughed and wheezed, then pushed himself up onto his feet and went to go see what all the commotion was.
He recognized Cordelia right off the bat once he crested the hill he'd been sleeping at the bottom of, but he didn't approach her right away. Rather he slipped onto the path behind her and started following, some fifteen or twenty feet behind. As he walked, holey and chewed up sneakers nearly silent on the ground, he adjusted his clothing, which was something to be surprised by tonight. He wore a navy blue pinstriped suit, now rumpled and slightly wet from laying in the dead leaves. He was tugging the jacket straight and plucking leaves free, out from his hair and off his shoulders and waist, adjusting the sleeves and the cuffs, and just watching those long, long legs walk while he followed, nothing but maliciousness and curiosity in the air around him.
[Cordelia] Silver Fangs are slowly but surely breeding any desireable trait out of their kin. They have no survival instincts, and it seems that the only thing that Cordelia has going for her are impeccable breeding and the factt aht she could probably scream loud enough to wake the dead.
Which, sadly, seems to be part of the problem. There's only so much a Bone Gnawer can sleep through. Mack trucks passing through, freight trains at three in the morning. Cordelia half obnoxiously demanding a hotdog is just... too painful to listen to.
She wasn't wearing her glasses, which meant she either was wearing contacts or she really was suffering from White Girl Syndrome and couldn't see on top of being tipsy. She squints, and cresting the hill there was a man in a pinstripe suit, who she did not recognize. Cordelia starts to head forward-
She grumbles about something in spanish, and then looks back to realize she lost a shoe somewhere around here.
"Aww."
[Winston] "Darling."
The word was all that there was for a time, left hanging in the air in a way that felt... curious; best compared to dropping food coloring into a glass of water and waiting, watching, while it spread throughout. That's how Winston's voice seemed to be in the dark, filling and stretching, touching the trees and the path and the ears of the Silver Fang Kinfolk all alike. He stood with his hands in his pants pockets, a posture that pushed the bottom of the suit jacket up some.
Surprisingly (and though she couldn't see it without glasses) the suit flattered him well. It lengthened his frame, gave the illusion of shape even though the only shape he had was narrow, it made his shoulders seem sturdier and his chest less concave. The pink handkerchief in the breast pocket was a flamboyant and expensive looking touch, even if it was folded over wrong and crumpled up looking. His hair was a mess, his face unshaven. Someone had dressed him up, or he'd simply stolen a victim's clothing. It was impossible to tell.
When he spoke again, it was surprising. At first it seemed 'darling' was all he had to say.
"What in fuck's name are you doing?"
[Cordelia] "You're not bleeding," she tells Winston, as though this is some huge revelation. There's a bright grin on her face, but her lips are closed.
She bridges the gap enough that she actually can look at him. Blue gives way to blue pinstripes. On her end? Well, leave it to Fangs to rock a white dress. While we're on the topic of illusions, it gives the impression that Cordelia is heavier and curvier than she is. There's not a lot up top, but... she has muscle definition. Actual muscle definition, like the princess invested in a personal trainer.
All he seems to say was darling. And even without her glasses, her eyes are large. Constant, consistent deer-in-the-headlights.
What is she doing?
"Finding fooooood," she drawls, "muy guapo... who did you mug?"
[Winston] He stands still, leaned back, straightened up so his posture was erect (this was possibly the first time that anyone's seen him stand this way since the disappearance of a certain heavyset pikey), and doesn't move while the tall and leggy Kinfolk approaches. Bland hazel eyes give her a quick up-and-down, but settle on her face and stay there up to the point of her talking, asking who he mugged.
His answer is a shake of his head that was completed by pausing so he could cough a few times into his shoulder, then popping out his right elbow away from his body and turning it toward her, offering it for her to take. There's not an awful lot of amusement on his face tonight-- it seemed Winston wasn't at his most cheerful when roused from much needed sleep. Two hours wasn't much to function on, even for a creature used to living in the now. "Don't worry about it. You got any cash hidden in that itty bitty nightgown of yours? I'll find you your damn hot dog if you do."
Up close, it's a surprise to find he doesn't smell like old sweat and grease and garbage cans, but instead the dominant scent on him is mulch and dead leaves, precisely what you'd expect on a person that just got done laying in a pile of the stuff.
[Cordelia] Cordelia looked up and reached into her bra. She doesn't seem to have much in the way of modesty, but that's neither here nor there. She pulls out...
"Huh," she says, and stares at the bill. She pulls it up a little closer and determines that, yes, a twenty is acceptable to buy hotdogs.
Cordelia nods and again and casts her half glassy gaze on Winston. She smiles again, and looks at his lack of amusement, She looks up and shrugs at that, "aw, you want one?" It was the sort of good will that ame from five year olds, the kind that had them sharing their half crushed oreos and dirt-speckled lollipops with people because... well... it's the right thing to do.
As that Winston was a Bone Gnawer, they never seemed to care much about dirt.
[Winston] His elbow wiggled at her now, rolling from the shoulder to the boney joint below, poking out toward her in indication for her to take it so he could at least pretend to play the role of proper escort. That was all the effort he put out, though, because his hands stayed in his pants pockets and his eyes stayed a little on the side of half-lidded rather than glassy. She may or may not be able to make this out, but there were bruises from lack of rest under his eyes, and his back muscles were tight and tense.
Even so, she offered him a hotdog, and without batting an eyelash he answered, perhaps as a reflex. "Of course I want one."
What Bone Gnawer turned down food? He'd wait for her to take the elbow for perhaps another thirty second, maximum. If she complies, he'd start leading her back up the way she came from. If not, well, he'll start walking in that direction anyways and trust that she'd have enough sense to follow.
That's not to say that he doesn't keep one eye on her to make sure of it.
[Cordelia] They are what they are. Bone Gnawers don't turn down food, and Silver Fangs, on some level, latch on to pleasantries and sink their teeth into them. She takes the elbow without really thinking about it. Cordelia walks with one shoe in her hand and the other on his arm.
Her non-existent-hips sway.
"I'm missing a shoe."
Cordelia looks over at Winston; her head turns slowly and curls displace from behind one shoulder to slightly over it. She realizes that she's looking at his ear rather than his face. Cordelia adjusts her position accordingly. Winston couldn't be what one would consider attractive... well, strike that. He's not handsome, but he doesn't make Cordelia want to throw up or gouge her eyes out with her shoe. She does, however, see him and think that there is a solid chance he is about to try and sell her a used car. She inhales and, for the life of her, she can't place what the smell is.
Cordelia wasn't good at getting dirty.
"You look tired," she says again, as easily as she announced her lost shoe, "where are you sleeping?"
[Winston] Winston wasn't tall, but he wasn't short either. This meant that Cordelia was several inches taller than him, and it was a mercy that she'd taken off those high heels because it would look even more awkward if she'd kept them on. But still, the unshaven rumpled man in the too-nice-for-him suit and tattered tennis shoes that made the suit look more like a costume than an outfit escorted the tall, willowy Kinfolk out toward the flat grasses of Grant Park, where the vendors set their carts and where she'd lost a keeper to the sexual allure of her boyfriend.
I'm missing a shoe.
"You can buy another one."
The answer wasn't exactly curt, he wasn't snapping at her, but it certainly was dismissive. He's quite close to conducting a scientific study on the effect of alcohol, Kinfolk, and the Metis condition. Thus far he's quite convinced that when Kinfolk get drunk this initiates some kind of magnetic attraction between them and Metis Garou. He hasn't met a Kinfolk yet that hasn't somehow wound up wandering nearby him whilst intoxicated. Now it just wasn't surprising him anymore, it felt like routine.
She'd asked where he was sleeping while staring intently at his ear, then at his cheek, and he glanced up at her, raised one heavy Groucho-esque eyebrow, then looked forward again, to the path that they walked along.
"Tonight, in the most comfortable pile of leaves in all of Chicago. Yesterday, in my bus. Why, oh inebriated one?"
[Cordelia] There is a little known, less cared about fact regarding the kinfolk of Chicago: they are, by and large, heavy drinkers and heavier partiers. When one really analyzes the plight of kinfolk in general, it's a wonder why more of them aren't alcoholics. This particular kinfolk comes from a tribe thathad a life to look forward to where she could be traded for the sake of political gains, who will pop out little brats until she's used up and bitter.
She's lucked out. All things said, she managed to get a relatively long leash in the wake of familial mourning (Your sons were kin, and the only credit to your name preaches voluntary extinction. Failure, failure all.) Cordelia livs her life with blinders.
We digress.
"Nuh-uh," she tells him, "choo canna have tried all the piles of leaves an' determined that particular pile of leaves es the most comfortable."
She totally misses the why.
[Winston] "You better believe it, honey."
He licked at his teeth, running his tongue over the front of them in a way where that it flashed from between his lips, and paused when they came to the end of the section of the park with trees and paths and sloping hills and reached the part that was intended for tourists-- complete with fountains, pieces of well known structural artwork, hot dog vendors and wandering bodies alike. "Why, are you offering a bed as well as a hot dog?" She'd missed the 'why', so he asked it again.
Somewhere off to the left was a small Puerto Rican woman all wrapped up on top of her boyfriend's lap, rubbing hips with him and fighting the type of science that insisted you couldn't procreate through clothing. His head tipped to the side, and he stared openly, as though pondering the couple as a whole, or turning over a plot to ruin their evening in his mind.
[Cordelia] "Si," she tells him. All solid and certain, "and a shower. You smell funny. Es verdad."
She looks at Celia, and... uh... fuck, what was his name. Cordelia looks at him, and seems to completely miss the fact that they're, essentially, making babies with their clothes on. Instead, she's looking at his Jersey Shore hair and his overly defined triceps and she's wondering, not out oud of course but it's so obviously written on her face, how Celia can try and make out with this poor guy.
Cordelia doesn't seem to realize she's acquired a trophy boyfriend, but that's neither here nor there.
She does, however, decide that they're taking too long, and lets go of Winston's arm in favor of wandering off after something shiny.
[Winston] [Random die!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7
[Winston] Cordelia let go of Winston's arm to wander off, but that didn't mean that she got terribly far. His hand jerked out of his pocket to snatch at her wrist. Something that made him seem almost like a teenager, despite the body hair, the gruff appearance, and the weathered away about him, was the fact that his hands and feet seemed a bit too large for the rest of him, like he was still growing into them. It wasn't just because Cordelia was thin that his fingers fit easily around her wrist.
With the Kinfolk secured, he went back to walking, hauling her with him toward the nearest hotdog stand, pointedly away from the couple having hanky-panky on the bench.
"This is the best I've smelled in a long time, you can ask anyone and they'll vouch for me." And quickly, following up after that: "Did you drive here? How am I getting you home?" Followed up even further by him curling his free arm over his face and coughing into the crook of his elbow.
[Cordelia] She thinks she's going to get a good distance,w hich doesn't do her much good because she's taken all of four steps before his arm shoots out, before his hand is around her wrist. Cordelia doesn't pull away, she just looks down and just... looks. Cordelia blinks slowly, inspecting the dimensions of his hands versus the width of her wrist.
She looks back and him, sidelong and almost... perplexed. It's as though she is trying to put some kind of puzzle together. She looks back at his face, then to his hand, then back. Whatever thought she had is abandoned in favor of-
"You have a bus we can take the bus!"
a beat passes.
"I don't drive."
[Winston] She studies the way his hand, complete with tawny-furred knuckles and tiny paper-white scars here and there, contrasted against her wrist. It was large and rough, a contrast to the rest of him, which was narrow and underfed, hardly fit for battle like so many, many other Garou were opposed to him. Most were tall, had muscle from years on the job, scars to boast and masculinity to spare (even the females). Winston, though, he was a spy. A sneak, a sleuth, a bastard. He was no warrior, and that would never be confused.
She'd studying him, looking confused, then bleating about a bus and admitting she can't drive.
"My bus is on blocks, toots," he regrettably informed her, and paused in front of a vendor. "Two with everything, chief. Barbie's paying." He wagged his eyebrows and flashed his teeth with a smile to the vendor, which encouraged the poor man to put the hot dogs together with haste, so that the weird guy with the suit and sneakers would get the hell away with his gigantic hooker. Something about the pair of them (Winston mostly) felt illegal, and he didn't want any part in it.
"If you didn't drive," he said while waiting, looking up to the absurdly tall Kinfolk again, "how'd you get here? Totter drunk and unstable on those heels in that slip of a dress?"
[Cordelia] "Yo no soy una Barbie," she tells him firmly. Surprisingly firmly.
It was hard to take her seriously when she's pulling a twenty out of her bra and handing it to the vendor, who would much rather walk away and not have anything to do with the pair of them. Cordelia has this weird girl-next-door thing going on. That sort of faux innocence that wasn't fooling anyone, but she looked atht eworld too sweetly to be anything but.
It's also hard to be mad when she's about to get food. She holds one hotdog in hand, and promptly shoves it in her mouth.
This is also proof that she can't possibly be anything other than vaguely adorable because... well.. the girl can't get an absurd amount of suggestive food in her mouth at one time, "Shee-yaa rove."
And she swallows. Cordelia half coughs and clears her throat. Too big of a bite.
"I usually take the bus or a cab."
[Winston] The hot dogs and change were handed back, and Winston at least had the humanity left in him to leave the vendor alone right away. He nudged Cordelia's back with the flat of his knuckles to get her moving, and without another word back to the wary human he started moving them out of the park, toward the street, and took a few good bites out of his hot dog.
She might be built like a swan, but she ate like a seagull.
He found that amusing, and that was apparent by the smirk that uncurls from his mouth like he were the Grinch.
"Bus or a cab. Alright, well, let's get one of those." Chew chew, bite, chew chew swallow. "We'll get you home, get you into bed all safe and sound and asleep, and I'll just pretend that I was never there so that Miss Bellamonte doesn't come down here to discover who I am and stick me with her manicured claws for sullying her Kinfolk."
"Sound kosher?"
[Cordelia] She takes another bite, and she might just choke on the damned thing if she wasn't so committed to... you know... eating...
She makes a sound like it's absolutely heavenly. She sighs, from high to low and her head goes back. She smiles like this is just as good as a decent cup of coffee or mediocre sex. Not good sex. She's not having an orgasm over chili cheeze jalepeno dogs, but she is decidedly pleased with all of it. Cordelia swallows, and life is good.
Sound koshed?
She blinks, all wide-eyed.
"Huh?"
A beat.
"Oh, okay? But you should sleep inside. You've walked me home twice now. Yoooooou neeeeeed temperature control," she says, "look at you, being courteous."
[Cordelia]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Winston] She sighed with pleasure over the last bite of her hot dog, and Winston stares at her appropriately, one eyebrow lifted higher than the other, mouth left slightly open for a few seconds longer than typical before filling the space with the rest of his hot dog, chewing and swallowing as well. He adjusted the suit jacket, tugging the lapels and then shoving his hands back into his pants pockets as well. It's best not to comment on the teasing mannerisms of a drunken Kinfolk, that's just asking for trouble.
Rather, he stops at the side of the park, along the sidewalk, and leans forward to watch the road, keeping a look out for a taxi cab.
Silver Fangs had money, right? Them and Glass Walkers. He didn't feel bad taking advantage of either members of the tribe, not one bit. She could pay for the drive home, but as for sleeping at her home...
"Look, lady, my skin may be flea-bitten and grease-stained but I've kind of grown attached to it. If I fall asleep at your place, regardless of whether I'm at the front mat or curled up at the foot of your bed, some angry fucking Ahroun is gonna break his way into your home and my ribcage alike. No thanks."
[Cordelia] "Aeeiii, you are always thinking ahrouns will pop out of nowhere and kick your ass when you're around me, why is this? No es bueno. No es manera de vivir su vida. Además, no ... bueno, está bien, tal vez usted tiene que preocuparse acerca de Christian, pero me gustaría ... uh... huh. Something," her response was immediate.
[Winston] "English, toots."
A hand lifted to scratch at the back of his neck up to the back of his skull.
"English was hard enough to learn for me, I didn't tackle Spanish on top of it."
[Cordelia] "What else do you speak?" her head cocks to the side.
[Winston] "The language of our people." This was said simply enough, and Winston reached out a hand to flag down a cab, who slowed only enough to get a good look at Winston's face before catching the chill of Rage and continuing on. He frowned, nose wrinkling, then muttered and nudged at the Kinfolk with his elbow to get her walking again, up the sidewalk now for a bus stop instead.
"I didn't need to know anything else, I stayed in the Caern for the first half of my life. And let me tell you-- oh wait, you already know. English's fuckin' hard." They'd come upon a bus stop not too far from where he'd had them standing initially, and here he plunks down on the bench, sitting with his knees apart and letting his head fall back and eyes close while he waited. It seemed he fully expected her to do the same, only hopefully sans the knees apart thing, considering her tiny tiny dress.
[Cordelia] He has to really nudge her, because she's just looking at him like he sprouted a second head. Her jaw is slack. Cordelia is amazed, impressed, and she lights up with open and unapologetic fascination.
"What was that like?" oh god, it's become storytime.
She plops down on the bench, her arms are across the back of it, and she stretches out. The female looks comfortable enough to say the least, and she looks at her toes. Her toenails are pink. That sort of understated, boring pink, but they're pink. Behold Cordelia Sarafin Diego, the only person to look at a metis like they're a freakin' rockstar.
[Winston] Cordelia's arms sprawl over the back of the bench, which positions Winston's head on one of her forearms to be treated as a pillow. He decides he doesn't mind, it's more comfortable than the back of the bench. So long as she didn't fuss over greasy hair, he wouldn't move and she probably wouldn't either, not until the bus showed up.
It seemed this was becoming routine for the Kinfolk, waiting for buses with Garou.
She observed her pink toes and asked him what it was like, and also found time to stare at him like he was Mick Jager. He just let his eyes close, relaxed into the bench, and muttered his reply.
"What, the language learning or the shitty life?" Metis don't have pleasant childhoods, this is a fact.
[Cordelia] "Both."
She has one Hell of a short attention span. Cordelia looks at her toes, then at Winston. She looks fascinated now. She doesn't look away just yet. COrdelia catches the muttered reply, though, and some part of her catches that he seems... well, fuck, it took her long enough to finally realize that Winston looks tired.
Cordelia takes up space like she owns anything she touches. Things are hers by virtue of existing and falling upon her gaze.
"I don't meet a lot of-" she then looks a little uncomfortable, her brows pull together and she bites her lower lip. "Well..."
[Winston] Cordelia was a Silver Fang by blood, by birth, by nurturing as well. She was raised up to the attitude of owning and ruling over whatever it was she deemed needing to be ruled. If it happened to be that bench and he was her only commoner for the evening? So be it. He was the ultimate omega, as low as they come, if some drunken inquisitive Kinfolk decided she needed to know things, that she needed to be entertained until she was home and safe, then he was fine with that.
Besides, if he kept her entertained with words, that would keep her on the bench and prevent wandering off, and that would require a hell of a lot less energy than physically herding her home.
"Mules." He finished her sentence for her easily enough, and a lazy smirk curled over his unshaven face. "I can imagine why you haven't, I hear your people kill 'em the instant they come out.
"You know what learning a language is like. I don't need to explain that to you." Even if the difference between learning one spoken latin-based language after speaking another one, and learning a spoken and written language coming from growls and gestures and yips and howls was in fact very different indeed, he left it there. "Growing up in the Caern was like growing up in an orphanage. You don't get out, you don't see past the walls, and you get stepped on and kicked around and just wait and wait for that day when you get to have a job and get the hell out."
[Winston] [Dodge!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Cordelia] [dex+brawl, because hugging is a martial art, +1, druuuuuunk]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 8 (Failure at target 7)
[Mattheiu] He whistled softly to himself and made his way slowly through the park. The young man positively stunk of wealth right down to the way each and every fiber in his coat looked as if it were put here on this earth for the sole purpose of serving as little more than a decoration to go atop his outfit. Mattheiu was a spitting, shining example of what one could be... Not the kind of man one could become but what one could have been had they been born to the right parents and then, subsequently, raised by them with the intention of creating a creature brimming with self confidence and grace. Mattheiu was perfection... Not born but forged by the fired of Gaia's own passionate fantasies, given shape and form by her will, and blessed with the breath of life which carried with it the harmonious tone of perfection from which he had been spawned. Matheiu was a Silver Fang wherever he stepped the earth beneath his feet trembled and the wind itself existed for the sole purpose of stroking his cheeks to bring forth the pleasure and comfort of a brisk early winter stroll.
[Cordelia] Mules.
Her eyebrows raise up again and the intoxicated kinfolk makes a sound like she just choked on air. This is accurate because she did almost choke on air. She then frowns, and sits in that sort of uncomfortable white-person-silence that she doesn't quite know what to do with.
"... that's a horrible name," she blinks again.
They go on, and she just looks at Winston. Really, really looks. And the more time goes on, the less she looks at him like a rockstar and the more she looks at him like some malnourished, mangey, underfed puppy that, quite obviously, could not be held responsible for the fact that he was smarmy and a little oily. So, she leaned in, because he looked like he needed some kind of assurance that, despite the fact that he was smelly and a little awkward, he didn't... you know... deserve to be treated like crap.
So, she leans in, and he can tell that something's about to happen because her arm twitches. Winston leans in one direction, Cordelia leans in the same direction, and as that she has, in fact, been drinking, she doesn't have the best luck with her equilibrium right now, so this is where we stand: Cordie leans, winston leans, and she leans far enough that her head ends up in his lap...
Kind of...
More like she ends up half-draped over him like he's a boney, smelly coatrack. She seems fine, though, her underwear isn't showing.
[Winston] Cordelia was staring at him with big doe eyes that he could swear were going to start tearing up with pity for him at any second. Her arm jerked funny, and she started to lean in toward him, face tipped toward his, smelling strongly of alcohol and all the fine silks and golds that came with her breeding, a vague promise of frost along with the fineries that can be found in any palace hall. His eyebrows knitted together, and he leaned back, shifting his head and shoulders away so that she couldn't quite reach that long, awkward body to him in the way she wanted.
So they leaned. And leaned. And leaned. And eventually they run out of space and Winston ends up with the heel of his hand on the bench to support his torso so he doesn't fall off the bench, and Cordelia ends up with her head in his lap.
Well... that's compromising.
The Bone Gnawer blinked at her, straightened up, and just stared at her pretty blonde head for a few seconds before muttering lackadaisically (even though his spine and thighs were clenched stiff and he was doing his damnedest to just not think about it), "What the hell're you doing now, lush?"
A flickerflash of Rage behind him, another chill of that royal breeding, and Winston glanced over his shoulder back into the park from his position on the sidewalk that wrapped around it to see... Mattheiu, the High and Mighty Silver Fang that believed he'd contracted the Rat-Fink out to gather information for him. He would be one of many in the city under that delusion.
See? This right here is why he's always worried about Ahrouns manifesting to rip his ribcage out of his body. Because it actually happened.
[Mattheiu] In a perfect world there would be no such thing as the metis, hell there would be no such thing as Bone Gnawers. All would be as pure as one another and they would roam happily in some kinda paradise where flowers and birds roam freely and everyone eats cotton candy or some such cause nothing would ever get hurt in a perfect world. This, as we all know by now, is not a perfect world. It is cold and ugly and dangerous and full of more twists than most could imagine. Mattheiu knew well the dangers the city could bring and it was usually the reason he tried to avoid it.
That soft voice of his was lovely, was he trained or was it simply natural talent? Whatever the case it was quite apparent that Mattheiu was created with the intention of being heard. This was his art and his craft even if there were many who did not appreciate it as such it honestly never mattered to Mattheiu. There is a reason his kind have ruled the Garou for two hundred thousand years and would continue to do so for another two hundred thousand years and on and on until the end of time.
That whistle seemed to carry him closer up until the point he was smiling at the sight of Winston the Gnawer who had been privileged to be taught a little about the perspective of a Silver Fang last time they had spoke. So Privileged that he has apparently taken it to heart and seen fit to go prancing around with their kin as if he were one of them!
Fortunately Mattheiu is an honorable, and civil man, and though his eyes slipped down to Cordelia they snapped back quickly enough and his smile remained brilliant as he made his way closer to the pair. Footfalls clumping gently against the path beneath them, and he even paused to draw his iPhone from his pocket. Something to keep his hands busy while he paused to talk with Garou and kin.
"Winston... Cordelia. Funny thing running into the two of you here."He says with a flick of his eyes towards the screen before him."Lovely evening out tonight wouldn't you agree?"He adds before snapping his eyes towards the kin.
[Cordelia] She just kind of sits there for a mimnute, and she's finding herself posed with a particularly difficult question. Does she get up from her slightly unpleasant smelling pillow and feign dignity, but not go take a nap like she wants to do... or, she can sit up and not have her head somewhere comfortable. Ish. Comfortable-ish. This is Winston we're talking about, here.
She hears a voice, and it's familiar enough that she goes rigid immediately. Her eyes widen, and for the time being she doesn't actually go somewhere. Her processors aren't firing on all cylanders, but thats better than most people can really way.
And the only plan she can come up with is to sit up. It's slow and purposeful, or as purposeful as she can get. Cordelia smiles, and one side of her mouth turns up a little more than the other. "Nooo," she drawls out, so spake the blonde woman in the tiny white dress, "es freezing. Como estas? Esta bien?"
She covertly puts a little distance between herself and Winston. Just a smidgeon.
[Winston] If Winston were any smart, self-preserving sort of man he would act offended, he would blame everything on the alcohol (blame it on the al-al-al-al-al-alcohol baby) that the Kinfolk had imbibed, turn things around to blame the Silver Fang for not keeping better track of his Kinfolk, and that's what started the whole situation in the first place.
...you know what? He was kind of self-preserving. He held onto all of these thoughts.
But he didn't let Cordelia be embarrassed all by herself either. With some smidgen of misplaced protectiveness, he dropped a curiously large hand onto Cordelia's shoulder, tugging a strap, he wasn't sure if it was her bra or dress or what, back up where it was supposed to be before patting her shoulder a couple of times, bracingly, comfortingly.
But his eyes stay glued onto Matthieu. He doesn't smile a whole lot, there are circles declaring lack of sleep under his eyes. He's dressed in a slightly wrinkled but still rather nice navy blue suit with faint pinstripes and a pink handkerchief stuffed into the breast pocket for flair. But his feet were clad with rough, grayed old sneakers and his face was unshaven. God knows where he got the suit from or why he was living in it.
"Lovely as the inside of a whiskey bottle, Gabriel." It was hard to say why the Metis couldn't just use someone's name, or couldn't land on a nickname and keep it. He had to keep jumping from one name to the next, giving people perhaps fifteen new ones within a single conversation. "Your Kin here got off whatever leash you guys had her on. I'm just making sure the pup gets home. Good samaritan and all that."
[Mattheiu] There is a slight rush of steam past his nostrils in response to Cordelia's comment, and it is soon enough followed by a nod of his head."I wouldn't quite call it freezing..."He trails off as he speaks though he does look around."But still cold enough I suppose."He says this while looking Cordelia over slowly, appraisingly, you see Mattheiu has been trying to get the girl to dress up a little more fittingly all this time and here she goes and does it when he isn't looking? Then again Cordie and Mattheiu haven't ever gotten along much... Hell Mattheiu doesn't get along with pretty much any of the Silver Fangs in this godforsaken town! Oh well he will drag their asses, kicking and screaming no doubt, back to their rightful place whether they like it or not.
He then turns his attention to Winston and his smile brightens."Funny in all her time here I can't once imagine that we've ever placed Cordelia on a leash. Oh I can assure you Winston if I were to find out that a member of my house were being treated in such a manner there would not be much that could save them from the punishment I would deliver. No no... Despite what others might believe there are few things in this world we Cherish more than our kin. They are our past as well as our future... Our hopes for a brighter and glorious future. Indeed without them all would be lost. Our tribe would be shaken apart, and the ivory tower would doubtless crumble and with it... I suppose so too would the hopes of the nation itself no?"He asks with a smile."I assure you Winston we do not keep our kin on leashes. We are not Fenrir."He adds this with all the grace and kindness one wouldn't expect from a Silver Fang. He was being civil right now anyway.
"Nice to know you're looking after her. We have all kinds of terrible things out and about, roaming and lurking, so pleasant to know we can count on others to do their best to look out for our kin."He turns his attention back to his iPhone.
"Do you need a coat Cordelia?"He asks while busy with the screen before him but his attention, soon enough, flickers back to Cordelia and once again she had his direct and immediate attention.
[[ Fade, Winston slips away ]]
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