Ivan Press

[Matthieu] [*Cheers*We got a gathering!]

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Hey all! I'm SO sorry we're so behind! I'm going to work on a set up post right now and there's some items in my gallery that show a layout and a general idea of how Kate is going to run things.

I'll also say everyone would have been sent invitations, but I'll include that in my post for you all. Whee. Off we go.]

[Katherine Bellamonte] It happens much the same way it has in the past.

Honor's Compass takes a survey of her books and circles a date, then, a phone call is put in to the card makers and a design matched to her criteria; the venue is booked and the invitations go out to all marked on the Half Moon's list.

There is a name true or kin next to a last known address and beside it she denotes how the word should be sent, this is marked by post or spirit. If the former, they go out a week ahead of time, if the latter, they arrive, dispatched by one of the Unbroken's Theurges a day later, little gafflings paid only enough to secure they passed on the message.

Perhaps Caleb aims higher, and it is one of Falcon's brood that drop word.

As for the invitation itself, it is, of course, quite the diplomatic, elegant summons as follows:

I, Katherine Bellamonte, as your elected leader, do hereby call together my brothers and sisters for a meeting of our extended family on the 14th of August at 7PM.

Please do me the honor of joining us at the Signature Room on 95th, located at 875 North Michigan Avenue. The dress code is smart casual, though I recommend dresses for the ladies and suits for the men.

Yours in enchantment,
K.B

There is no doomsday threat, no idle warnings of dire consequences for those who do not make their appearance. It was, quite frankly, beneath the sender to include such a brash reprimand in what was, to her estimation, to be a rather lovely event.

Katherine liked to host events.

--

When they arrive, the golden doors of the elevators whispering open on level 95 it is to the strains of piano. However, instead of artfully decorated tables, romantically set against the windows with their panoramic views of Chicago they have been brought into the middle of the room; the entire space rearranged to suit the Silver Fang hostess' needs.

Tonight, they are arranged in circular tables, each with a small name card beside a plate. In the furthermost corner of the room there is a podium, backed by some greenery, thriving [perhaps falsely, it looked to be synthetic] at which Katherine Bellamonte herself stood, reading through her notes.

The elegant blonde wore a simple black cocktail dress, her hair twisted up and clipped from her neck with a few strands left to frame the high architecture of her cheeks.

There were, aside from the clerk who accepts any coats as the guests arrive, absolutely no other humans to be seen, though the sounds of cooking came discreetly from behind closed doors. The bar was deserted, instead, trays of drink had been left in their stead; champagne in buckets, sweating, ready to be popped.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Simplicity was a friend to Fabienne Bartelle. It suited her well, a plainly taliored white blouse with delicate lace adding interest to the low collar. A deep grey pencil skirt showing off leanly muscled legs with little ceremony. Small expensive clutch purse, diamond pendant. Crown of short blonde curls set neatly into place. Carefully. Put. Together. If not with any particular artistry or enthusiasm. She had on her minimum required peices of Flair.

She'd picked up her invitation from the post office box which served as her mailing address, made the appropriate arrangements and - here she was. With a curtly polite smile to Katherine as she enters, and folds with an athlete's grace into whatever table she's been assigned a seat at, checking with carefully mild interest who was slated to sit with her this evening.*

[Erika Irina Alexander] An odd pop of color gives the somewhat plain-looking doctor a bit of a boost. The self-made woman probably spent a small fortune on the Dolce strapless dress. It's relatively simple, but well made and suits her waifish frame very well. Her hair is neatly tied back except for sideswept bangs to her right side. She smiles at Kate when she steps into the room and passes to her own table.

[Katherine Bellamonte] [for IC ease, here we go, seating chart! http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=6550]

[Hilary Durante] Mrs. Hilary Durante, mate and wife to Espiridión Nieves-Durante, is unescorted tonight. Horrors. She is brought by the family's driver in the Maybach 62, which is long, glossy black, and usually sits unused and covered in the garage when Dion is away. Dion is not with her tonight, nor is her stepson, who she sometimes calls upon to be a dear and act like a gentleman. She sends the driver to go have his dinner elsewhere and enters the Signature Room alone.

Her dress with its fluttery cap sleeves and slightly swishing hemline is cocktail-length, a pale lavender beige with a few sparing crystals in the fabric here and there. Her earrings are small trios of diamonds arranged in a cluster, dangling just below her earlobes from the equally tiny diamond in the main setting. Her silver heels reveal the translucent purple of her pedicure and are brightened by a swath of soft gold across the top. Her long hair is loose, worked into thick curls at the ends.

It isn't quite smart casual. But she's neither a businesswoman nor a particularly useful member of the tribe. She's perhaps the eldest person in the room when she enters, no matter how well she keeps her skin. The fact that she's something of a trophy shows in that enormous diamond on her left hand, the band of smaller diamonds on her right. She wears no bracelets or bangles tonight, nor necklace, but she doesn't need to. She's wearing an obscene amount of her husband's money this evening as it is.

She goes straight to their hostess, a brilliant smile blossoming over her face. "Ms. Bellamonte," she coos, extending her arms to greet the younger woman with a kiss in the air beside each cheek, "I'm so sorry not to have brought my husband to meet you. He won't be in Illinois til tomorrow night, but he sends his regrets."

[Matthieu] He would have preferred the meeting be held somewhere of significance to the tribe. After all they were a tribe proud of their rich and vibrant history. Places had meanings because of the blood that had been spilled to defend them. This place had no such meaning, and so one side of it made this meeting... This "Moot" somewhat distant. There was nothing to link the Silverfangs to this place and thus to link them to their past. He would have preferred a lot of things but you cannot always get all that you desire.

So up he went until he reached the designated floor. He was dressed well, every thread in that suit of his had been custom fit to his exact frame. Every line served to compliment his shape and features from any given angle. He was a beautiful creature to behold, his features displaying his elegant birth. Countless generation after generation back to the first of their kind had gone into creating this creature and he could doubtless tell you stories about each and every one. The Galliard entered with a charming smile on his face. The fact this meeting was for Silver Fangs only certainly brightened his demeanour. Finally he would be in the company of those who understood what it meant to be born with the kind of weight their tribe must bare on their shoulders. The company of those whose histories were as equally rich and vibrant and beautiful.

He would greet Katherine with a charming smile. She was a lovely creature indeed! The blonde in her hair brilliantly reflecting the light from overhead. Her rich piercing eyes watchful and mindful of all that surrounded her. It was, honestly, almost a pity such beauty was wasted on a Philodox. Still what fin would life be if there weren't things ever lurking just outside our grasp?

"Breathtaking as always Rhya. Surely men like myself shall be telling tales of your legendary beauty long into the future."A polite compliment, it was hardly too much for a Silver Fang. They were heroes of legend, each and every single one, the blood of legends and history coursed through them. They were not a part of history they were the ones who shaped it into what it was. They were the living manifestation of greatness... They were as much a part of making the past as they would be in carving out its future. With tooth and claw, or silver tongue."You really didn't have to go through all this trouble alone. Had you called I would have been more than happy to help arrange the meeting. Surely a Galliard would know a thing or two about entertaining guests."He adds with a polite bow of his head, his eyes closing slowly and respectfully as he does so.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Well, there are almost no humans.

Katherine's maid, and Silver Fang Kin, Lucille can be spotted from time to time making her way from the bar to the kitchen, vanishing behind closed doors. Evidently, she is to be the go-between for the event tonight to spare the chefs the time around an entire gathering of Rage.

As the Kinfolk begin to arrive, the Philodox looks up, inclines her head with a little smile and steps down from behind her little podium, crossing toward Fabienne, then Erika and lastly Hilary as each take up their place around the tables. "I am so pleased you could all attend," she greets, quite in the manner of some old school friend catching up with those she hasn't seen in an age.

Kisses meet air, and the Fostern, taller still in the heels she wears tonight, draws back from the mate of Espiridión Nieves-Durante with the slightest touch of a frown. She had, naturally, been keen to meet the Kinwoman's other half [those crueler than she, old-fashioned, perhaps her Uncle too would have called him the better half but Katherine was no Lucien] but curbs her disappointment with the barest lift of a shoulder.

"It is no harm," she waves the absence off with a little flick of her wrist, there's a bracelet there that dazzles as it draws in the light. "I understand how it goes with business. You shall pass on my renewed hope to meet with him soon, oui?"

She smiles as another arrives, and extends her hand to the Galliard as he greets her. Her pale eyes are indeed watchful, they dance with merriment but there is, as always with Honor's Compass, the distinct impression of something measuring in her gaze; something that never quite ceased to be in control at all times.

"Oh," she says with an airy turn at laughter. "No no. I rather enjoy the entire thing in all honesty. It gives me leave to be as fussy as I like and to dress up a location. Few things give me more pleasure than redecorating."

As a matter of fact, she'd redecorated one of the newest Ahrouns to their number for the evening. Her handiwork soon to be glimpsed, no doubt. "Please," she addresses the room at large. "Help yourself to refreshments, and I shall have the entrees brought out. Lucille?"

The short Hispanic woman hovering in the corner straightened, and marched off into the kitchen, snapping something out in Spanish at a flustered collection of chefs as the doors swung closed after her.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Those she knew got polite inclinations of her head in recognition, a polite smile and subtle gesture so that Matthieu need not search clumsily for his seat when it was directly across from her. Beyond that, Fabienne might as well be a statue, for all the warmth and engaging charm she displays. A fineboned creation of searingly rich breeding and near motionless attention to the proceedings. Careful. Calm. Appropriate.*

[Christian del Piero] It takes him forever to find the nerve to talk inside. He was one of the first ones here but as soon as he saw the huge building stretching so high up he couldn't tilt his head back far enough to see the top he started pacing. And pacing turned into walking. He went around the blocks a few times and kicked over a couple of trash cans and by then he felt better so Christian went inside.

The only person who's seen him in a suit is the woman who took him shopping a few days ago. He usually wears jeans and t-shirts and forgets to clean under his fingernails. His hair was a mess up until a few days ago too. It's been trimmed. Christian actually looks pretty dapper when he walks into the Signature Room. Young and uncomfortable as hell, but it's a start. The Ahroun adjusts his tie and tugs at his jacket as he stands in the doorway looking around. His Rage isn't as high as it usually is but it's still beyond what he's capable of controlling tonight.

[Erika Irina Alexander] Erika also greets those she knows with her eyes and a smile. Matthieu with his uncomfortable dabbling with the hostess' ways, fussing over issues of personal style. Hilary bedecked in her husband's money, the rock on her finger weighing twice as much as the digit it rests on, explaining her husband's absence to Katherine. Fabienne and her polite calmness despite perhaps wanting to crawl out of her skin.

The collective breeding in this room shines like the snow on Kilimanjaro. Her own breeding and talents more than make up for the looks she lost. Erika seems satisfied with her manicure until noticing the suited youth she barely recognizes from before. His rage was uncontrollable before, but now he looks completely awkward and out of place. She supresses a laugh by biting her lip and staring at the wrapped silverware.

[Erika Irina Alexander] ((Post around me if necessary, I'm having connection issues))
to Christian del Piero, Fabienne Bartelle, Hilary Durante, Ivan Press, Katherine Bellamonte, Matthieu

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine turns her attention, briefly, on the uncomfortable Ahroun as he makes his entrance -- finally. He gets the slightest lift of his elder's chin in approval before her eye, and focus turn on one of the Kinwomen she has not seen in some decent amount of time.

"How are you, Fabienne? I admit, I have not been able to make my rounds as frequently as before, keeping touch with everyone's comings and goings? You have been well, I hope?"

When Christian approaches, he is introduced as: "I believe everyone knows Christian del Piero? He is a new addition to the tribe's numbers here and to my own pack's numbers."

[Matthieu] He nods his head and smiles to the others gathered. That is what this was, a gathering... But it was more than that. A Tribal Moot was not a simple casual friendly affair it was something that included one and all. It was where the tribe could gather and set themselves on the right course. Naturally... It made little sense so many Silver Fangs should dwell in this city and yet were not running the local sept inside and out. That would naturally be on the agenda! Securing the safety and dominance of the dominant tribe!

These things and more were simply left unsaid. There was no need to push towards them they would be gotten to in due time. For the moment the introductions!

Katherine's words drew a nod of his head."Of course I would not wish to deny a lady the chance to indulge her passions. It would be a crime to stifle the creativity of another!"He says this before shifting his eyes around to the others. It is Fabienne who gets the longest glance from his eyes. She was such a lovely little creature, and her presence stirred him in ways few women could. The purity of her blood was staggering and bewildering. Yet that was the beauty of knowing her... Hiding away that temptation. To stare at her with eyes full of passion and manage to pretend on the surface that nothing was there at all. Still it was impossible to deny what lingered within those eyes. One day, perhaps, for now patience!

Christian found himself in the Galliards view. What's this? A member of our tribe I have yet to meet. This one is wild, untamed... Yet not lupus born. Young? Perhaps a little too young? Whatever the case he adjusts his tie and decides to approach the man after saying his farewell to the hostess he gracefully approaches Christian.

[Hilary Durante] It's quite possible that Katherine will never meet Dion. He's very near his next rank. It's quite possible he should die soon. To live to his age is almost unthinkable, though no one here knows much about him. They could research his name, find out his deeds, but why bother? Hilary causes no trouble, and gives no suggestion that whatever aid her family could give would be denied to one asking for it.

Gaia only knows why she's here, other than to keep up appearances. "I shall," she tells Kate, and excuses herself to go mingle a bit. She notes Christian when he enters, flicking her eyes over him with the briefest appraisal, then looks to be heading for the seated, silent Fabienne. Katherine gets there first, and Hilary makes a mild correction to her steps, approaching Erika. "Hello there," she says with a smile, extending her hand. "I'm Hilary Durante. We haven't met."

[Erika Irina Alexander] Erika stands to take the perfectly-groomed hand of her kinswoman with her own. They are probably the nearest in age in this room. Hilary can clearly see the scars on the right side of Erika's face. The strapless Dolce revealed them perfectly, and in full length from earlobe to deltoid. They're old scars, and her skin has been well-treated since then.

Dr. Alexander, though self-made, comes from old money... and it shows. She is professional, but there's clearly something indulgent about her.

Her voice is friendly, her dark eyes warm, but sharp. "Ah, I saw you the day Ivan took us on his yacht. Erika Alexander of the Holstein-Gottorp-Romanovs. Pleasant to meet you."

[Katherine Bellamonte] While they mingle, trays of food are brought out by Lucille and offered around; then set upon the tables. Glasses of champagne, wine and mineral water do a circuit, personal requests are taken and returned in a prompt fashion. This was how Honor's Compass kept her household, it was reflected now in the manner she kept things running over as her tribe came together, introduced themselves.

All in balance.
Harmony achieved.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *The scintillating Blonde turns her attention to the young fencer, and Fabienne responds by tilting her head slightly, so the good ear might catch most of the conversation. Her hands folding just so upon the tabletop. the better to stop their dreadfully impolite habit of "talking" for her. First she addresses Christian, offering a subtle smile and a nod.*

Indeed, I have made Mr. del Peiro's acquiantance. So good to see him again so well. And you Mlle Bellamonte. Congratulations on attaining your higher rank among your peers.

*That said, she waits quietly to see that the Philodox has other matters to attend to, before taking up a dainty wine flute and attending to her own thoughts once more.*

[Hilary Durante] No scars, on this one. No tattoos, no piercings but those in her earlobes. She's slender and tall, particularly in heels, her body long and lean under the dress she wears. Her eyes don't linger on Erika's scars, though. She's too polite for that. Her eyebrows lift slightly when she mentions the yacht. "Oh?" she says, as though searching her memory. "That must have been the day I took Tomás and his friends out. A pleasure to meet you, Erika -- may I call you Erika?"

A waiter passes by, and Hilary plucks a small bite off of it without more than glancing at it. She murmurs a request for a glass of white, thank you, truly.

[Christian del Piero] The teenager waves to his packsister when she notices him. Makes an attempt to smile. It looks like a grimace. He's still bruised from last night but he's not bleeding or doubled over anymore. He stands there like an idiot for a few seconds before taking a huge breath and walking into the room. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. Nobody else has them in their pockets. The women don't even have pockets. That would drive him nuts. Christian puts them behind his back. That seems like the regal thing to do. His father always had his hands clasped. That thought makes Christian shake his head, and when he joins Katherine and the others he says, "Hi." More than one pair of eyes are on him. He sees Hilary - ma'am...he never did get her name - but she's talking to Erika so he doesn't wave. Then there's Matthieu. He plays with his tie again. The knot is way too neat and nice for him to have done it himself. He's afraid of messing it up so he stops touching it.

[Erika Irina Alexander] The other blonde nods, taking a champagne flute with her left. There's no wedding ring, not even a silhouette of one against her skin. The waif looks a lot like most well-bred Manhattanites with schedules packed to the brim.

"Yes, of course. Tomas, your son?" She asks politely with a smile, waving a hand while glancing briefly to the Ahroun who looks uncomfortable in his own skin and well-tailored suit. It had to be Katherine's pick.

[Matthieu] Mattheiu extends a hand towards Christian n greeting when the young man meets him and draws in a breath to introduce himself."Mattheiu Louvel de Pontheiu, Mirrors Whisper, Gibbous Moon, and Cliath, House Unbreakable Hearth son of Jean-Yves Louvel, Gibbous Moon and Athro "Endless-Truths" to the nation "Endless-Truths" son of Josephine Louvel "Silver's-Sting" to the Nation whose promise was cut short by the treacherous sting of one of our own daughter of Vincent Bernard "Awakens the Sun" whose courage brought him into the heart of WWII fighting to put an end to the Nazi regime son of Timothee Bernard "Bright-Mind"who dedicated his life to winning peace and through it acceptance with Uktena, and Wendigo alike son of Catherin Bernard "Opens the Path" who traveled to the new world in order to establish a foothold for our kind after the burtal murder of her father daughter of Nicholas Bertrand "Seas-Bounty" who believed that our future lay across the seas, but his love of travel and penchant for gambling cost him his life in dealing with the local Wendigo son of Astrid Bertrand "Silver-Strike" who dedicated her life to leading countless battles across france and who herself nearly slew three entire packs of Black Spiral Dancers before being ripped to shreds daughter of Joseph Louis III "Wisdom's-Light" who singlehandedly traveled europe re-establishing ancient bonds and bringing harmony between our tribe and the spirits we call our friends son of Joseph Louis II "Judgement's-Hand" who dedicated his life to peace among our kind and served his life in servide to tribe and nation to bring justce far and wide without question to one and all tribes son of Joseph Louis "Falcon's Bloody Talon" wielder of Wyrm's Blood who singlehandedly dedicated himself towards the eradication of the Black Spiral Dancer tribe. He and his pack led the battle against the Hive of the Burning Star slaying more than one hundred themselves and ending the life of the legendary dancer warlord "Rot-Mouth" only to continue the rest of his days as a member of the Silver Pack hunting the black spiral dancers across europe and earning the title of Legend for his mind boggling list of deeds..." There was well over three hundred years of history in that introduction. Three hundred years of Garou who had each died as honored and treasured heroes of their nation. The Galliard recited the litany of deeds cleanly and smoothly in a soft and pleasant tone. You see this was a tribe where who you were born is just as important as your rank or status or deeds.

"I thought it would be pleasant the two of us share a proper introduction since we missed it the last time."He says softly to Christian, a soft little smile.

[Hilary Durante] "Stepson," she corrects breezily, after a tiny nibble of the pâté-and-cucumber canapé she took from the waiter's tray. "Dión and I have not been thus blessed yet."

There is no shame there, as she says that. Perhaps a bit of hopefulness. Perhaps mere, simple acceptance: she speaks of childbearing as one speaks of attending school or going shopping. It's just what you do. She glances over at Christian again as he tries his absolute best not to fidget, and a small, rather gentle smile lights on her face. The sympathy lasts only a moment.

Matthieu's introductions are like a buzz in her ears as they go on. And on. She turns her head to look at him, as well, her eyes glazing as she listens to roughly a tenth of what he says. Her gaze comes back to the woman she's conversing with. "Now, tell me, what is it you do, Erika?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] She is congratulated about her ranking up to Fostern by the diminutive little blonde and smiles, her lips parting to reveal two rows of perfectly shaped white teeth. It was hard, sometimes, to see them and recall that they transformed with the rest of the female and became razor sharp, deadly things that tore and rendered.

"Merci, Fabienne."

She murmurs, quite sincere, before glancing at the Galliard, moving off to no doubt make his own personal introductions to her newest pack-mate, and adopted member of Wyrmfoe. She has a moment, the Half Moon, where she wishes she could reach across and mentally remind Christian not to be flustered about his heritage when asked on it.

She cannot, as of yet, so her pale eyes serve to do what she cannot across their totem right now, and reassure. She will give the guests another few moments to mingle among themselves, to exchange stories and -- alas that Asha was not here to regale them with her personal herald -- ancestral glory before she shall step away, politely excusing herself and make her way toward the small podium set up in the corner.

On all sides, the windows drop away to the view of the glittering, winking Chicago evening, this high up there is no traffic noise, no wind howling but a type of serenity looking out upon it. It was the Weaver's den, no doubt, but it was a reprieve for the warriors among them.

"If I may have your attention," Katherine's voice, amplified by the microphone, was commanding. She waited, and as heads turned, gleamed back at them. "Let us begin, please find your seats. The main course shall arrive shortly."

[Fabienne Bartelle] [baby fussin. Fabs.. listens. drinks. does her thing. brb!]

[Hilary Durante] "Oh, pity," Hilary says as Katherine asks them to take their seats. "Excuse me," she tells Erika, before the woman's had a chance to tell her what her profession is, "we'll chat later." And with that she's finding her table, glancing at the little namecards. Her eyes hesitate on one for a moment before she sits in the seat next to it, putting her clutch to one side on the table and turning her body in her chair a bit to watch Katherine.

[Erika Irina Alexander] Erika glances to Katherine, then nods and takes her seat with a smile back to Hilary. "Ah, my mistake. I don't have any myself."

As this is the second time she's had to hear Matthieu's glorious line but dreadfully long speech, Erika pays very little mind. Instead, she waits politely until there's a point where she can not seem rude by continuing conversation with the kinswoman whose seat has been assigned across from her own.

"I am a psychiatrist. I won't bore you with all the details, but I specialize in trauma and post-traumatic stress disorder. I work part time for the Veterans Affairs office just down the street, and my office is nearby."

Erika stops and sips at her champagne as she's been excused, and looks around the room.

[Ivan Press] [i'm sorry about how huge this post is!]

The invitation arrived when Ivan is abed with some lovely little starved swan or other, the glittering words tracing themselves out of thin air over her lovely bobbing head. Something about the invite, the text of it, that line your elected leader made the Ragabash blurt out a sudden irrepressible laugh, which quickly escalated the situation from a little harmless hanky-panky to all out thermonuclear war. If you're going to be a dick, why don't you just go get fucked! she shouted, heels tap-tapping down the winding open-plan stairs to that long pristine hallway that was so vast, so posh, that the designers called it a fucking gallery. I thought I was getting fucked, he replied, amused, stepping into shorts as he followed her, and she called him some horrible name or other and swatted his hands away when he tried to help her with her coat; shouted at Dmitri to call her a cab and seethed away down the elevator.

Ivan shrugged at his butler, all good nature and wide-eyed innocence, and then told him to get Katherine's people on the line. Ivan RSVPs: he'll be there. With his kin.


When the day comes, Ivan shows up twenty minutes late in the goddamn Bugatti, flanked by two Escalades. Out of the luxury SUVs pour one, two, three, four, five, six men and five women. Out of the Bugatti climbs one Silver Fang, alone in the westering light of the evening. His sunglasses on and his keys jingling in his hand, he flips the latter toward the valet with a gesture so smooth you'd think he practices this sort of thing in front of the mirror just to look good. Nearly two million dollars worth of car get taken to the VIP lot, some lucky community-college lad getting the two minute ride of his life en route, and Ivan, flanked by his substantial escort of servants, takes the elevator up,

and up and up and up,

to the 95th floor. The anteroom here is quiet and quietly opulent. The same might be said for Ivan, who looks smart indeed in a silk suit, dark, nearly black. His shirt is a rich brick-red. His tie, which is striped in colors perfectly matched to his coat and shirt, is knotted in a big, bold double-windsor, perfectly fucking symmetric -- a jarring and deliberate contrast to how sleek the coat and slacks are cut to his form. The entourage completes the look: everyone dressed in dark somber colors; uniform without being uniforms; eleven of his distant, subservient kin arrayed behind him, an even dozen in all, a veritable phalanx of beauty and breeding and sheer fucking Fangness.

Kate is bringing the meeting to order already. Ivan is late, clipping his sunglasses off his face and flashing a brilliant smile.

"Sorry, Rhya. Got held up in traffic. I hope you don't mind that I brought my people. They're in my service, but they are also my kin of the Tribe."

The folded sunglasses serve as a pointer as he names his people off:

"This is Lane, my lawyer, and Max, my right hand man," who is a woman, one might note, "and Semyon, Dmitri, Yuliya, Evgeny, Kolya, Olga, Nastya, Marya, and Mikhail."

No job descriptions for the rest of them. Which makes them simply: staff. Servants. The sunglasses remain extended, but only for a split-second before one of the girls, young enough and pretty enough and timid enough to almost certainly be a housemaid, quickly takes it and stashes it away somewhere.

Ivan says something to them -- it's in Russian, and it sounds like idite i sidet&+697;, and it makes his entourage disperse quickly to the seats toward the back, out of the way of the invited guests. Ivan, for his part, goes to his assigned seat, which he sees with some delight is in the proverbial thick of things, well-flanked by three well-bred women

and one windbag.

"Erika," he says, and that dazzling smile flashes again, "Fabienne. Mrs. Durante, how lovely you look when you're not shooting down my friendly invitations to race." And lastly, with more than a little roguishness in his eye, "Matthieu Louvel de Pontheiu, son of this and that, grandson of that and this, noble descendant of this and this and that and this."

He takes his seat.

[Christian del Piero] They shake hands. He listens. He does. Even though he doesn't know any of the names that Matthieu says. Even though it just keeps going and going and he keeps forgetting who begat who and by the time Matthieu gets to the end he can't even remember the Galliard's deed name. Katherine knows without even hearing his thoughts that Christian can't compete with that. She also knows that he's as likely to get frustrated as he is to calmly explain who he is. They don't hear each other but the fact that Katherine is nearby makes him want to behave himself. Christian frowns. Scratches the back of his head. Crosses his arms over his chest.

"Um."

No that won't work. Uncrosses them. His palms are sweating so he wipes them on his pants.

"Christian del Piero. Full Moon. House Wyrmfoe. They don't call me anything else. My father was Stefano Savoia. Um...Gibbous Moon. They called him Endless Strike, Voice of the Dead. He was Elder when he died."

Ivan and his entourage come in. The Ahroun watches him. It's been over a week since he used that gift on him in the cemetery but try telling Christian that. He pushes his hands into his pockets so he won't get it into his head to go over there and beat him up two seconds after he sits down.

[Hilary Durante] "Mr. Press," she says with a nod of greeting, as he sits to her left. "A pleasure to see you again. I was so appalled that I might be seated next to someone garish and indiscreet. I daresay I hope my relief to find you beside me is palpable," she goes on dryly.

A waiter comes by with her wine. She ignores him as he sets it down, murmurs a thank you as he turns to go, and lifts the glass to take a sip.

[Hilary Durante] [Delete 'I daresay']

[Katherine Bellamonte] [okay guys, I'm gonna type up Kate's little 'address to the nation' so forgive me if this takes a few minutes. Feel free to post, have your guys interact in whispers or what not as I do.]

[Matthieu] He smiles back to Christian, and his shoulders shrug."Yes I was there to hear you did not know your house. Pity, though in this day and age these things are bound to happen. I tell you what Christian... I will personally run down your Lineage. I have your fathers name and he is a man I know well... I even know a thing or two of your grandfather."He says with a warm little smile."I will track down your family for you and when I have enough information I shall present it to you. Perhaps in the form of a tale?"He offers with a bit of a smile."Oh and for the record Christian... Your house is Gleaming Eye."He adds with a wink."I will tell you more later."He nods his head and grins brightly.

Then Ivan speaks and his smile remains."It is a pleasure to see you again mister Press. I am glad to see you still have your tongue in tact. I should hate to see anything happen to it."He bows his head and grins before moving to head towards his seat across from Fabienne. What a pleasant surprise!

[Hilary Durante] Matthieu makes his comment on Ivan still having his tongue, and as she sips her wine Hilary murmurs a borderline vicious: "Indeed."

[Erika Irina Alexander] "Ivan," she says with a delighted grin. "It's been a while. I hope you're not offended,"

Erika looks towards Matthieu, then towards Christian, knowing the younger one's tentative control over his Rage. But her eyes don't linger that direction too long. She looks back towards Hilary, then Ivan again.

"Well, Katherine certainly knows how best to seat her guests," she says smiling.

[Christian del Piero] He looks confused. Matthieu keeps talking after he says they've met before and Christian lets him. Eyebrows raise at "I tell you what." It's hard to tell if he's interested or suspicious. He chews the inside of his cheek. Is he supposed to say thank you? He thinks he is. Apparently his house is Gleaming Eye. Matthieu leaves him with that and the teenager stands looking after him like he's just watched a tornado blow through the room. Christian looks at Hilary and Erika as if to ask "What just happened?" He takes his hands out of his pockets and finds his seat. He's by himself. He wonders if this is the kids' table.

[Hilary Durante] A smile at Christian, and a slight tip of her head towards one barely lifted shoulder, as though to answer: What're you gonna do? Clearly what she recommends is what she does: tip back another mouthful of white wine.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine Bellamonte did not hold the rank she did among their tribe without some considerable effort. She did not earn it simply by being beautiful, and agreeable. In truth were you to ask many of their first impressions of the woman when she arrived in Chicago as a fresh faced Cliath, packed beneath a totem of Falcon; following her brother's stead they would have given startlingly different accounts of her.

Arrogant. Insufferable. Vain to the nth degree.

Many discounted her as merely another pretty face amongst the thousands of other pretty faces in their tribe that would soon either be killed, or run out of the city limits for some trespass or another. But, this had not come to pass. She had lost her brother as an Alpha, re-gained him as a pack-mate, lost him again. Gained an Alpha in a Shadow Lord; a new totem, too.

For shame, whispered some. How can we trust her now, others.

But there was something to trust in a Garou who had managed to outlast all others who challenged for leadership, who had bolstered their numbers steadily over time. Katherine draws breath to speak, when Ivan enters with his entourage of breeding; a line-up of beauty and prestige, it appeared.

The Half Moon's eyebrow rose a notch.

She nodded him in, and reshuffled her notes. Lifted her steady gaze, and began to speak. Voice metered, thoughtful, as if she smoothed out the wrinkles in her words as she went on.

"You all know of me.

My name is Katherine Bellamonte, I was named Truth's Meridian and named again by Waking Dream, our Galliard Elder, after passing my rank challenge for Fostern. So, now you know me as Truth's Meridian, Honor's Compass. "

A beat.

"When I first came to this city, our tribe was barely a whisper. There were few of us, and we had no clear order. The elder then was often absent on quests and left the children of Falcon without a fixed point of reference within the Sept's walls.

This could not be left to stand.

Gradually, over time I have worked to secure the success, and continued growth of our number here in the city. My family has long been known in New York City but I am proud now to say we also carry weight in Chicago and through this, we are known. We are spoken of in the Courts of Europe. No longer is Chicago some unmanned corner of the globe," here the tease of her lip, the subtle suggestion at humor and old, old scores between tribes.

"We are known as a Silver Fang stronghold, a place where the tribe has foundation, and the potential for so much more. Our Kinfolk are each of them a blessing to us," not even the slightest dip in tone, Katherine does not falter.

Perhaps it is not in her nature.

"They give us connections to the mortal world in dance, in the martial arts and the Universities, in the corporate worlds and even among the children and parents of those we cannot otherwise reach. We are strong through our Kinfolk, this is something I am most emphatic for, I champion and remind you each to be good to those of our blood.

There have been losses I would not see again.

Foundation, however, is merely the start." She pauses, and her gaze shifts between them all. Face to face, eye to eye. "Presently, I hold three positions in Chicago. I am our elder, but I am also on the Council of Auspices, and hold the position of Master of Challenges.

This bolsters us, and gives us voice among our peers and betters at Moots. But I encourage you each, especially the trueborn, to pursue what opportunities may exist in your own auspices and on the Council. I am aware that we are again without a Truth Catcher, this position most usually goes to one of my moon, but it does not mean that a Galliard might not do the job just as well."

She glances here, naturally, at the Galliard present.

"We also, since the great loss of our former, are without a Wyrmfoe. This is a significant position, not to be challenged for lightly, but to be aware of. I want," she breathes out, smiles. Surmises. "I desire for us to continue to flourish here in Chicago. I ask you to foster friendship between the tribes, do not be blinded by the prejudices that have isolated us so long. Break them down, befriend the Bone Gnawers, the Shadow Lords.

We cannot afford to lose contact in these days of war."

A silence falls now, as she quiets.

[Fabienne Bartelle] [remain carefully polite, not grossed out at all! manip+subterfuge]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Ivan Press] [even when i'm not looking i can see through that! passive subterfuge-only roll]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Careful. Controlled. And as Ivan had opportunity to point out, a pretty little liar. Fabienne weathers Katherine's address to the tribe with her head tilted and glass grey eyes glazed. Subtle quirk of bow lips registering in a mild expression of interest. Her opinions kept quietly if with no real skill as to their concealment, as it was quite rude - nay - potentially fatal - to snort in disgust and speak her earnest opinion. Instead she glances to Matthieu cooly, and glances with interest to Christian, the poor dear under Katherine's wing, as it were. Ivan, for all his glitzy entrance, gets only a subtle nod of recognition. No need for more jabber to interrupt and thereby prolong the proceedings*

[Ivan Press] [now then, what is she REALLY thinking? percep+emp]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Per + Alert on the general reception of speech.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Hilary Durante] "Bra-va," calls Hilary when Katherine's speech comes to an end. She quite smartly gives light applause, without so much as a second thought for the propriety or lack thereof of a mere Kinfolk beginning the applause or choosing to speak out before all of the Garou present have. Protocol be damned, apparently.

[Matthieu] The speech is typical, and a smile was presented througout most of it. He wasn't the kind ot be rude, these formalities were often little more than ritual and he wouldn't typically criticize there are, however, a few things that stand out to him. Refering to other tribes as our "Betters" was going a bit too far. We are the Silverfangs we are this nation we have no betters! Still it could be seen as a slip of the tongue, a misplaced word she couldn't possibly believe there were tribes better than the silver fangs could she?

When the attention is turned towards him he smiles."This is troubling time for us all. The Wyrmfoe helps to excite and inspire to remind his people of who and what they are and to assist in inspiring them to become greater. It is sad to think that this sept might be missing this most important role. Certainly a Silver Fang, more than anyone..."He notices all the looking around and lifts a fist to his lips to cough as if to demand that attention be brought back in his direction."... Could help the garou remember just what this nation means and represents. Our tribe has suffered much in the last several years, reputations have been scarred by the actions of a minority which has, mostly, been dealt with. We still lead this nation and it is our responsibility to keep a hold of those reigns in this hour of need."

[Erika Irina Alexander] Erika is impressed with Katherine's eloquent and very considerate speech. She merely listens quietly and sips at the champagne. Her eyes wander, but she is attentive. Her only concern is that her right ear is facing the remainder of the room.... so if voices are not clear, she can't quite make them out. Therefore, she turns fully facing the rest of the room, which would seem odd... except that her scars are fully visible in this strapless dress.

Erika applauds as well when the speech concludes. The half-starved swan, as it were, is taken with the speech and it gives her a better respect and understanding for her elder. She smirks a bit at Matthieu, but it turns into a smile as she watches him briefly.

[Matthieu] [Just because I can... And we are talking and stuff. Activating Persuasion!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Matthieu] [Ahem... Matt is +1 on social roll diffs!]

[Erika Irina Alexander] ((Don't forget purebreed))

[Christian del Piero] The highest praise Katherine probably expects from Christian is that he sit still and not flip over a table while she's talking. Which he does. But the entire time she talks she has the teenager's attention. He came to Chicago without a pack or a family or anything at all really. Katherine took him in. Because of her he has a pack and some direction. He looks kind of awestruck by the time she's done speaking, like he's just watched his big sister give a kickass speech. He starts to clap but isn't sure if that's allowed or not so his palms never connect. Then Hilary and Erika start clapping. He looks over at them. For the first time all night he actually smiles. Then Christian claps too.

[Ivan Press] Hilary comments about his discretion and his garishness; Matthieu about his tongue. Ivan simply winks at the two of them and puts his finger to his lips, miming a shh as though they were the rude ones interrupting their tribal elder's speech.

And -- it's quite a speech. Katherine speaks at length, and well, and with dignity, as any Fostern Philodox might be expected to. There's even a good amount of sense in there, though Ivan bets the traditionalist half of the party is currently seething in their chairs. In fact, he hopes they are. That would be interesting to see. Ivan's lively-eyed attention is, as a matter of fact, mostly on the audience while Katherine speaks. He watches faces, scans eyes, smiles the whole time to himself.

Particularly when he looks -- briefly but penetratingly -- at the athletic little blonde thing that kicked his ass on a climbing-wall not so long ago. That's when his smiles quirks decidedly toward a grin,

but fortunately for her, a juicier target presents itself first. Ivan shifts in his seat, giving a perfunctory clap or two before tilting his body around to face Matthieu.

"And how, brother Matthieu, do you propose we lead this nation and keep ahold of the reins?"

This place is probably nonsmoking. Ivan doesn't care. He slides his cigarette case out of his pocket, flips it open onehanded and draws out an elegant black smoke. It looks like a sobranie black. It's not. When he offers the case to his neighbors, to Erika and Fabienne and Hilary and, yes, even to Matthieu, the distinctive faint scent of cloves wafts from the neatly lined cigarettes. The last time the Galliard and the Ragabash met, they parted on a surprisingly civilized, though far from friendly, note. It seems that truce is over, and Ivan is back to needling his tribesman. His eyes gleam: a little vicious, not quite malicious. Playful, the way half-grown predators play with their prey.

"Shall we -- for example, of course -- introduce ourselves to them and hope they fall prostrate and stunned out of sheer boredom?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] Sometimes, the problem with trying very hard not to appear affronted, or simply disgusted by the mere thought of something another - say, the elder of your tribe in the city - has said is that they sometimes have a very keen sense of sight, and perception to back it up with. Of course Katherine is pleased when some applaud her speech, and naturally she pays closer heed to those who do not.

Like Fabienne.

Her elder takes in her countenance and while the No Moon pokes at the Galliard in hopes of reaction, she addresses the Kinswoman. "You do not agree with my words, Fabienne? Please, I am quite open to hearing the thoughts of the crowd. You see some offer their thoughts so freely already," this, a wry retort to Ivan.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *And so the games begin. Once the clapping has fallen away, the silence is broken by mockery and challenge from the audacious ragabash. Fabienne casting her eyes from Matthieu to Ivan and back, before sipping quietly from her wine flute. A waiter comes by and offers her another glass, one she's all too happy to take. There weren't enough grapes in the world for this sort of inevitable foolishness. What she wouldn't give for a good run right about now. Directly down the stairs and out the double doors. Then Katherine addresses her, and the desire is twofold. Kin raising her chin, every inch an aristocrat addressing the house.*

I do not. I admit I am of differing opinion as to what benefits the Silverfang tribe, but ultimately, I find it more becoming to leave the arguement of such matters to those whom we kin are all indebted in its protection.

[Hilary Durante] "And brava to that as well," Hilary adds after Fabienne speaks, with a certain privileged laziness about her posture. She finishes her glass of wine and finishes the canape she picked up earlier.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "I am not talking of what is becoming," she replies with instantly, her smile still in place but her eyes sharp as razors. "I am asking for your thoughts. You are a part of this tribe, Fabienne, and yes, while major decisions fall to myself and those who, as you say, you are indebted to for their protection you still have a voice to raise your concerns should you wish to."

Katherine's eyes flick to Hilary and Erika.

"I would that each of my Kinfolk feel free enough to speak before me."

[Matthieu] Ivan's words draw a smile and a roll of his eyes."In our history there have been a few galliards in hisatory who have ever managed to put to memory the entire Silver Record. Its memorization takes a lifetime or more and it's recitation could take weeks. Yet if a galliard were to memorize the entire Silver Record it would be a direct and vulgar insult to that galliard were the local garou not to show and listen to his recitation of the tale of our people."

"Impatience is a matter that I fear need be worked on, and/or through in our tribe. You do it a great disservice to pretend as if our past holds no meaning on who we are. Our tribal history is a beautiful one, full of grand tales and lessons which each and every one of us could stand to learn from."

"We lead this nation for a Reason mister Press. We have led this nation for well over two thousand centuries... I do not know if you realize just how long two thousand centuries is... But suffice it to say it is longer than any history book you have ever read. We did not simply fall into our position undeservedly... Two hundred thousand years is a long long time to rule."His smile grows and he shrugs.

"We lead through our actions and our deeds. We lead by inspiring our people, and by rewarding them but not by bowing to them, apologizing, or trying to excuse the actions of individuals who were not ourselves. Image, mister Press, is everything. If they believe we are weak and feeble we are weak and feeble. If they believe we are strong and unified then that is... Exactly what we are."

He shrugs his shoulders and allows Ivan a chance to respond.

[Erika Irina Alexander] Erika sets down her flute and clears her throat as Katherine addresses the kinfolk. This isn't customary. She's used to the kinfolk having a separate gathering, a familial event more like a reunion or holiday than a posh meeting. Her own eyes are sharp as Falcon's talons. Each in this room has a precise reason for their convictions, and the therapist never questions any of them of those reasons. That is a sort of trust that is earned, and even if she can easily guess at some, it isn't her place to 'out' anyone.

"I do," her voice is clear as a bell. "You saved my life just two weeks ago, Lady. You have my utmost respect and trust. Look at me... it is not difficult to guess why, but trust is not something I grant often."

Her eyes go to Matthieu and Ivan briefly before returning to Katherine. "I have spoken with most Garou and kinfolk in the city. Forgive me for speaking so brashly and out of line, but few as yourself care to even acknowledge our worth as family beyond the capability of our breeding and the strength of our blood. These are important, but so are the gifts that go unnoticed."

[Fabienne Bartelle] *It was said the Fangs were mad to a man. Mad at birth, inbreeding short circuiting something in the genetic make up. Mystical retribution for all manner of grave injustices cited by enemies and lesser tribes alike. One would expect then, that with such pervasive madness, each Fang would learn to weather the insanity of others with aplomb. Fabienne acknowledges Katherines sharp rebuttal with an inclination of her head in deference. Kin, as she'd said, not about to argue. Instead she inhales slowly through her nose, flicks a bit of nothing off her napkin, and all is right and proper in her world once more. Neutral expression as she listens to Matt, and then the good Dr. Alexander speak.*

[Ivan Press] There's distinct tension between the Philodox and the kinswoman; enough that Ivan's sharpeyed attention is drawn away from Matthieu. On to the next attraction. On to the next event of interest.

"If I might interject, Rhya," Ivan says, sliding his cigarette case away whether or not his neighbors have partaken and replacing it with his lighter, "I think pinning Ms. Bartelle down and forcing her to voice her disagreement to all and sundry -- as titillating as that image may be -- might not be the best way to encourage our kin to speak their minds without fear. You might be willing to weigh her opinions evenly and fairly, but from her point of view, you're a Fostern, the elder of her tribe here, and ... well. A big, bad wolf who could flick her out the window like a kitten."

And then Matthieu is responding, and Ivan's attention returns to the Galliard. There's a wry little smirk -- he murmurs, "Why no, I never realized what an enormous number two hundred thousand is. Thank you for educating me.

"But what actions and deeds, exactly, are you speaking of that were so very noteworthy and bold?"

[Hilary Durante] If one is blunt -- and that one being blunt may very well be Hilary herself -- she is a trophy wife. She is precisely the sort of kinswoman who is good for breeding and little else. She has no qualms with spending someone else's money. She is unembarrassed about dripping with jewels, using the driver so that she can drink Katherine's wine and not have to trouble herself with driving home or calling a -- ugh -- taxicab. She does not have the true flashiness of New Money but is lacking that imperturbable class of Old Money.

And when you get right down to it, she does not seem to care one way or the other how the tribe is run, here in Chicago or elsewhere. Should she dislike how the Chicago Fangs treat her she can stay on the North Shore the way she has been since they moved here and be ruled in total by her husband. If she no longer likes Illinois she can move to one of their other houses.

Their history, their future, their image -- these discussions are distant to her, and the amusement with which she watches the others parry back and forth about it makes her seem rather simpleminded about everything indeed. Shortsighted.

Another glass of wine, then, and an unspoken, idle curiosity about when dinner will be served. She waits for the waiter to return, leaning forward on the table awhile, but when the glass comes, she excuses herself from the table she was assigned and walks calmly over to the one where poor Christian sits by his lonesome, sliding into a seat beside him and leaning over to say quietly,

"Simply appalling that the other guests should fail to arrive and leave you sitting here by yourself." She smiles, sitting up straight again. "We'll be the peaceful table."

[Hilary Durante] During that stretch between ordering a glass of wine and taking it over to sit down beside Christian, there's a sudden shift of the leg of Ivan's slacks. She's slipped her foot from her shoe and draws it slowly up the back of his calf, caressing the lean muscle there before sliding back down, stroking the inside of his ankle once or twice, and pulling away again.
to Ivan Press

[Matthieu] "You seek to bring this tribe into the future and I fully understand that. You wish us to throw away our ancient ways and embrace a more modern way of life. I am not deaf to the plight of those who wish to see a glorious rebirth of this tribe. However, we must look at the matter realistically. As much as I too wish to see all that is wrong with this tribe set right... Attacking anyone and everyone who stands in the way of that rebirth accomplishes nothing but weakening the tribe. If you wish this tribe to move into the future it will be a slow and gradual and mutual change. We cannot simply expect that a few idealists shouting at their elders are going to alter two hundred thousand years of tradition. The simple matter is... The majority of our tribe will always cling to who they are."

"I would propose we guide and direct. We guide through our words and through our actions as we have always done. There is no reason to change what we are doing. There is no reason to toss our past aside and pretend we are something new and refreshing. We are not the Glasswalkers... We are not Urrah... We are Silver Fangs. Our proud and regal heritage demands attention. For every one hero from every other tribe you can give me... I can give you one of ours who has accomplished deeds similar to or greater than said hero."

"If you wish to invoke change within your tribe you must do so from within. Leading with your actions. When you sit outside and hurl insults at its core you only a manage to make yourself look the fool and to make your tribe look all the weaker for it. Our tribe has suffered enough in recent years... We have lost an entire house to the Wyrm. The last thing we need is individuals sitting outside telling the world about that failure. It is our sickness and we have tended to it just as every tribe is expected to."He notes before turning his attention to Katherine.

"Miss Bartelles thoughts are her own. If you wish to show respect for your kin then start by respecting her wishes and not forcing her to speak when she does not wish to do so."

"Though if you will... I for one do not feel that referencing our tribe as being equal to commoners and murderers does it a great service. The Bone Gnawers have abandoned tradition in favor of eating humanities discarded waste. The Shadow Lords are a tribe whose entire existence has been dedicated wholeheartedly towards overthrowing us. A tribe who manipulates, and positions themselves so as to show themselves better suited to rule than ourselves. If we welcome us into our homes... Rest assured they will slit our throats as we sleep. They are not our friends they are our inferiors and they need to be put in their place."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Were Katherine an Ahroun, she might have leaped over the podium and throated the No Moon for that interjection. Were she -- well, a great many things. But, she's not. She's considering and she listens [for it is a foolish Half Moon who does not see what the No Moon does in the darkness], and her expression retains its pleasing, if thoughtful countenance for the measure of a few heartbeats before she says.

"Perhaps so, you give wise council, No Moon." There's a flicker of approving humor there, before she leans forward a little, smiling at Fabienne. "I do not intend to cow you, or force your words. I should never harm you, that much I can promise, where it is in my power to offer it."

Then: behold! For the hungry masses, Lucille re-appears and passes around a collection of menus. The choices are -- to be frank -- mouthwatering. [I'm inserting a link to the actual menu as I'm lazy and its just easier: http://www.signatureroom.com/Cuisine/Dinner/] Waiters appear, skittish and red-faced about being around the Garou, especially the Ahroun.

They take orders, and hurry to rush them back to the kitchen.

[Matthieu] [Should be a great dis-service]

[Katherine Bellamonte] Then: Mattieu speaks to her like she's a Cub.

"I beg your pardon, Cliath." Ice was warmer than this lowered tone, this stare. "Who are you addressing, a whimpering Pup at your feet, or your Elder. Respect, something a Galliard tells stories of. Remember it when you tell me of my faults and I will offer you my reasoning."

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Er: Matthieu! *magic markers that over the top*]

[Erika Irina Alexander] The good doctor, seeing as her tiny speech is overwhelmed with the contradicting truths spoken on all sides, merely returns to her champagne. She takes one look at the menu and settles for the duck, and settles in her chair and wisely keeps her own council. Besides, the room is brimming with unsettling Rage.... and although she is heavily medicated with Zanex, there's not quite enough of it for her to be less than crawling in her own skin.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "I should note," Katherine's voice is chilled, but calmer, now. She folds her hands atop the other and leans in, her whole attention rapt on the Galliard. "That by speaking such of the Shadow Lords, you insult my own Alpha, and the war leader for this Sept. What good have you done for it, Sir, that you can throw such stones at another?

I would hear this story."

[Christian del Piero] The Ahroun actually slumps down in his seat as the others start talking. Even if he weren't subcliath - which he is - he probably wouldn't be contributing to the conversation much. Look what he's up against...a Ragabash and a Galliard. They can talk circles around him. One of them would get through a paragraph in how long it would take Christian to spit out a sentence. And Katherine is Fostern. All he would really be doing is jumping in to defend her and she really doesn't need defending. So he makes himself smaller.

When Hilary walks over he scrambles to fix his posture. He sits up straight and puts his feet flat down. Adjusts his tie again. He doesn't feel like an atomic bomb tonight. It's small consolation. He still has the Rage that most Philodoxes have. She sits down next to him and Christian looks stunned. He laughs - sort of - at her greeting. They'll be the peaceful table.

"Deal," he says. He's distracted by the waiter then. Which is good because otherwise he'd be listening to Matthieu and Katherine. After the poor man leaves their table Christian leans over and asks, almost whispering, "What's your name?"

[Ivan Press] Ivan opens his mouth to reply to Matthieu --

-- and then shuts it because Matthieu's addressing Kate now, and Kate is, well. Smacking him down. The look on Ivan's face might best be described as cat in cream. Or possibly: cat, canary devoured.

That smirk lingers while he flicks his lighter open, snaps the flame to life, lights up. Then, narrowing his eyes on that first long drag that fills the room with the scent of cloves, Ivan replies smoothly, "Actually, I'm not proposing that we abandon our history, Matthieu. I never proposed that. I am proud of my lineage and I am proud of those ancestors that gave me my blue blood and my dashing good looks and my obscenely huge ... "

A long pause. The smirk spreads.

" ... bank account," he finishes. "But consider this. You yourself keep telling me how we must continue to lead. You -- "

There's a small pause there. Ivan's eyes flick toward Hilary, who stands almost in the same moment. Those eyes follow her a distance as she goes to keep Christian company, and then come back to Matthieu. Ivan continues as though he'd never left off, "You yourself keep saying that we must lead through action and good example. But I asked you what, exactly, you have done lately to lead by example. What have you done to maintain the dignity of our tribe and prove to our lessers that we are so very superior? And you, my friend, avoided the question.

"Which," he concludes, "makes me think all you have to your name is, well. Your name, and the borrowed glory of your ancestors. Am I wrong?"

[Fabienne Bartelle] Of course, Mlle Bellamonte.

*She responds as she's addressed. Then katherine goes on to reprimand Matt much as she had Fabienne, and the curltopped kinfolk purses pale lips and once again attempts to hide her disgust. This business between Matt and Ivan and Katherine would become a debate, or worse yet an altercation, and at the very best it would take all night, eating up time she could spend in any myriad of far more pleasant pursuits. Strong, surprisingly calloused fingertips move to rest gently on the sleeve of Matthieu's impeccably tailored suit. A subtle, steady pressure communicating silently her desire for his attention, and his abandonning of the current topic in favor of peace. They knew one another's opinions on the matter at hand, having managed a civil conversation when last they met, and now the kin touches the proud galliard without duress for the first time in their limited association. Silently imploring as the Menus and mortals provide a perfect excuse for a change of subject.*

[Hilary Durante] They keep their voices quiet, polite little things that they are. Hilary pauses to order, interrupting herself to see if Christian would like to share an appetizer with her. Not that she really waits for an answer; she orders duck confit dumplings and crispy mushrooms duxelle for the two of them and -- after some waffling -- the roasted scottish salmon. "It doesn't quite go with the white, but -- well, let's be honest, everything goes with wine of some kind or another."

And she sips it again, leaning over to tell him: "Hilary. What was yours... something with a K-sound, I just know it."

[Matthieu] He smiles back to Katherine when she addresses him with anger."I am sorry Rhya I had assumed when you invited your tribe to speak freely that you had intended just that. I did not realize you wished us not to speak our minds when we were invited to do so. Perhaps I should amend my words?"

She then pushes the matter and he shrugs his shoulders."Forget I spoke Rhya I misread your intentions."He says before returning his attention to Ivan.

"I have protected the Veil in this city as well as risked my life on no less than three occasions since my arrival... In one case retaining my homid form while being fired upon by wyrm infested police who were firing wildly upon innocents. I would think that managing to both protect the veil as well as protect innocents without endangering our kind in this city would be an action worthy of some note wouldn't you? Rest assured I am quite active in my service to this sept."He says with a nod of his head."I do not feel the need to brag about what I have done because we are Garou and this is what we do. A man should not be rewarded for doing what he is supposed to do."

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Rage check]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 9, 10 (Failure at target 7)

[Fabienne Bartelle] [alright folks. This has run longer than I can attend. Fabienne will excuse herself, murmer to Matt, and Go on her way.]

[Christian del Piero] He looks up like a startled animal when Hilary asks if he wants to share an appetizer. She doesn't wait for an answer but he manages a "Sure" anyway. All he really knows about wine is that it smells funny and nobody under the age of 25 goes near it but the Ahroun smiles anyway. If Hilary were his age he might be able to take a stab at how he's supposed to behave. Maybe. Only reason he and Cordelia get along is because Cordelia is kind of a dork. She's not here tonight. He can't really blame her. It's a good thing Hilary came over here though. If she hadn't he would be paying attention to what's going on with the rest of the Trueborn. Which he isn't. Which someone should really thank Hilary for later.

"Christian. Not Chris, though. I hate Chris."

[Katherine Bellamonte] For a moment, just a moment: Katherine looks like her arm is sprouting fur, her eyes are taking on a sheen that was entirely fueled by Rage. Blinding, frothing rage and lucky Matthieu -- he's her intended target. Her fingers curl against the edges of that podium and she all but grimaces to hold it back.

Her words are sharper for it, bitten off.

"There is a difference, Mirror's Whisper, between speaking your mind and freely and blatantly insulting every other creature around you who does not agree with your point of view. I was not insulting Fabienne, nor was she in any danger of anything but offering her opinion. If she felt pressured, she had my apology for it.

I did not call for your input in this situation. It was disrespectful.
Now, you show dishonor again by deliberately misinterpreting what I have spoken of and turning your eyes from me as if I had dismissed you."

She enunciates each word carefully.

"Be wary, the next time or I will take it as a direct challenge."

[Ivan Press] "Ah," Ivan replies, and his smile is infuriatingly smug. "My mistake, brother. Obviously you have been actively example-setting away, having risked your life no less than three whole times in all your many months here. I quite agree. I wouldn't want to brag either if I were you."

The waiter comes around. Ivan orders tuna tartare for starters; follows that up with a surf'n'turf, white cheddar potatoes on the side. For dessert: mango sorbet.

And, speaking across the tablecloth to his seating companion, "Obviously, Erika, I'm going to need both a red and a white, and I'd rather not have to be carried out of here unconscious. Would you care to share a couple bottles with me?"

[Hilary Durante] On the two occasions she's met Christian -- this being the second, of course -- Hilary hasn't seen the supposedly everpresent Rage that makes the man so intolerable. In any case she seems utterly unbothered by him. Or by Ivan, Matthieu, and Katherine's rage, even as it grows. And gets sharper. And more noticable, even enough to drive Fabienne out of the room and out of the building. Hilary seems immune to it, or at very least not disturbed enough to so much as flick an eyebrow.

"Christian, then," she says firmly. "Personally, I can't even be bothered to go by my first name. I shall never shorten yours, and a pox on those who do. Cheers," she finishes, and taps her glass of wine against his water before sipping. "Now don't leave me hangin', Christian, it's bad luck not to drink after a toast."

Looking at her, with that fat pink diamond on her marital finger and that dress and...everything else about her... it's hard to reconcile the fact that she just told someone not to leave her hangin'.

[Ivan Press] [erk. my screen wasn't refreshing. Ivan would obviously wait for a convenient moment to get his parting shot off.]

[Erika Irina Alexander] And... here we go, with all the fuming Rage about to go down, the good doctor feels extremely uncomfortable being so close to the heart of it all. For a good long while she stares at her champagne flute with wide eyes, gripping either side of her chair with white, white knuckles.


(Following Ivan's post))

So she looks obviously startled when Ivan speaks to her. The Columbia alumni gladly nods her head with a slight movement, still giving him quite alert eyes with a forced smile. But she could go for some wine, definitely. Her right hand lets go of the chair, and she sets it calmly on the table at the wrist.

[Christian del Piero] He's getting better about not running around the city with his Rage at its normal level. If he knows he's going to be around kinfolk he'll do something to burn it off. That he got into a fight last night was just a coincidence. If Christian - and the rest of them - weren't living under constant fear of attack he'd have completely drained it before coming here tonight. He's a soldier though...as much as he didn't ask to be. It's like keeping his rifle loaded at all times. The only time it's okay for him to not have any Rage in him is if there's something lying dead at his feet.

"Oh," he mouths when she says not to leave her hangin'. He grabs his water glass and lifts it again as if to pick up the slack for not toasting properly. Then he quaffs down the contents as if it has something stronger than water in it. His cheeks are a bit flushed. After the water's gone he settles. Tugs on his pants. He makes a face and says, "I hate wearing suits."

[Ivan Press] "Good," Ivan says smartly, "we'll do that."

So they do. And after the waiter departs, Ivan takes a sip of the champagne that accompanies the canapes, which he also samples before regarding Erike across the table.

"Now," he says, "why do you look so utterly petrified?"

[Hilary Durante] Fabienne has run out. Erika is holding onto her chair for dear life, avoiding making eye contact. Katherine is restraining her rage from all-out frenzy...

and Hilary laughs lightly beside Christian, sipping her wine as he takes a pull of his water. She tips her head to the side, dark eyes alight with mirth and warmth and -- lets' face -- wine. She watches him fidget and shakes her head. "That's because the suit is wearing you, mi gallito tímido," she tells him. "You must stop thinking about how you must look, removing all thought of the suit from your mind other than your utter certainty of how goddamn fantastic you look in it."

She waves a hand. "Which is also good advice for how to look good when not wearing anything at all."

[Hilary Durante] [let's. face. it.]

[Erika Irina Alexander] And now she's called out on it. She should be used to these displays by now.... but she isn't. It's not hard to guess why. Ivan mentions it, and this seems enough reason for her to try to compose herself. She pulls herself forward, pushes back her sideswept bangs, raises her chin, and sets both hands in her lap before her mouth curls into a smile again.

"I fear the time may come when I don't have your company to look forward to."

It may be a cover for the underlying cause, but it's not exactly a lie. A part of the smile becomes real, and she briefly glimpses to Kate and Matthieu before watching him again. He's probably one of the few Trueborn in the room who won't mind if her eyes stay too long, and she's almost certain of it... so her shoulders relax before she reaches for a canape.

[Matthieu] "I did not come to this city to contend with you Rhya. I came to see your fortunes restored. You have much more potential than you might even realize Rhya. There is greatness in your blood and I, as well as the rest of your tribe, would love to see that potential realized."He shrugs his shoulders.

"Look out that window. This should be yours... This could be yours. I strongly doubt I am the only Silver Fang alive who believes this should be yours. Queen Katherine Bellamonte... That is what they should be calling you. They should be bowing in your presence and your tribe should stand ready to fight, kill, and die in your name. This is why we rule, this is how we rule... Because we stand together. Because we look out for one anothers well being and see to it that each of us reaches that eventual precipice. By seeing your fortunes rise it benefits my house and my family. It benefits every Silver Fang here and it benefits the sept, and through the sept it benefits the nation for you to rule in your rightful place."

"I am not going to comment on other tribes. Because the strength of this tribe... Our tribe. Benefits the entire nation. The stronger and more united we are as a tribe the stronger and more united their leadership is. By leading them from a position of strength, knowing that we will not fail them they too will directly benefit. I would much rather there be no arguing here... I would much rather we discuss how to put you in your rightful place Rhya. You should rule here... That is what I am here to see to, and when you are situated firmly upon your throne. I can stand proud knowing that I helped put you there... So too can everyone here. There is no one in this sept, or in the Garou Nation as a whole who does not benefit from Katherine Bellamonte being situated firmly atop her throne in this sept."He says finally after some thought.

"If my words are misspoken or misplaced then I apologize but this is how I feel. I will stand and die to put you on that throne... Your tribe stands ready to throw anything it has to at your enemies. If you rise to this mantle and take up your position... More will flock to your banner. In time you will become greater than you could imagine and everyone right down to the lowliest bone gnawer will reap the benefits under the protection of their Queen."With that he allows himself to settle back and shrug his shoulders."I will not feel shame for wishing to see the success and fortunes of my tribe and through it the Garou Nation grow."

He had finally had the chance to speak what was on his mind and what he considered the focus for his reason for arriving.

[Christian del Piero] His knowledge of the Spanish language grew enough in the last month that he can ask Cordelia basic questions and mix it in with his Italian to make sure that she understands him...and nobody else around them can. But he doesn't know all the slang yet. If he had gone to high school and studied it there that would be the first thing he learned, was all the dirty stuff. How to call someone an "asshole" three different ways. Things like that.

"I dunno," he says. But at least he stops fidgeting. "At least when I'm not wearing anything at all my pants don't ride up on me."

Real cute, Christian.

[Ivan Press] "Wow," Ivan says, and laughs. "Now I've heard a lot of lies to cover a truth someone doesn't want to talk about, but that was a particularly morbid one. Rest assured, Erika, I have no plans to die horribly any time soon."

A beat.

"What's the real reason for the anxiety?"

[Hilary Durante] Perhaps it's unfair of her to distract Christian so much when Important Things are being discussed. This is Serious Tribal Business, after all. But, oh well. He's not even considered a Cliath and she's just a kinswoman, what harm can they get up to by amusing themselves while the grown ups talk?

Never any of them mind the little double entendre. Or the talk of nudity. She's had wine, after all. She laughs at Christian, leaning in to say something privately. Or close enough: "A friend of mine was complaining about her lingerie doing the same thing. I told her that was why I wore thongs, and when she gave me a shocked look I told her that if it was that big of a problem, then don't wear anything at all!"

She smiles, then grins cheekily, and takes a sip. "Though in my defense," she says, still in that quiet tone of voice, "I was a little drunk at the time. I only tell you because I know you won't judge me."

[Erika Irina Alexander] She rolls her eyes and gives a real grin. "Of course not. I meant if I had to move back to Washington, I'd die of boredom. But it's good to know you don't have a deathwish."

A finger goes to touch the right side of her neck. It doesn't stay for long, but she lowers her chin and that's enough. "Can't help it," she says, but seems to not really want to talk about it.

"I've been busy with August. You don't make plans, so I didn't bother. Sweep anyone interesting off her feet while I was away? Break a few dozen hearts?"

[Christian del Piero] His eyes widen when she tells him she wears thongs. There's nothing left in his glass but melting ice. He picks it up anyway. Swallows what water is in there and coughs. He looks around to see if anyone is close enough to overhear them and gives her a smile. After he puts his glass down he crosses his legs. Clears his throat. "That's...that's cool. I guess."

[Ivan Press] Ivan is lounging in his chair. He has the sort of frame that makes this sort of thing easy; makes it look good. Long and lean. It's why he wears those suits well, too -- sleekly cut, elegant and edgy. Well. That, and what Hilary alluded to on her way to talking about nudity and thongs: confidence. Absolute, arrogant confidence.

He clips his cigarette out of his mouth, ashes it over the tray. Djarum black: that's what he's smoking tonight. Hideously strong, slow-burning. Banned in the U.S. now, though not because of its potency but because apparently all flavored cigarettes are tools for corruption of minors. But really, who's going to put Ivan in prison for it? His lawyer is right over there shadowing him, for christ's sake, and his personal assistant as well. And his gofer. And his accountant.

Another drag, and he tips his head to the side, pinning her with a curious, carelessly penetrating stare. "A gentleman," he intones, mouth quirking, "doesn't kiss and tell. But why do you ask? Want a place in line?"

[Hilary Durante] Oh, to be eighteen again and to not know what to say.

Hilary seems so endeared she doesn't know what to do with herself, laughing softly. "I'm sorry," she says, more quietly, doing her best not to call attention to him. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I simply don't believe in excessive self-censorship."

[Erika Irina Alexander] Erika sits back in the chair, easily picking up on his utter carelessness. By all means, she's still nervous, but the situation is quickly diffusing.

She gives a grin. "I'm not a number, and I don't wait in line." That much is true. She's passed him on two offers now. But if there wasn't interest, why would she bother?

Two birdlike fingers reach for his clove cigarette without asking, leaning midway across the table. They hover over the cigarette while she raises her eyes to his. There's amusement, a bit of play she barely gets to utilize, but that isn't to say she doesn't have her own skill to the game.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Fabienne makes her excuses and departs.

Katherine -- at the time -- could not give her the benefit of a proper farewell, she was on tender-hooks attempting to stamp down the urge to throat one of her tribesmen. And then -- in a cunning display of his auspice's flair for words, and the soothing of ruffled feathers -- or in this case Rage -- he does

just that

His Elder visibly relaxes, she even hints at a smile once again at the conclusion of his speech. "Well said, Sir. Now that is precisely how you should have addressed the subject to begin with. Now," their elder says as food begins to pour out of the kitchens. "Dinner is served."

[Christian del Piero] If Christian carried himself like Ivan he probably wouldn't get flustered having a conversation about undergarments with a married woman. That guy oozes confidence. Christian isn't a bad looking guy. It's not that he has crappy self esteem. But on his worst days he's moody and unstable. He doesn't know how to talk to girls...let alone women. They never approach him and he doesn't have the stones to approach them. He looks at them from afar and sees them go off with guys like Ivan or Matthieu. Even on his good days he doesn't know how to behave.

When Hilary laughs he relaxes a bit...as though that's a weight off his shoulders. He doesn't know how to explain why talking about underwear makes him uncomfortable without sounding like a creep. Or an 18 year old boy. He nods and takes a deep breath. Smiles again. "No...it's okay. That's...good, right? Not censoring yourself? You know, if that's not how you are you shouldn't try to be something you're not."

[Matthieu] He nods his head back to his elder and when the food is served he contents himself to eating. His eyes flashing to the seat where Fabienne had been sitting, before turning to his meal."This is really good."He says with a brilliant smile.

[No seriously Kate it's this good!*LOL*I rolled and botched Persiuasion might as well make one social roll tonight! Cha+Expression diff +1]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Ivan Press] "Oh ho," Ivan says softly, as though a challenge has been issued. Or possibly accepted. Erika reaches for his cigarette. There's something feral in his eyes, flashing, and then he lifts his hand the requisite inch or three and doesn't so much hand it to her as he lets her have it. "Well, you could always cut in line." His grin flicks wider, and he skates his eyes briefly toward Kate; back. "I won't tell teacher."

Dinner is served, their elder announces. Ivan's attention lifts from Erika. As sparse as his rage is -- a veritable dearth compared to what's pouring off Christian, compared to what's pouring of Kate, for that matter -- it's still a palpable weight evaporating when he looks away. His appetizers are served up; it's light, and tangy. Fish.

And wine. Red and white. A zinfandel and a chardonnay to go with the turf and the surf. Since he's sharing with his tablemate, the waiter goes directly to her for tasting. Ivan flakes his tuna with his fork, watching Erika sample the bottles and pronounce them fit or not.

"Really, though," he continues as their wines are poured and the waiter departs, "what are you doing tonight?"

[Hilary Durante] Where confidence is concerned, Hilary seems neither to let it drip from her person as Ivan does, nor lack it, as Christian does. She seems settled in her own skin, a gift of her age and perhaps a few other things. It is a nice skin to be in, for one. There is no way a woman like her, with a figure like hers, is going to eat a fraction of what she ordered. Which means, when appetizers are brought to their table, Christian is going to offered bite after bite of duck confit, of whatever else she asked for, because she's forgotten by now what the menu looked like.

Despite the fact that Christian doesn't know how to behave and can hardly pull off a decent conversation, much less a witty one, Hilary lifts her eyebrows and smiles. "Remember that for the future, Christian," she says. "I'll be testing you later. Now," she goes on, lifting a fork towards his mouth, "try this, and then the wine after it."

[Erika Irina Alexander] That rage and feral nature is exactly why she didn't just snatch up the cigarette. Like a good girl, she waited, gauging his reaction. And he let her snatch it. There's a wide, devil-may-care grin that spreads over her while her breath flares the crackling ember to life. The clove in the black filter numbs her lips, tastes sweet and spicy on the tongue. Perfect companion for vodka. ....But, alas, they ordered wine. Ah well, the clove wouldn't spoil her duck.

She doesn't answer his request at first, setting down the cigarette for a sample of the wine. The nearly-immaculately bred kinfolk does well by clearing her palette with water and a bit of the parsley from her plate. She samples the nose, narrowing her eyes towards the vacant distance while tasting. There's a change to the wine with the residue of the clove oil, but she knows what to look for in good wine.

Indeed, Katherine and Ivan's combined staff don't disgrace the hostess. The blonde nods in approval at the server and lifts the correct silverware with impeccable tableside grace. A cut into the breast before answering. "I have no plans," she replies.

[Katherine Bellamonte] When she comes down to join the others for dinner, she'll take up a spot, likely in the midst of things, where her brother and his mate are, perhaps suspiciously, absent. She will also carry with her a pile of handouts as if she were some dutiful teacher and the Kinfolk and Garou her students, these she passes out and when they read they shall see it is a listing of the contact details and, at least where Honor's Compass knows of it, their family titles and House affiliations.

She sips from her wine as a waiter sets something down for her that resembles Steak, it's dabbled over with red wine sauce and the smell is enticing. Apparently, Katherine has skipped past an entree and gone for something, well, meatier.

"These make something of a phone tree, to borrow an idea from Danicka Musil, my Alpha's Mate. It is a listing of all that I am aware of that currently reside in our city. There are some blank spaces however, where by I have not been able to as of yet garner the ancestry. I hoped to charge you with this task, Mirror's Whisper." Katherine smiles across at him, as she takes up a knife and fork.

"I overheard briefly you discussion with Christian, and given your auspice I thought you might enjoy collating a fuller documentation on our city's noble Silver Fang families."

[Christian del Piero] Christian can't remember what he ordered and whatever is put in front of him he doesn't recognise. It smells good though, and his stomach grumbles. The kinswoman tells him to remember what he just said. The look on his face says "Wait, what?" He might be joking. This kid doesn't look like he has much of a sense of humor though. The fact that he can sit still and string a few words together to make a sentence is a pretty big accomplishment for him. Plus Hilary hasn't gotten bored enough to go back to the other table...or just leave. He doesn't ask what it is she's giving him. If he can throw himself at enemies larger than himself and survive wounds that would kill a human boy he can eat something weird. Christian hesitates. But then he leans forward and bites the food off the fork. For someone who is described as "out of control" there's some grace to his execution. He chews with his mouth closed and puts a napkin over his legs so he doesn't muck up his pants.

"That's good," he says after he swallows. It's food, anyway. He's supposed to be trying the wine next. Christian picks up the glass and sniffs it like he knows what he's looking for. He takes a large swallow. Frowns in thought. Does it again. He puts the glass in his other hand so it's further away from Hilary. "I think I'll keep this."

[Christian del Piero] (( Jacqui says I have to roll Stamina. ))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Hilary Durante] The wine is a crisp, fruity sort, a bursting of flavor just before it goes down his throat. It's not for everyone. And no, it isn't for those whose minds and taste buds are still growing. The young people who like wine are typically the young people who drink for no other reason but to get smashed on a weekend, who don't care if it's Frenzia or Boone's Farm, as long as there's enough alcohol content to get them drunk over the course of a few hours.

This is good wine, though. Christian tries once, then a second time. Both times are such large mouthfuls that it nearly drains the glass, and the corner of Hilary's mouth tugs out in a slower, almost darker version of her smile. It's a twitch of her lips, before they still again. And he decides to keep it. Her eyebrows lift.

"Oh really," she says, emphasis on the second word. "Be my guest," she decides after a moment, shrugging off the loss of the wine with easy dismissal. "You're no child among our kind. Besides, it's one of the silliest American laws there is. Utterly Puritanical."

She takes another bite, then switches to give another one to Christian. "This, now," she says, watching him. "It's good to take what chances you have to enjoy samplings of the finer things life has to offer, Christian, rather than simply gorge yourself on what's common all the time."

And as he takes the bite, or sips wine, whatever it is he does: "The silk suit, the good wine, the gourmet food. Even if it's only for a night."

[Ivan Press] "Really."

A beat of two, as though in consideration. Then he stabs a flake of fish, wraps it in a few leaves of spring greens. Eats it. Entrees are being served. Ivan places his fork down and lets the waiters remove his appetizer, replacing it with his main course. A buttered maine lobster tail; a solid ingot of grilled sirloin.

Conversationally, as he's cutting his steak with a few deft, precise strokes of the knife: "Well, I'm going to a strip joint after this." He smiles at her -- quick and sharp, a sharkish grin. "You should come along."

[Erika Irina Alexander] The zinfandel is a bit too dry for the duck. The doctor is known to drink chilled vodka straight, but tonight she goes for the slightly sweeter Meursault Chardonnay. It is a surprisingly good match with her meal. Not too sweet how an immature Sauternes can be with foie gras.

Although, with the pecan/rhubarb crumble, a Sauternes would not be a terrible match. The chardonnay is a bit too dry for it... but then it's made to suit Ivan's meal and does relatively fine. Just as she gets half a mouthful of wine, her tableside companion says something that takes her off guard for a split second. She chokes, setting the glass down rather unceremoniously, grabbing for her napkin.

An icy glare goes his way, more irritated at losing face rather than what he said. She should know better by now. This isn't her first rodeo, and she has had to fish more than one disgrunted Marine out of a grimy Bronx strip club.

The kinfolk wipes the corner of her mouth where some wine happened to escape. It doesn't muss her longlast lipcolor, but she would have to reapply gloss after dinner. Of course, he'd be devilishly entertained for pulling her chain and getting an annoyed reaction. Her nostrils flare slightly, but she's not angry. There's a definite I'll get you back, bastard... look written all over her face.

"Part of your whip and candy routine?" she narrows her eyes at him with half a wry grin.

[Christian del Piero] He doesn't eat off her fork this time. He takes the fork from her. The knuckles on both of his hands are scarred from getting into fights when he was younger. Or punching stationary objects. Walls and trees and the windows of parked cars. He still does stuff like that but the only way he'll scar any more is if he has to use his Rage to keep himself alive.

Hilary talks to him about finer things in life, and he listens. Even when he's sitting quietly - and maybe even enjoying himself - his eyes are hard to look at for a long time. It's like he's on fire. If Hilary saw him on a normal night - like Erika saw him on a normal day - he would be breathing hard and grinding his teeth. He's okay right now. Not human and not comfortable, but he's not about to flip out and kill everyone in the room.

"You're right." He guesses. He lifts up his tie and lets it drop. When he exhales it's almost a sigh. For the first time all night he seems like he's really looking at her. It could just be the wine.

[Hilary Durante] [This should be good. Perception! Plus! NOTHING.]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Matthieu] He looks at the information presented to him and then back to Katherine. His brow lifts and he nods his head."I would be more than happy to look into the ancestry of those who wish to know and learn more about their past. Even if every individual does not necessarily know about his past our tribe keeps knowledge on each and every one... Save those who, for whatever reason, have been removed. It shouldn't take long at all to compile a little knowledge. I've already offered to do as much for Christian... The boy deserves to know where he has come from. It seems unfitting for anyone here to be denied that much."He says with a smile.

[Ivan Press] Erika dines like a woman who's experienced the finer things in life. Who's experienced with the finer things. Perhaps Ivan is faintly surprised; the job of a therapist, after all, and one devoted to something so socially-conscious and compassionately-motivated as treating PTSD sounds so ... well. Artisan. Low six-figure income. Maybe less, if she works for the state. Decent clothes and car, but hardly the type to have a different set of wheels for every day of the week, and hardly the type to have the tongue and the nose and the discernment necessary to realize the zin is too dry for duck, or that the wines Ivan chose were, in the end, made to pair with his lobster and his steak.

Maybe there's a lesson in that. He's generous; she knows this. Playful, charismatic. Fun. But ultimately, while he might bring her along, invite her aboard, his little privileged world is crafted for himself.

She chokes on her wine, and she glare at him, and Ivan politely eats his steak and gives her a look of mild innocence. Candy and whip routine, she calls it, and that gets a sudden, wide grin out of him.

"Part of my blatant attempt to get you drunk, horny, and naked in bed," he replies; just like that. "But you're an adult more or less able to make up your own mind. The invitation is open. I'm heading out," he flicks a glance toward his watch so quick that it has to be for show, "oh, in about five minutes. As soon as I excuse myself to our illustrious elder."

[Christian del Piero] (( Lost track of time! Have to go to dinner/switch computers! I'll BBIAB! Sorry! ))

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Per + Alert, I totally heard that.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine, after handing out her information and chatting to the Galliard among them, attunes herself to eating her steak [she prefers it quite well done, most Chef's turn pale at the idea] and listening with modest turns of her face in either direction, merely another pair of eyes watching, listening.

Smiling and leaning back with an arch expression when she tunes in and overhears Ivan.

"Are you to take all your harem when you depart, Sir, or shall you trade and leave me some to aid in cleaning up? You have so many on hand. Do you structure yourself, one wonders, with a datebook and rotating door?" She's in jest, that much is clear from the manner she coyly speaks, and twirls her wine in its glass.

[Erika Irina Alexander] "That's hardly enough time to even finish this glass." But she's already mostly finished it.

Erika knows the drill. She comes from a family that reflects her breeding. Old money, priviledged, etc... It's her own choice to 'slum' as it were. And not a single trace of her own little world is selfless. Ultimately, that world is HERS, something she can claim, direct, control. The family could make her do a lot of things, but no one can make a caged bird sing.

Truth is, she does that perfectly well on her own. Call it new-age renewalist womanist bullshit, or just merely the Lady of the Keep. She'd be doing it in the 21st century or the 12th, or else perish. Her mind is far too keen to be content as a housewife.

"You're rushing me. You want me to crawl over you. Two way street, Mr. Press. If you really want me to tag along, you'll have to do better than spoonfeed me a light insult with wine."

Touché, to use some of his own words. She chases it down with some of the Chardonnay, grinning. Yes, she's toying... and aware that it can just as easily backfire. Katherine's comment brings a small, somewhat girlish giggle out of her.

[Erika Irina Alexander] ((Edit: housewife or pet))

[Ivan Press] Ivan's eyebrows, which are straight and a darker shade of gold than his already dappled hair, flick upward at that. When he laughs, it's cool and light.

"I assure you, Erika," he says, "it's not my intention to rush you or to make you crawl. You know what I want. You know where I live. If you're interested," a light shrug of his shoulders seems to encapsulate it, "I'm sure we could have a little fun."

It takes a certain amount of confidence to say something like that. To proposition so plainly, so baldly. Ivan's not subtle about these things, and he never was. His game's a bold one: cards on the table, face up, and the stacks of chips next to them certainly don't hurt. Or maybe in the end it's not even confidence, but simply the sheer luxury of choice. Of not having to worry about the little things like romance and discretion and the two-step everyone else on the planet has to dance. He's above that. His looks, his wealth, his sheer fucking privilege: opportunity follows him like a puppy. There's always someone willing.

"But if not," he finishes, taking one perfunctory bite of his lobster, which is so tender and juicy it all but melts on the tongue, "I'm not going to pressure you until you give in. It's not my style."

His dinner is half-done at best, but Ivan seems ready to go now. Katherine seems to have addressed all issues of concern; and Ivan is, in the end, so very easily bored. Kate's comments reach his ears, and he laughs, turning about to face the Fostern.

"Actually," he says, raising his voice to address the gathering, "I was going to invite everyone along when they were finished here. The address is 1531 North Kingsbury. So far as these establishments go, it'll suit your discerning tastes.

"So. On that note -- " he folds his napkin and tosses it on the table alongside his half-eaten meal and smiles, "Rhya, if I may be excused. Playtime calls."

[Hilary Durante] "Still."

That seems a sentence in and of itself, by itself. Even on a good day -- a day they've burned themselves out, a day when the moon isn't even half full -- an Ahroun who is still learning to control his rage is a nervewracking companion. She puts her hand near his mouth though, when she offers him food. She doesn't flinch her hand away from his when he takes the fork from her, lest they brush against each other inadvertently.

He's Garou. She knows it. He could snap, even now, and her throat would be opened before anyone blinked. It's possible one of the others might be fast enough to stop him. She should be intimidated. She should be afraid. She should be wary, and only willing to share his company when he's like this: as close to docile as he comes.

Yet she's watching him, even making eye contact, as though he's never done an ill deed in his life, has never lost his temper, couldn't hurt a fly. She isn't intimidated by him at all. Maybe that's because she's older. She's taken. She's wedded and mated and assisting in the raising of two stepchildren -- though really, they're both pretty much grown as it is. What about Christian could intimidate her, other than pure primal terror?

Which isn't there.

She goes on, though, that Still not quite stand-alone. "As you said, one shouldn't pretend to be something they're not. There's a great deal to be said for transparency. To say what you mean, or at least mean what you say. To do what feels natural, rather than what is considered appropriate by rather petty social conventions."

Hilary gets another glass of wine, to replace the one she gave to Christian, and takes a sip. Then laughs. "I'm sorry. I'm babbling, I must be boring you with my attempts at being philosophical and inoffensive at the same time. You aren't bored, are you, Christian?"

[Erika Irina Alexander] Certainly, it's easy to assume she would follow like a lost pup. She has less in her bank account, not riding anyone's coattails. Her career, while brilliant indeed, often seems yawnworthy among Fangs, who really could use more of her talent than the shell-shocked vets she's treating. Ah well, it gives her an edge anyhow.

"And while you are delicious and I relish our excursions, drooling over you-- well, like a gutter bitch in heat, anyway..." A pause for the good doctor to get vulgar. Shocking. "That's not really my style. I'll see you later, dear."

She returns to her duck, even though her table is growing vacant. However, the indulgent swan doesn't seem to be at an imposition. It merely gives her some time to think and relax, a rare and precious moment.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine merely holds out one of the contact lists, it has numbers for all of the family in the city printed on it. His elder cocks a brow as she passes it to the Ragabash, "But of course, duty calls you, Monsieur," there's a wicked gleam in the female's eye as she watches him secure it away.

"You may find that handy," her eyes slide over Erika. "One never knows."

She notes that Matthieu means to depart, and repeats this scenario with the Galliard, they part, amusingly enough, on as decent terms as they'd begun the night.

Go figure.

[Christian del Piero] It's not hard to see Christian is intimidated by this woman. She's older than him. She's better spoken. She's beautiful. She's not Garou...but she's married. She's spoken for. Her mate is probably wealthy and handsome and bigger than him. Would probably tear his throat out if he saw the way this little bastard was looking at his wife. There's no good reason why she should sit down next to him and talk to him...and the fact that she did has Christian just about flummoxed.

So he can sit still and listen to her talk. That doesn't mean anything, right? As she talks Christian starts eating his food. He keeps looking over at her. He eats quickly but neatly. Like he does have some manners despite the discomfort at wearing an expensive suit and wearing a noose around his neck. When she gets to "natural" though he drops his silverware on his plate. It clatters. He doesn't choke but anyone looking at him would see shock written on his face. Christian swallows. Reaches for his wine. Downs it. He clears his throat as demure as he can and gives her a smile. Makes a "Heh" sound.

"N...no," he says. "No. I like listening to you talk."

[Hilary Durante] They have, in some ways, truly been the most peaceful table here tonight. No verbal fencing, no conversational duels, no calls to join in the cause one way or another. They haven't argued with anyone else or each other, no more than a couple of quick jabs from Hilary to Ivan before she excused herself to come keep this Ahroun company.

That doesn't mean she's been oblivious to what's going on with the rest of the room, wine or no wine. She gives a small wave to Matthieu as he departs, and she glances over at Ivan because he seems like he's preparing to go, as well. She hopes he didn't throw his napkin atop her clutch, it might get swept into a dish bin.

Hilary tugs gently on an earring, looking with vague alarm at Christian. "Don't choke," she advises midly. "You'll get the whole house in an uproar."

[Ivan Press] Ivan takes the paper, and to his credit, doesn't wad it up and toss it into a wastebin. Instead, the Ragabash scans it quickly but carefully, and with surprising seriousness. The truth is, while Ivan considers it his 'duty' to party and to carouse, he has a certain sense of responsibility. He is, after all, a Cliath, and -- amazingly -- a reasonably successful one.

"I'll make sure Max gets the information down," he promises. When he stands, his entourage -- long since readied for departure at the first sign of Ivan's impending exit -- stands with him. Across the room, the sound of eleven chairs pushing back, eleven bodies rising, is a muted wave.

Executing a sharp little bow with only the faintest hint of mockery and humor, Ivan adds, "Goodnight, Rhya. Thank you for having me. I had a wonderful time. Erika, Christian, Matthieu. Mrs. Durante."

On his way out, they can see Ivan passing the slip of paper to Max. Then they're passing through the doors, topography affecting a closing of ranks. When they're gone, the dining room seems quieter for their lack; either a little more intimate, or simply a little emptier.

[Erika Irina Alexander] "Thank you, Katherine," Erika smiles and tucks the sheet away. "This is indeed quite handy."

There is an order for vanilla cheesecake while she pours herself another glass of Chardonnay, intending to finish it before the dessert arrives. Honestly, despite the small meal sizes, she's only picked at dinner. A glance goes behind her towards Hilary and Christian. She smiles, nods in approval, and returns her attention to her own, seemingly private table. A smile goes to Ivan as he leaves with his entourage.