Ivan Press

[Will Talbot] "That's not what I - " this is the beginning of Will's reponse to Sarah's assurance that he is safe. The look he sends her is sharp and controlled. It sharpens when Erika approaches, well-dressed in the park on a warm dark night, in a clothing best suited to the crisp air conditioning of the museum's interior rather than the humid paths of the park. Not unlike his own. He's a tall man, with cropped blond hair and pale blue eyes that glitter but do not gleam in the darkness.

He is not an animal. He is only kin to the wolves.

Whatever else he meant to say is lost. Instead, he remains where he stands, by the railing overlooking the dark, glittering expanse of the lake, Blackberry in hand, still at the moment, though he holds it rather like a weapon in his strong hand. "She's fine," he answers for Sarah, then, glancing from Erika to Sarah in quick succession.

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Suddenly, there's a woman that approaches her. It's not anybody that Sarah knows, and yet the woman, filled with Silver Fang breeding, is walking at her. Uncurling from where she sat on the bench, Sarah stood. She's not tall, but taller then Erika. Nostrils flare and muscles become rigid, prepared.

Then, she's being asked if she's alright. "I'm fine," she answers. The wording is curt, barely concealing the snappish edge to it. Will's tone is much nicer. Walking past Erika then, giving the other a small berth, she keeps eyes on the older woman as she begins to approach Will, moving to intercept any path from the stranger to the Kinfolk she does know.

"Who are you?" She asks of Erika, coming to stand still only a few feet from the tall, suited man. Her back is to him, but she hasn't blocked his line of side. She puts him to her injured shoulder instead. Subconscious as the positioning is, it's driven simply by instinct. The wolf in the woman strong enough to guide her better then human social graces.

[Dr. Alexander]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Dr. Alexander] ((wits + emp))

[Katherine Bellamonte] "Her name is Erika Alexander," comes a voice in response to Sarah's curt demand for identity. The voice comes in tandem with the clip of yet another pair of heels against the pathway winding from the Art Museum and its glittering function lights. The figure is taller in her heels, but then, she was already quite there on her own bare toes, her figure sheathed in a white cocktail dress with a plunging neckline modestly pinned together with a glittering clip.

The long strand of pearls wound several times around the neck perhaps gave Honor's Compass away as surely as her breeding did, to another wolf. That, and the familiar glossy waves of blond hair, secured back from her face behind an ear with the aid of a matching silver clip.

Red lips have twisted in some semblance of humor at the other Garou's query; her pale eyes flick between Sarah, Erika and then stray to Will. There's no disguising that her gaze softens a touch on the man, but only briefly. There and gone.

[Dr. Alexander] There are some subtle gestures most are not privy to... some that some even perceptive people can feel aren't quite right without knowing why. Today, Falcon's eye is on her side. Her finely-honed skills as a specialist in the psychoanalytic field dealing with shell shocked soldiers, rape victims, and the like means she knows certain signs like the back of her hand. Being a seasoned kinfolk only sharpens her skills with experience.

Yet with body language as obvious as Sarah's, Erika didn't have to have sharp eyes.

At this range it's quite easy to see the scars on the right side of her face and neck, the ones hidden partially by her hair and the dim light. Erika's body language changes entirely. Immediately, but slowly, she pulls back, eyebrows go up and eyes go down. Her hands turn upward in a non-threatening sign.

A voice rings out in the dark, one that's familiar to her. But she doesn't turn her head.

"Yes," she says softly. "Ms. Bellamonte is right. I am merely a psychiatrist, but I am well-trained as a medical assistant also."

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Another Silver Fang comes out of nowhere; this time it's a Garou.

Her eyes dart from Erika to Katherine, who answers a question not directed at her. Sarah isn't a fan of being flanked by strangers, even of her own Tribe, and certainly not in the mood she's in. Honey-browns glitter as she looks from one to the other, and her spine straightens that little more. Katherine eyes soften, Sarah steps a small step back, slightly over, blocks more of Will from view.

"How lovely." This, after Katherine's answer. Her heart is thudding under, quickening her pulse in her throat, creating a fine flush across her pale neck.

Erika continues with it, confirming who she is and what she does. It also tells her who the unknown Garou is, the leader of the Tribe here. Psychiatrist. Her mouth quirks, briefly; come and gone. She knows a few people that could use one of those. Herself is not included in that little tally. But the knowledge of it, makes her posture become less defensive, her shoulders sink a little, spine eases.

She steps aside, leaves Will in view again but she doesn't step away from him. "Nice to meet you both," she tells them, without a smile but a more pleasant tone then the earlier snap. "I'm Sarah Kerensky."

[Dr. Alexander] The psychiatrist doesn't move. Not an inch. Not knowing if this person before her is Garou or merely an unstable bystander. When in doubt, it is best not to stir the pot. Her downcast eyes flick over towards Will's shoes, then back to center on Sarah's clavicle.

"Yes, good to meet you, Sarah." The psychiatrist is careful not to provoke. She's not exactly comfortable being flanked by Katherine and a possible Garou (or else a hostile bystander).

Ah, well... such is the life. "Are you sure you don't want me to take a look?" the kinswoman asks softly. Her countenance is soft, non-threatening, relatively calm. Her brow drops a bit, and the edges of her mouth form a slight smile.

[Sinclair] It is hard to imagine a being like Warcry in a dress. Upon learning that she not only owned a skirt but would willingly and gladly wear it, her ex was almost in shock. The truth is she doesn't own a lot of skirts, or a lot of dresses. The truth is that tonight, when Katherine so graciously invited her packsister along with her to the benefit or opening or whatever the fuck that would have free champagne awesome I'm there, Sinclair didn't have anything that would be appropriate to wear.

So borrowed something. Which is why she's wearing the only thing Katherine could find that fit the occasion, fit the packmate, and covered up -- at very least -- the tattoo on her packmate's right thigh, if only because it would distract so much from the art. The fabric is some silk or satin blend. The length is just past her knees. The heels are also Katherine's. They aren't quite the same size but close enough. The makeup, however, is Sinclair. Dark, intense eyes. A light lip. Hair more windblown-looking, more wild, than an updo.

She's coming a few yards behind the Silver Fang Elder, muttering as she nearly falls, "...mother-fucking goddamn piece of shit high heel trying to break my fucking ankle..."

[Will Talbot] "Katherine," Will greets her over Sarah's shoulder, as the philodox approaches, the tone familiar, warmer, perhaps even fond. The kinsman does not remain half-hidden behind Sarah for long; and as she attempts to conceal him, she wll feel his hand lightly on the small of her back as he steps out from behind her. There are strangers, here. A glance from Katherine to Erika, lingering briefing on the blond woman - whose blood he cannot read, whose name he does not know - for a moment before it shifts to shoot from Sarah to Katherine.

Quite frankly, he assumes that they are packmates until Sarah introduces herself to Katherine. This pulls up his pale brows. He cuts a look between the two young Garou, something closed about his pale eyes, in the set of his crisp mouth in his rough jaw, the faint bristle of a beard the only thing at odds with his otherwise perfectly appropriate attire, the bepoke suit and the tailored white shirt, the silk tie, hand-made, hand-dyed, pulled loose around his collar.

Then, brows drawing together he glances down at the screen of his blackberry, clicks over and lifts it to his ear "Zdrastvuyte " he says, low, to whoever is on the other end. There's a moment of quiet, then another and he's nodding as if the person on the other end of the connection could see him. "If you ladies will excuse me," he says at last, holding the phone away from his ear. "I have to take this call." Russia's burning, after all. Sarah overheard him earlier: commodities, the price of wheat, the positions one has to extend, the shorted futures to be dumped not yesterday, but last fucking week.

"Katherine, you have my number." He says, as he fishes out business cards, offering one to Sarah, first. And then perhaps merely for politeness' sake - to Erika. "Good evening, ladies."

[Will Talbot] (Sorry folks! My chariot turned into a pumpkin an hour ago. :( )

[Dr. Alexander] ((That's ok))

[Ivan Press] "That may be true," it seems Silver Fangs have a habit of simply appearing, all dapper and dashing, out of thin air tonight, "but I think they make your ankles look very nice. Also, your ass."

A beat.

" -- Rhya."

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] "I'm fine," she reassures Erika, "really. The gauze needs a change is all."

Will is leaving then, and she takes the card from him with a quick glance over it and slides it into the pocket of her shorts. "Take care," she tells him, watching him begin to walk off before she looks to the other two, no - three now, women. And a guy.

She's the only one that's in casual gear, fitting for a walk in the park. Canvas shoes and a blue t.shirt over safari shorts. Her hair is bound in a loose plait, strands of it escaping by the sides of her temples. She watches them for a moment, lifting her right hand to tuck it behind her ear.

It's Erika she focuses on then. "Thanks for the concern, though." It's not just for politeness sake. Perhaps there's a bit of an apology in the tone, too.

[Katherine Bellamonte] (ack, sorry all! had a phone call!)

[Sinclair] "Who the FUCK are you?" snaps the so-called -Rhya, glaring at the newest Fang in Katherine's rolodex.

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] [which Fang is the new one?]

[Dr. Alexander] The doctor tenses on hearing another set of high heels, but she doesn't look. Her limbs are itching to move, and the recent attack is fresh in her mind. With the lake just beyond the small strip of walking area, it is right in her sight. Until tonight, the doctor hasn't even left her apartment for fear of getting tangled into another conflict.

So now, after standing with her back to Katherine and her face towards the anxious Sarah, Erika feels a burning desire to shuffle. So, she does... slowly. Just a step or two back towards the curb. She stops about a foot from the drop, wishing to move to the other side, but she doesn't want to surround the anxious woman. Erika knows better.

The doctor doesn't make a great effort to hide the fact that she's uneasy. They might all notice it. When Will offers his business card, she flinches and seems to snap out of it. She seems very interested in the possibility of conversing in the Mother's Tongue, so she tucks the business card away.

Alas, the voice of a person she's not terribly unsettled by. Erika turns her head and takes a breath. She waves a hand and her posture finally changes to something more genuinely calm.

"Not at all," the doctor gives a smile to Sarah. "It's just part of---"

Sinclair's yelling startles her for a second, but it is quickly forgotten.

She clears her throat. "Part of my job."

[Sinclair] [Ivan, the one that just commented on Sinclair's ass]

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Part of the job; how often she hears this. It's becoming a bitter echo in the back of her mind. But no fault of Erika, and so, she merely nods in the womans direction with a small light in her eyes. Sinclair is yelling, making Erika flinch and Sarah's flanks twitch.

"Why don't you come over here?" she offers to Erika, her voice a little quieter, offering a safe route. She had just done the same to Will without thinking, and in the matter of this small space in time, had already accepted Erika as nothing as a threat or anything suspicious. Kinfolk of the Tribe, and so, welcomed. "Better to not to talk over each other." It's a good excuse, accompanied with a brief flicker of a smile.

Sarah's attention is, however, mostly focused on the three Garou.

[Ivan Press] By the time the so-called Rhya snaps at him, Ivan's already turning to brandish a smile at Erika. His head snaps back 'round, and his eyebrows go up.

"Ivan Press." He offers his hand. "And for what it's worth: that was intended as a compliment."

[Katherine Bellamonte] You might imagine the Fostern Half Moon Elder to get peevish, or snarl, or lose her cool amidst everything. She is certainly silent for a time after Sarah introduces herself, her pale eyes fixing on the Cliath as she attempts to shield William from Katherine's gaze -- this, if nothing else, earns her a fractional frown -- but Will moves from behind her, greets her warmly, one might even have said fondly and there's an answering tug at the corner of her red lips.

She moves to face him, never leaving her back to Sarah, or Sinclair, or Ivan. Nor to Erika once William has departed -- the Garou's eyes watch him for a split second before they dance back. "That is Ivan Press," she calmly notes to her pack-sister and then when Sarah tells Erika to move closer --

"Where did you acquire your injuries."

-- sensitive noses can certainly detect wounds, even healing ones. "How long have you been in Chicago?" These are politely asked, but the Silver Fang asking makes it known she awaits an answer to each.

[Dr. Alexander] Sarah gestures her protection, and it seems to work. The other three women are almost equally unfamiliar. Erika does take up a position on Sarah's right, taking up the gesture of "protection" and returns Ivan's smile with her own.

Katherine gives her questions, so the kinswoman shuts up. Ivan may recognize the suit she's wearing from the day with Cordelia on the yacht. Why not? It looks good on her and seems to appeal to her taste.

By now, she wonders what went down after the weekend incident at the caern and how much of the area has been fixed up. She's been avoiding her phone and hiding out until just this afternoon, with August and her cooking to accompany her nervous spell.

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] "Chinatown," she answers Katherine, shifting her focus to her. Though she does keep an eye out on the others, not ignoring the fact that they are there, and one is more snappish then even herself. Those heels can be an awful pain in the ass. "And about a month ago." There had been no moot, she would have attended it. But she had been to the Caern the moment she got into the city, paid her respects, and had been warned of the state of affairs.

"I've been running infrequently with Kora and Roman." Names given to verify the fact that she's not some menace, that she hasn't been idle either. Never mind that she has never met Katherine Bellemonte until now.

Erika gets an easier smile and a quick glance when she comes over to join her. It even makes Sarah feel a little better herself. Nobody likes to be the lone wolf standing.

[Sinclair] "That's great. Keep your fucking eyes off my ass," she snaps back, ignoring his hand. At least she's not biting it. And at least he's a Fang, tribe of her sister, and not just some random Gnawer. There are people -- Garou, obviously -- who assume that Walkers and Gnawers are friendly because they both live in the city. These people also assume that all Walkers are totally fine with metis-born, that they're all rich, and they have completely lost touch with everything in them that was once savage and uncivilized.

If all of that is actually true and typical, then Sinclair is, quite obviously, not one's typical Glass Walker. He introduces himself, and Katherine introduces him, and Sinclair just snarls. It's a weird sound from a human throat. Or would be.

Somehow from her it's not unnatural. It sounds so natural it's surreal.

She takes her pale eyes off of Ivan and moves over to where Kate is standing, looking Sarah up and down, glancing at Erika. She's surrounded by Fangs and their breeding and, quite frankly, their batshit insanity. Awesome. Peachy. Sssssssso great.

"Hey," she says to Erika, then looks at her hetero-non-Garoucest date for the evening. "Who's the newb?" she asks, presumably concerning Sarah.

[Ivan Press] So Ivan draws his hand back instead, tucking both palms into the pockets of his trousers, which are a pale gray close enough to white not to matter. His shirt, on the other hand, is an earthy olive-green, cut close to his lean form, shortsleeved.

"I must protest, Rhya," he says, lightly, not seeming to mind that Sinclair has turned away, "looking isn't the same as doing, wanting, or fucking. And while I'll certainly keep your preferences in mind, if you don't want to be looked at, don't dress to be seen."

Maybe he's suicidal. Maybe that's his breed of batshit insanity.

[Katherine Bellamonte] The Silver Fang gives a discreet glance from beneath her lashes at their surroundings and at, one assumes, the general placement of non-aware creatures to them. Most lingering attendees of the benefit have by this point drifted, most deliberately shying away from wandering too close to the little parcel of Rage settled around a bench here.

Then she raises her blue eyes and her fingers lift to idly twist in the knot of pearls that fall against the V of her dress. "It is typical for a new arrival in the city to find their Elder and alert them to their presence within so that should an occasion such as this," she gestures at Erika, Sinclair, Sarah herself. "Arise, or, woe upon us, the heat of battle -- careless mistakes regarding identity are not made.

I am your Elder, as you must now be aware. I am called Honor's Compass, Truth's Meridian, Fostern Half Moon Elder, Mistress of Challenges for the Sept of Maelstrom. I would, if you should oblige -- " her attention snaps to the Ragabash, her voice plummeting: "Manners, Cliath" -- warms as it returns, "have your own deedname and rank." This, one assumes, as much an answer to Sinclair's question as her own wondering.

Her head tilts, she splays a hand, charming, again.

"I must know all the comings and goings."

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] She watches, eyes darting from one to the other as Ivan jaunts and Sinclair wonders, followed by Katherine telling her who she is and the titles she holds. Her brows quirk dip briefly, a mild confusion displays, before sliding into the background again. Instead of questioning, she simply answers: "Smile Behind the Shadow Moon. Cliath ~rhya." There's more to it, there's always more to Silver Fangs introductions, but that wasn't what they were offering here. Questions and answers, instead.

Ironically, there's not much smiling going on.

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Then, suddenly: "I'm sorry, Honor's Compass ~rhya, I'm a little confused. Where I come from Elder titles are reserved for Elders. Could you explain why you're referred to as one?"

[Ivan Press] Katherine snaps at Ivan to mind his manners. He gives her a closelipped smile, bowing his head slightly in apology. Then:

"Because," comes Ivan's own droll crossfire, "she's the elder of our Tribe here."

[Katherine Bellamonte] "An Elder is simply the Alpha of a tribe, some call themselves Alpha, others prefer a more traditional title such as the one I use for my own positions, Smile Behind the Shadow Moon. It is," Katherine looks at Sinclair a beat, considering, then her eyes return to the newest of her relations in the city.

"Not precisely uncommon within our Sept, you will find, once you begin to attend our Moots, to discover most all Garou who hold positions of title and rank are referred to as elder."

A beat, Ivan chimes in. The Fostern remains silent, her hands clasping at the small of her back.

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] "Quite from the traditional title then. I would think its better to clarify, thanks for that. " Her gaze shifts from Katherine over to Ivan and back again. "Or else I would be wandering around calling Fosterns Elders, and that won't bode well for anyone involved, at all. Confusing, when our deeds are sung."

[Sinclair] She's about to put Ivan on the ground. It's so close. Poor Erika can feel the surge of aggravation trending and tipping towards a full-on burst of Rage from the gold-clad Walker, all in that man's direction when he snarks about what she's wearing. If it were Lukas here and not Kate, though, Sinclair would put him in his place.

Kate is here. And he is Kate's tribe, unpacked, which makes her his official but unbound Alpha. Kate shuts him up. Sinclair doesn't rip him open. Everyone walks out alive.

She looks at Katherine flatly in reaction to that considering look, a blank sort of whut. expression. She blinks slowly, looks at Sarah again. "You've also got an elder for your auspice. Edwin Morr, Leaves No Trace, Cliath Shadow Lord."

Her pale eyes narrow as she tips her head to the side, watching the No-Moon. "Which means you get to call this Fostern, and that Cliath, your Elder. Perish the fucking thought, huh? May we all live past Athro like in the blessed land you apparently come from."

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] "Or ~rhya." She shoots back to Sinclair, mildly.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "I clarify when I feel the need for it," is the instant return, a certain fire in the blue eyes. "As I introduce when introductions are proper, and expected."

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] "Of course." Her head inclines a little to Katherine as fire starts to burn in the other Fangs eyes.

[Sinclair] [BBS folks, need to call someone]

[Katherine Bellamonte] Now, Honor's Compass possessed no small amount of Rage for one of her auspice, let's be clear. On the nights of her own moon she could be absolutely terrifying when she chose to be. Presently, tonight, she is deliberate in attempting to stay her course and remain what, to outsiders, she must have appeared as.

A rather refined, elegant young woman out to a benefit with friends. Perhaps a sister, in the striking blond beside her, or a brother in the taunting, jibing man accompanying them.

The No Moon retorts at the Galliard, and then replies with seeming compliance to her elder. Katherine smiles, her white teeth flash in the light, peeling away from lips painted a vibrant cherry red. "Each to our own, I would not insist upon you calling another a title that you did not believe in, but be aware that in some cases it might lead to mistaken insult."

A fair brow rises.

"I have seen challenges fought for less, alas. But as we are at war, presently, such petty disputes are less frequent."

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Tilting her head a little, she nods her agreement with Katherine's words, right before she verbalizes much the same. "As have I. Although I see no reason to feel slight for being called ~rhya, but then, I'm not one myself. Maybe I'll feel the weight of difference when I reach suitable rank."

"When in doubt, ask, right?" Her hands come together, rub slightly. It pulls on the line of her shoulder and arm, causing a brief flare of pain that she bears well enough. "I hope I haven't offended you, Honor's Compass ~rhya. I seek only answers for traditions I'm not familiar with, and now that you have given them, I wonder is there anymore advice? I must change this gauze."

[Ivan Press] Ivan, in fact, was not quite snarking. Debating, perhaps. In fact, as Sinclair chooses to ignore him -- rather than replying or pounding him into the ground -- Ivan seems mildly disappointed.

"For the record," he says, "it was never my intent to insult you. It was a compliment. A cheeky one, I'll admit, but -- " a shrug finishes that sentence for him.

"It wasn't my intent to backtalk either. I was explaining my standpoint. If you see it differently, I'd appreciate it if you'd explain it to me. Or," wry, "you could just pound me into a bloody heap."

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Her mouth quirks a little when her eyes dart over to Ivan and his continued debate with Sinclair and Katherine. It amuses her that their words echo very similarly, purposefully done or otherwise. Unclasping her hands she uses her right hand, her good arm, to tuck hair behind her ear and await Katherine's advice or dismissal. Maybe both.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "What kind of Philodox would I be if I did not offer answers on tradition, oui?" She is still smiling in that slight, slanted manner that reads as much of her amusement as her continued surveillance of the newcomer. Sarah speaks of the rights of the No Moon, the questioners of the ways and the Half Moon's eyes flick; most sparingly, toward Ivan.

Back.

"It takes much to cause me offense, I do not undertake the roles I do without the obligation to be impartial, and in some sort of harmony with my nature. As for advice I can offer you a few points you may already have come to on your own, I do not know. If you are unpacked, it is imperative you find one at this time. Seek out my pack Alpha, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Fostern Shadow Lord Ahroun and leader of the War effort, he will be able to direct where your talents could be best used.

My own home, the Loft, is a safe house for our tribe, if you are in need, or simply require a place to sleep you are most welcome there. My maid, Lucille, is Kin to us and knows to attend all who call."

She grows silent, contemplative, perhaps, on what else she must disclose to the Ragabash. "If you have need of a healer, or simply seek another Garou, there is the Brotherhood of Thieves near our Caern that can likely aid you in your quest. That," a light shrug of a slender shoulder.

"is about all the advice I shall offer this night. You may go, and attend your wounds."

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] "I see why you are leader of the Tribe here ~rhya." Smiling slight, Sarah nods her head to the other Silver Fang woman, much taller and more regal then Sarah comes across in her almost demure height, and safari shorts. Still, she doesn't seem intimidated by the fact she's the only one under dressed or the smallest wolf in the park.

"I've been to the Brotherhood, but thanks for that, I'll seek out Wyrmbreaker. Where's the best place to find him?" Instead of just running off she asks of these things, as well as; "And the address to your Loft ~rhya?"

[Ivan Press] [don't wait for me - ivan's waiting on sinclair and kai is afk!]

[Katherine Bellamonte] "He has a room at the Brotherhood, you can find him in Room 2, if he is not there, you can probably locate him at my Loft." There's a touch of fond, if wry, amusement when she speaks of discovering her pack-mate under her own roof. Katherine unclips the small purse strung over a shoulder and removes a flat object -- it is, upon closer inspection a business card not unlike those that William had handed out before leaving --

This card, however, simply has Katherine's name and address printed on it, and on the reverse, a tiny map pointing out where precisely in Lakeview her home was to be found. "It is marked Umbrally as well, so if you wish you can identify it from the other side."

She moves closer, and holds the card out for Sarah.

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Stepping forward, she meets the other by closing distance and takes the card from Katherine with a quiet, "Thanks." Looking over it, like she had Wills, except longer, taking in the details of the small map, she had nodded once and glanced back up to Katherine. Over the course of the conversation her earlier snappishness has been disarmed or worn off, leaving her more calm and centered.

Since Erika is gone, it leaves her alone, again. Which is fine, since she's now leaving the three other Garou. "It was nice meet you Honor's Compass~rhya, and you, Ivan Press." Of whom is also of the Tribe. Sinclair only gets a small nod, of which she doesn't expect anything of the sort in return, maybe only a snap or sneer.

"I'm sure to see you around." With a fleeting smile she began to walk off, sliding the card into the same pocket that held the other, intent on leaving the park.

[Ivan Press] Ivan, who can perhaps be forgiven for being distracted, raises a hand in a casual goodbye as Sarah departs. Then his attention goes back to Sinclair.

[Sinclair] He's still talking. And being so infuriatingly polite and well-spoken about it. There's a reason why Falcon would never in his right mind take on a wolf like Sinclair. Not well-bred enough, for one. Not well-bred at all. And so direct. She looks at Ivan with irritation plain in her features.

"So you said," she retorts. "About the not meaning to be insulting part. And thing is, hot shot, I wasn't insulted. I was grossed out."

Sinclair looks at Ivan like pounding him into a bloody heap is still on the table, under consideration for the evening's wind-down from the benefit. "You're a Ragabash. Look if you want, but don't let me fucking catch you. Comment, and take the shit you get for it. And blame it on what I'm wearing and I'll take you out hunting the banes that haunt women and feed on their shame while they're throwing out and cutting up and burning their miniskirts and low-cut blouses that they wore when they 'asked' to get stared at. And catcalled. And raped."

Sinclair pauses. "But mostly, just: ew. You're gross."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Sarah and Erika both take their leave, and Katherine nods after them, smiling faintly at the No Moon. "You as well, I look forward to seeing more of you." Her eyes follow the Ragabash only briefly as she slips into the night before her attention swings over to Ivan and Sinclair.

This interplay she watches with apparent amusement slash exasperation.

[Sarah Madison Kerensky] [thanks for the play. :) ]
to Ivan Press, Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair

[Ivan Press] [night!]
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sarah Madison Kerensky, Sinclair

[Ivan Press] Ivan laughs under his breath when she clarifies: grossed out. When she goes on, he looks attentive. He is attentive.

Then she gets to the last bit. The part about the banes. And humor vanishes off the Ragabash's face; he shifts his weight until it's balanced more evenly between his feet.

"Okay, rhya," he says, "I apologize for grossing you out. That wasn't my intent either. But what you just said was unfair and insulting.

"I'm saying you dress like you want to look good. I'm saying you dress like you want to look hot. That's a pretty far cry from saying you dress a whore who deserves to be raped and abused. I see where you're coming from, and I see how you made the jump. But take me past any Theurge in the Sept and you won't find a trace of that sort of corruption on me. So don't compare me to that kind of filth."

[Sinclair] Sinclair, simply, waggles her finger at him in midair. "Look: I've been in four-inch heels for six hours. Your argument is invalid."

Her hand drops. "No, you said I dressed to be looked at. And that, 'Ivan Press'," as though this very name is a joke. "is unfair and insulting... and untrue." She frowns. "I also wasn't comparing you to banes and rapists. I was making a point, and one I think you missed. My ass looks hella good in a pair of jeans, too, but you wouldn't assume I wore those to get looked at and told I'm hot. The point is, Ivan Press," again with the pointed recitation of his human name, "what I'm wearing has nothing to do with the fact that you're super-mega-yellow-booger-gross."

[Ivan Press] But you wouldn't assume I wore those to get looked at, she says, and Ivan opens his mouth to say oh yes I would --

-- and narrowly thinks better of it. Something about four inch heels and six hours. He closes his mouth again, thinks a moment, and then, surprisingly, grins.

"I'll stop looking at your ass," he says.

[Sinclair] Four inch heels. Six hours. Fostern Galliard.

Ivan shuts his mouth, and narrowly avoids being fed one of Katherine's nicest pairs of shoes. She eyes him, though, eyes that grin. "I don't care what you look at," she mutters, throwing up her hands. "I just don't wanna catch you. Or hear about it. Or think about it. Ever again. I'm going to go bleach my fucking brain now."

She looks at Kate. "Let's go by the Brotherhood after we change. I wanna see if Christian's there and then!" Excitedly: "I want to go get covered in gore!"