Ivan Press

[Cordelia] This was a conscious effort, and for some reason... it's getting easier.

Sure, it means they can't sit around and go underwear shopping or anything, but that's not anything important. Besides, shopping makes Cordelia want to scream and throw things. It usually results in that, or her sulking, or being told I don't know, you're kinda tiny. Or, if she goes into the Right Stores? I don't know, your hips are kind of big and these run small. Cordelia is the size around of a tooth pick and she still gets called a bit-too-thick for things.

Don't even get her started about going to a tailor's.

So, who really knows what they're doing on the mag mile if Cordelia isn't buying something. But, there they are. It's an exercise in tolerance, or determining whether or not she can stand being around him on bad days...then again, right now? A bad day doesn't feel so bad. Or was today a good day? Who could really tell. Attire was comfortable- she was wearing the one pair of jeans that were long enough for her and a tee shirt. Her purse was from last season; how dreadful.

[Christian del Piero] This time last month he was in a fugue...throwing himself at whatever moved because he was coping not very well at all with what he had done. Which led to his best friend dying. He's come to terms with this. He thinks. At least he doesn't still think Greg is alive. He can say "Yes Greg is dead" without his eyes going blank. That doesn't make it suck any less. It still hurts. But it's not going to kill him. Even if the only reason he didn't die that day was because some BSD left him there...he's still alive, and it's not his fault Greg isn't.

That's a hard truth for anyone to realise. Let alone someone who has never lost a friend to war before. But he's trying. And it's getting easier.

Cordelia's trying to get used to being around him even on his bad days. They don't have that much time together. You take his shirt off - or look at his throat - and you can see how many times he's almost died in the last year. It isn't about being a strong wolf. Or about being stubborn. It isn't even about having heavy Rage. Heavy Rage isn't a guarantee. He doesn't know why every time he's died he comes back. He could ask his packmates...or any of the sept's Theurges...and he'd probably get 5 different answers. So he doesn't ask. It's chilly tonight. Rainy. He's got a sweat shirt on. He doesn't like being touched when his Rage is this high. He's afraid he's going to lash out at whoever does it. Still...he looks over at Cordelia now. He's tense. Angry. But he makes the attempt. Christian reaches out and takes her hand.

[Cordelia] There is a difference between knowing and Knowing. She knows, on a level, that you shouldn't be around things that could potentially snap you in half. She also Knows that Christian wouldn't hurt her. Not intentionally. And she knows that the fact that they are both making the attempt to pretend that everything is Perfectly Normal between them is wishful thinking at best. But, they make their attempts anyway. Claw for semblance of balance because they are both well aware of how good it feels to be... well... not on the outside of something.

She looks over at him, and it's brief. She takes his hand, and doesn't pull away or seem like this is anything she doesn't want to do. Holding hands with him is nice, even if people look and wonder how long it'll take before that dorky blonde ends up on the news as a missing person. Why is it the nice girls always seem to go after the ones who are bad for them?

She stops by a window of some place that sold lingerie, and she looks idly at one of the mannequins. Looks down at herself, then back at the window.

"Si mi tetas era mas grande, me iba a caer encima," she informs him, "es verdad."

[Christian del Piero] He stops when she stops. Looks where she looks. Frowns when he realises she's comparing herself to an inanimate object. Christian's hand isn't sweaty. He's got rather thin fingers for an Ahroun...even if his hands are scarred and calloused. But he puts off a lot of heat when he's like this. It's like holding onto someone with a fever. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are kind of glassy. It's not like he finds her after battle...or before he's seen the moon. This is how he normally is. This is what he doesn't want her to see. He's stronger than he was 3 months ago. More confident and in control of himself. But he's still learning restraint. And all the restraint in the world can't stop him if he goes into a Thrall. It scares him witless to think about it. So he just focuses on what Cordelia says. It doesn't make him smile or laugh. He snorts.

"Me gustan tus tetas como son," he says. "E non me piacerà
se ti è caduto. No más grande."

[Cordelia] Her hand stays in his, swings a little back and forth. It's something idle, but it's also something she has a tendency to do when she isn't paying attention. Her hands are cold by comparison. Her hands are soft by comparison. Cordelia is, by and large, softer when compared to garou or other kin. It could be for a number of reasons, though the fact that blood sends her into a nervous fit instead of a violent rage is the biggest difference. There are kin here who have kicked Spirals to death. Cordelia can't even handle a nosebleed.

"Inez es tetona. Ella lo odia," so she talks about her sister instead of what bothers her.

A moment.

"You don't want me to change," she says, and she looks down and pushes her glasses up, "es refreshing."

[Christian del Piero] "Well...I mean, if you want to change I'm not gonna tell you not to." He lets her swing his hand. But he doesn't broaden the motion like he's done before. He doesn't caress her thumb. His hand is pretty tense in hers. It's not relaxed like it usually is. It's trying to clasp hers without crushing. Like he wants to hold her harder than he is and is forcing himself not to. "You know? I'll still love you if you get contacts and gain 300 pounds. I just think it's stupid to change for other people if you like how you are. It's not like having small boobs and wearing glasses is hurting anyone."

[Cordelia] [I'm gonna say iiiit]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Cordelia] [and I'm gonna pretend like it doesn't bother me, either! manip+sub+pb]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9 (Failure at target 7)

[Cordelia] "Good," she tells him, "I might gain three hundred pounds soon. American food does that."

She grins a little, and looks at him. She turns her head enough that she can tell where he is, can almost make eye contact if she would actually do it. He said he'll still love her even if things change, or if she decides to stay the same. It's not like her lack of chest or her poor vision or what will make him love her less.

"Voy a estar a ciegas por el momento tengo cuarenta," she says. Plays it off like it's something flippant and to be brushed off about glasses and thoughts and gaining three hundred pounds, "Usted no tendrá que preocuparse mucho acerca de mí conseguir contactos."

But it doesn't reach her eyes, but it doesn't reach her posture. No matter how flippant she is, the fact that her vision is terrible and hasn't stopped getting worse bothers her. She shrugs it off, or pretends to, and instead tries to redirect Christian by literally redirecting them down the street.

[Hilary Durante] [Two things!
1. Where are they and what time is it?
2. I've got about 1.5-2 hours, you guys mind if we go at a breakneck pace for that time? :D]

[Christian del Piero] (( 1. Outside a random store on the sidewalk. We didn't specify a time...I reckon late PM?
2. I don't mind at all! ))

[Cordelia] (sounds like a plan! I'll pick up the pace!))

[Hilary Durante] They're outside of some place that sells lingerie, and that place's door is the one that opens with a soft chime, letting Mrs. Durante exit. She's dressed as she's always dressed, which is to say:

weather appropriate, age appropriate, status appropriate

and lovely.

She smiles when she sees the two younger members of the tribe, a glittering thing. Nevermind that the last time Cordelia saw her she told Hilary to rot in hell, and nevermind that the last time she saw Christian, he was --

well. Some of the well bred don't kiss and tell.

"Why hello," she says, with pleasure, a few shopping bags held on her wrists.

[Christian del Piero] If you don't speak either language...Spanish and Italian sound the same. People can't tell the 2 youngsters standing in front of the store aren't on the same page. They seem to understand each other. Whatever Cordelia tells him strikes terror into Christian. It's worst in his eyes. But his hand tightens. 40 is inconceivable to him. He'll be dead, buried and forgotten by the time she's 40. All he can do is stare at her for a long time. He doesn't even blink. And then she's tugging him down the street. Christian balks a second. She can't see the muscles in his face twitch as he suppresses a snarl. After a second he starts after her.

"Cieco? Ma...aspetta...un oratore per spiriti potrebbe risolvere il problema...giusto? Non..."

And then there's Mrs Durante. Christian stares at her. He's changed since last month. A lot. There's a scar on his throat, for starters. Not a knife wound. Something bit him. His face is harder. His eyes look like a former POW's...not a boy her stepson's age. For a second he doesn't even seem to see her. Then he clears his throat. Comes back to Earth. Smiles. He doesn't let go of Cordelia's hand.

"Hi, Mrs Durante," he says. "How are you?"

[Cordelia] "Hilary," she says. She even smiles, like this is all some elaborate social game. Like this is what they're supposed to do... because it is what they're supposed to do. This is polite society, "I am so glad to see you."

Somewhere, someone taught Cordelia to play nice. Which, of course, she must have forgotten previously because the last time she saw Hilary, all age-appropriate and lovely, she told her to go rot in Hell. One of the first phrases she's learned in English, and oddly enough one of the few that come out absolutely naturally. She holds hands with Christian, she stands straight and unapologetically tall, and... strangely comfortable in a pair of jeans that actually fit.

Whatever she was about to say to Christian was completely lost because lovely Mrs. Durante was standing right there.

[Hilary Durante] What Christian did to Hilary -- and let's face it, he wasn't the one walking out the door with bruises, he was the one who had long strands of silky dark hair wrapped around his fingers from where he pulled them from her scalp; he wasn't the one with deep purple bite marks, he wasn't the one with the reddened skin from being slapped over and over again;

let's face it: what he did to her --

should be unforgivable. And the scars all over him should at very least be noticable, rather than visually checked over with a flick of her eyes and then dismissed as though inconsequential -- he is an Ahroun after all, darling -- but there it is. There she is, whole and hale and smiling at him as Cordelia says her name with an attempt at pleasantness that comes off twice as venomous as it would have if Cordelia had just gone with teenage sullenness.

She looks at their linked hands and laughs softly, looking back to the two of them. "Again with the horseshit, Cordelia. Stop trying so hard, it's unbecoming on a woman of your age," she says, looking at Christian while she talks to the blonde. As for him, though: "Well enough, thank you. And yourself?"

[Ivan Press] "Well, if it isn't a gathering of Chicago's finest."

Next door to the lingerie boutique is an entire store devoted to neckties. Long ones, short ones, skinny ones, wide ones, silk ties, knit ties, black ones, white ones, colorful ones, every shade in between. That's what Ivan is stepping out of, though he doesn't so much shop as he simply goes in with an entourage, points out the ones he likes, and leaves while his people deal with the bothersome details. Which means he's out on the sidewalk now, looking lean and just a touch mod: his slacks black, his shirt white, doing up one of his new ties as he approaches. It's skinny, and it matches his pants.

"Mrs. Durante," he smiles, "are you chaperoning Christian and Cordelia tonight?"

It's not a genuine question. It's banter, playful and light, and he doesn't expect an answer. Ivan has no idea that the last time Cordelia and Hilary met, there were invectives and curses and wholly insincere, wholly vicious smiles. He might know about Christian and Hilary. He probably knows about Christian and Cordelia: they're holding hands, for fuck's sake, and he's not blind. Whether or not any of this matters, of course, is another question altogether, because then he's pulling out his phone.

"You know, Cordelia," he adds, "I saw the most interesting thing on YouTube the other day."

[Christian del Piero] A few years ago he would have been satisfied with knowing that God would be the one judging him for what he did to Hilary. Of course...a few years ago he would have confessed right away too. Being absolved from a priest wouldn't make him less guilty. It would just mean he might not go to Hell after all. There's no Hell any more...and Gaia doesn't judge the Garou. The Half Moons do. He hasn't told any of them. That doesn't mean he's forgiven. That just means the only one who's punished Christian del Piero is Christian del Piero.

Who frowns when Hilary calls Cordelia up on horseshit. He looks between the 2 women. His Rage is at its usual terrifying level...but he's not rabid. His temper may as well be an exposed nerve though. He grinds his teeth and draws a loud breath. Meets her gaze. When Hilary returns his question Christian looks over at Cordelia. Takes his hand back. Puts them in his pockets.

"Same." And then here comes Ivan. Christian lets his breath out just as loud as he took it in. His eyes are on the Ragabash. Like he's watching a rabbit hopping across a field.

[Cordelia] [This is me brushing it off, lalalaaaaa. WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Hilary Durante] Despite Christian's Rage, the older kinswoman looks... unbothered. Unruffled. She has no more trouble meeting his eyes tonight, on a waxing gibbous moon, than she did on the night when he had almost not a drop of Rage heating his blood. Yes, she can see that he's holding hands with Cordelia. Yes, the entire sept has been aware for some time now that the two of them are sweet on each other, awww.

As they both know full well: Hilary could not care less. She glances down slightly when Christian puts his hands in his pockets, then lifts her eyes again. Ivan joins them and gets little more than a glance from the dark-eyed Bride of Galliard, or whatever one would call a monster like her.

She looks at Christian again. "After Mr. Press finishes showing off his toy, could I have a word with you in private?"

[Cordelia] Cordelia is a pillar of resolve. Instead of gloweringor looking at Hilary like she had previously, she just smiles ever-so-politely and... well... keeps with the horseshit. Christian lets go of her hand, puts it in his pocket and she looks at him. Ever the vapid little blonde, and purses her lips. Cocks her head to the side, looks concerned and might just say something, except-

You know, Cordelia, Ivan says, I saw the most interesting thing on YouTube the other day.

She looks at him, and blinks large and owlish eyes behind her glasses. He's pulling his phone out and she takes a few steps to investigate, "oh god what is it?"

She's somehow expecting Two Girls, One Cup. It's clear because she's making the for the love of god, don't show me Two Girls, one cup face. She's bracing for impact. Cordelia, loops her thumbs through her belt loops and looks as though she just ate an entire lime waiting to watch a train wreck.

[Ivan Press] The way Christian eyes him doesn't seem to faze Ivan; but then, a ragabash learns to ignore such looks of doom from the ahroun contingent. Cordelia's oh god what is it makes him look up from his phone with one eyebrow cocked though, lips faintly quirked. He almost feels bad for her for a second. He almost puts his phone away, or perhaps skates it on over to some harmless little viral vid of sneezing baby pandas or, god forbid, 2g1c.

Almost. Doesn't. Wouldn't be him if he did.

When he turns his phone around, Ivan holds it so that Christian easily has a view of the small screen. Hilary too, if she cares to see. And long, low-quality, live-recorded music starts to blare from the smartphone's tiny speakers -- along with hoots and hollers and whoops and shouts -- as onscreen, a very lithe, very tall, very undressed blonde grinds and bumps and whirls round and round a metal pole on-screen.

It's very clearly a strip joint. It's also very clearly Ms. Cordelia Sarafin-Diego.

"Three hundred thousand views," Ivan observes. "Not quite internet meme, but still pretty impressive. Don't you think, Christian?"

[Christian del Piero] If Christian's figured out why Hilary is sniping at Cordelia he keeps it to himself. After how he almost gave them away at the Signature Room last month Hilary probably thinks Christian is either an idiot or couldn't lie if you paid him to. Or both. He's awkward and seems rather socially inept. Can't sit still half the time. Hates wearing ties. Sucks at small talk. He has table manners and knows how to hold doors open and stuff like that though. Someone somewhere taught him how to pretend to be a civilised human even if he can't quite do it.

He had to teach himself everything else. How to survive when you don't have anywhere warm to sleep. How to fight someone bigger than you. How to tell when some place isn't safe. Stuff like that. He either learned to lie to be human or to survive. But he learned. It's just very hard to lie when everything pisses you off.

To Hilary, he says "Sure." Like nothing's wrong. Then Ivan's showing off his phone. The Ahroun squints. He's still breathing heavy. The muscles in his jaws are tense. It doesn't get any better when he sees the video. Ivan's probably waiting for the Ahroun to fly off the handle and attack him. That almost happens. Christian takes a growling breath as he quite literally forces himself to stay in place. Rage flashes in his eyes. He doesn't look human for a few seconds. His nostrils flare.

"I think you're a fucking idiot," he says. Then he starts off down the street. He slams Ivan with his shoulder as he passes him. Not as hard as he can...but it's not a friendly bump of comraderie either.

[Hilary Durante] She does watch the video. Peripherally, really. She raises an eyebrow, but... that's about it. She inspects her cuticles. The video closes and Ivan finishes his presentation and Christian tenses. Then walks away with an insult tossed at the Ragabash, bumping into him. Again she raises an eyebrow, but then turns her head to follow the younger man with her eyes.

"That word, Christian," she says, a touch more firmly. "It is rather important."

[Cordelia] That word is rather important, and her attention is divided. She's not dumb, not by any means. She knows there's something going on, and can't be entirely certain of the motives or what-have-you. She clenches her jaw, doesn't play it sullen Christian tenses, and Cordelia-

Well, she just watches him. Half of what Ivan says goes through one ear and out the other. He walks down the street, Hilary wants to have her word, and Cordelia isn't chasing after him. Isn't stopping him.

"Three-hundred thousand views," she says, repeats, tries to play if off like she doesn't... really... okay, Cordelia can't hide it, she really is impressed, "wow... I am never drinking again."

Plays it off like it's no big deal, because... well... she rolls with the punches because Cordelia Sarafin-Diego is either shameless or fearless or callous or stupid. Her brows knit together and she watches Christian head on his way. She shoves her hands in her pockets.

[Christian del Piero] (( Did the chat stop refreshing? ))

[Hilary Durante] [I was waiting on a post from you! *LOL*]

[Christian del Piero] (( LOL I was waiting for Damon! ))

[Ivan Press] [no, my ass dropped the ball *LOL*]

Jostled, Ivan neither sidesteps out of the way as he almost assuredly could, nor -- god forbid -- attempts to shove the Ahroun in response. No, the lean Ragabash just laughs. And turns his head to watch Christian go. And turns back.

He quirks an eyebrow at Cordelia's response. The video comes to its end -- there's this much, at least: Christian doesn't have to see Cordelia step off stage to accept another shot of vodka from Mr. Ivan Press -- and he puts his phone away. "There are a few reposts too, but that's the one with the most hits. If you want it taken down before mommy-dearest sees, I can probably get my lawyer on it. RIAA it off on grounds of copyrighted soundtracks or whatever.

"But," the other eyebrow goes up too, and he pins Cordelia with a meaningful look, "if your nice young man there just wants to hold your hand gently and storms off when he sees you orbiting a pole in your bra, maybe you ought to realign his notions of who you are."

[Ivan Press] [also, i think we should just wait on whoever's most relevant to our char at the moment! *LOL*]

[Christian del Piero] (( Didn't want to assume Ivan was cool with being checked by Christian. My bad! ))

He'd rather go beat the crap out of a brick wall than do the same thing to another Gaian. All beating a brick wall will do is drain his Rage and break his hand. He might kill Ivan - or one of the women - if he stays here. But Hilary doesn't just let him go. She says his name. Christian stops walking before he can plow into someone else. Drops his head for a second. He rubs his face with his hand. When he turns around he looks one part desperate and another part furious. He's breathing harder now. The humans are trying to stay away from him. There's a rather large space between him and the nearest living thing.

"What?" Like he didn't hear her. He probably didn't. "Look. You wanna talk? I need a minute or I'm gonna..." He bristles. Shuts his eyes a second. When he opens them again he turns around again. Looks for an alley or a parking lot or something. Nobody gets in his way this time.

[Hilary Durante] Now, a sane woman would be frightened of Christian tonight. But Hilary's not a sane woman. She's a Silver Fang.

She waits for Christian to stop, because she's sure as hell not going to chase him down. And she doesn't seem like she's inclined to give him a minute-or-he's-gonna. Her eyes roll as she exhales. "Oh for the love of god," she mutters, and shifts her bags around, walking after the young Italian til they're out of the general range of Cordelia and Ivan's earshot. He goes into an alley.

And Hilary follows.

[Cordelia] He offers to have his lawyer get on it. She waves a hand, a little flip of her wrist and she shoos it away like a fly or some equally unpleasant thing. The only protest its met with is a casual, "eh!"

The ragabash continues, though, and for her part she listens well. She rolls her shoulders back and shrugs. There are things to talk about, and that much is for sure. He pins her with a look, and she looks right back.

"We need to talk about a lot of things," she says, "and we will. Just... not right now. We'll talk when he's done talking with Hilary. It's important."

Oh, such adoration she has for Hilary.

[Christian del Piero] Something metal gets thrown - hard - once Christian is out of sight. A cat screeches. That same metal thing gets kicked a second later. Hilary's right behind him. Christian whips around to face her. He's not out of breath from exertion. He's out of breath because he's about 2 seconds away from going absolutely mental. He looks like he's half way there already. "Are you insane?" he asks. If he's aware of how dangerous he is why isn't she?

[Ivan Press] Ivan's eyebrows keep going up. They come down for a moment as she 'eh's and he smirks, and then they fly back up again.

"He thinks you're sweetness and light," he says, bluntly.

[Cordelia] "And sometimes," she says, "I am."

[Ivan Press] "And when you're not, he storms off and -- "

CRASH! Clatter clatter. Meow!

" -- trashes an alleyway. You don't find that a problem?"

[Cordelia] Crash! That's the sound of an alleyway seeing better days. She jumps first, then straightens again because she places where it came from and, probably, the source of said alleyway commotion. She is fine. Cordelia sighs, looking at her shoes and finding something interesting there for a minute. Ivan regains her attention shortly thereafter.

"I didn't say that, either... That can't be all of it," she speculates.

[Hilary Durante] It takes a minute or so -- seems like it -- for Hilary to say whatever she has to say to Christian in the alleyway after he throws things around and then asks her if she's insane. Perhaps thirty, forty seconds later she's walking back out of the alleyway. Her pace is brisk, but no more speedy than the one she used to follow him there in the first place.

She gives a wave to Cordelia and Ivan, or one of them, or to the idea of social pleasantries.
to Ivan Press

[Hilary Durante] [>_
to Ivan Press

[Hilary Durante] Mrs. Durante doesn't mince her words once she follows Christian into the alley where he seems to want to escape to vent his -- whatever it is, whatever emotion it is that spurred on his Rage when he saw his crush grinding against a stripper pole like she intended to wreck its world. Three hundred thousand views of her doing a damn good -- damn graceful -- job of dancing up there, for a girl who titters that she shouldn't drink that much ever again.

Perhaps fortunately for everyone involved, Hilary doesn't really have much to say about that video. It isn't what's on her mind and it isn't why she wanted to talk to him when she ran into him on the sidewalk.

Christian throws metal around. Hilary sees it all, because she did, in fact, follow him. She doesn't run screaming. She doesn't even flinch. And as he whips around, facing her, all but snapping in her face, she rolls her eyes and exhales, shaking her head slightly. She should be breaking into a cold sweat, and yet:

this. A flat stare, a little patient, as though she's dealing with a child throwing a tantrum. Which, in a way, she is.

She stands between him and the mouth of the alleyway, either too stupid to know better than to intimate blocking his exit or too sure of herself to be wary of him, and she crosses her arms loosely over her silk-clad chest. Pearls, tonight. She rarely wears pearls. They tie around her neck with a gauzy ribbon. It's ever so fashionable.

Her eyes are black as a shark's, if Christian ever takes the moment to look at them.

"Given the look you have about you," she says smoothly, the words almost a purr, "I imagine you fancy yourself having nothing to lose, or your life isn't worth much, or boo hoo, sob sob, whatever it is you tell yourself. Frankly, Christian, I don't give a damn what you tell yourself, but that little duckling of yours back there called me not so long after you took me to that hotel. Would you like to know what was on her mind?"

She doesn't wait for an answer. That's not surprising. What's surprising is the way she's talking to an Ahroun of the tribe, as though his Rage is some fleeting thing, easily dismissed with a wave of her hand or a shrug. What's surprising is just how deep her anger is, seething and coiling and hissing like a pit of snakes prodded with a stick.

"Discretion means keeping your mouth shut," snaps Hilary. "I have a husband. I have stepchildren. I'm going to have a child. And with the way you ran so quickly to unburn yourself to that little girl out there, a girl who clearly has no more understanding of discretion than you do, I can only surmise that you feel nothing about the casual destruction of an entire family. You may not hold your own life or status in very high regard, Christian, and if you want to martyr yourself out of guilt for how you behaved with me, fine. But now I have a pathetically sloppy manipulator who's decided to name me her nemesis because the boy who likes her fucked me."

Where the moonlight touches Hilary, her skin looks like ivory. Her eyes look like black pearls, like doll's eyes, lifeless and cold. "Kindly explain to her that she is to drop her little vendetta if she cares at all for you. Then..." she waves a hand. "Get over it. Whatever internal angst you have over that night, deal with it in whatever way you see fit, but no more ill-considered confessions. You fucked me, you hurt me, and then you betrayed what little trust I tried to put in you that you would at least keep it quiet. Do what you can to rectify the situation, would you?"

Hilary tips her head to the side, like a nod. "That's all I had to say."

She turns on her heel, another thing she shouldn't do, putting her back to the rage-fueled Garou she followed, but she pauses, glancing back at him. "It may behoove you to know that the girl in whom you put the trust of your future as well as the entirety of my life's stability is a self-confessed social parasite. She is whatever she believes those around her want her to be because she -- as she said, at least -- thinks she has no one else. She isn't nice to you because she likes you, Christian. She's nice to you because 'you're all she has'." Her disdain for this mindset is, not surprisingly, more than obvious.

One slim shoulder shrugs upward, then drops. "Love her for what she is. Fuck her. Mate with her. Do what you like. But bear it mind, Christian: she's probably not any more trustworthy than you are."
to Ivan Press

[Ivan Press] It's quiet in the alleyway now. No more crashing, no more yowling. No human screams, either.

Compared to the beast of rage that vanished into that alley, Ivan is a still pond of calm. An oasis of cool. His rage is almost negligible. He looks dapper and lean and smooth, his tie so perfectly and stylishly knotted without a mirror, by hand, himself; his hands in his pockets, startlingly broad shoulders relaxed. He tilts his head at what she says. Language barrier or simple inclarity renders her last line incomprehensible to him.

"What can't be all of it?" he asks.

[Hilary Durante] It takes a minute or so -- seems like it -- for Hilary to say whatever she has to say to Christian in the alleyway after he throws things around and then asks her if she's insane. Perhaps thirty, forty seconds after that minute she's walking back out of the alleyway. Her pace is brisk, but no more speedy than the one she used to follow him there in the first place.

She gives a wave to Cordelia and Ivan, or one of them, or to the idea of social pleasantries. But she's on her way, then, back in the direction of the garage where she parked this evening. As she told Christian: she has a teenager to get back to.

[Hilary Durante] [Thank you for the RP, guys! I really gotta go to sleep now! *blows kisses!*]

[Ivan Press] [night! :D]

[Cordelia] (*blows keesus* toodles lovely! Thanks for stopping by, do it more often!)

[Cordelia] All things considered, Cordelia is probably more likely to scream and throw things than Ivan. He doesn't seem the throw-things-in-anger type. He's just... calm. He's got enough rage to be tolerable, enough to be appealing with that inherent bit of bad boy. Any more and he's be crazy. Any more and he wouldn't have half of the lifestyle he has now.

"One you tube video can not be the cause of... that," she gestures back to the alleyway and the sound of whatever happened. Even though her English is getting there, a lot of her eloquence is lost entirely when speaking English.

[Christian del Piero] (( Oi, I've got to go see about dinner. If you guys are still here in an hour I'll be back. If not, thanks for the scene! ))

[Ivan Press] There go those eyebrows again, flicking up his brow. They're a darker gold than his hair. Autumn's coming, the sun departing the northern hemisphere once more -- without it, Ivan will lose some of his golden tan, some of the sunbleached gold in his hair. His eyebrows will be very nearly dark, come midwinter.

"Oh, I see," he says, and his tone is too exaggerated to be genuine. "That temper tantrum can't be your fault. It must not be the fact that Christian's love-dove was humping a pole in front of a roomful of salivating strangers. It must be that evil, evil witch Hilary Durante's fault. Makes perfect sense."

[Cordelia] [words can't express the love. Lying!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Ivan Press] (ORLY)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Ivan Press] (...yarly)

[Cordelia] "I didn't say that either, Ivan."

She stops, realizes that she did say something very similar to that.

"I mean... that one video can not be the only reason for that reaction. I take some responsibility, but I'm not ashamed either. Hilary didn't do anything wrong. I didn't do anything wrong, either. What he is upset about is his problem."

She places her hands on her hips, and sighs. She's blonde today. She'll be blonde tomorrow... she's dressed casually, and a teeshirt and jeans isn't an entirely unfortunate choice in attire. If Ivan didn't know any better, and he doesn't, she seems to believe everything that she just said like it's absolute truth.

[Ivan Press] Ivan doesn't look altogether convinced. He's an excellent liar himself. In fact, he's world-class. If it weren't for Cordelia's ... distracting purity of blood, she wouldn't hold a candle to him. And a liar knows a liar, and something about what she says doesn't quite make the cut.

"Hm," he says. And then he lets it go; bored now, perhaps, of talking about Christian. "Oh well. All I'm saying is, you should make sure Christian knows who you really are. Otherwise if he falls in love with Pamela Isley and you turn into Poison Ivy, that could cause relationship troubles. The fatal sort, given buddy boy's hair trigger. Either that or you'll be stuck living life as your geeky alter ego.

"I haven't had a chance to talk to Katherine about your liaison plans yet," he adds. "But hey, there's a new club opening in Montreal this weekend. You want to go, or are you monogamous and boring now?"

[Cordelia] Lies or not, the ragabash makes his point. He makes a damn fine point, as a matter of fact. She nods, and actually watches him like she's listening. She takes her hands off of her hips and pushes her hair back over one of her ears. Her hair does whatever it wants, but she makes an effort to show it who is boss.

"Es okay," she says, "haven't seen Katherine either. We'll talk, though."

He does, however, mention a club in Montreal, and there isn't a bit of hesitation. She perks up, grins ear-to-ear and tips her head back, "of course I want to go. I might even wear contacts. Taking your papi's jet or.. what's the plan?"

[Ivan Press] "See," Ivan smirks, "what did I say: Poison Ivy. Yeah, we'll take Dad Airlines. I'll pick you up, say, 8pm on Saturday?"

[Cordelia] "Great," she tells him, "I'll be ready. You know where to find me."

Like six foot tall blondes were that hard to find.

"I'll be sure to not wear heels."

[Ivan Press] "Wear heels if you want," Ivan replies. "I'm secure in my height and masculinity. And they make your ass look great."

On that note, Ivan flicks her a wink and starts heading out. A parting shot over his shoulder, "Until then, try not to get killed by Ragey McRagerson there, hm?"

[Cordelia] "Byeeeee Ivaaaaaaaan," she draws his name out and just grins. It's a good enough goodbye, she brushes off the comments about her ass, because it's just a fact of life. The sky is blue. The grass is green. Cordelia's ass looks great when she's wearing heels, "I'll be fiiiiine."

She waves, and goes on her way. Christian's already left. Hilary's made her exit, and now? Cordelia's headed to her place. Which one is debatable, but is ultimately unimportant.