Ivan Press

[Honor's Compass] The letter she had received had been so very formal, so, really, Silver Fang.

Its tone and careful wording carried the same weight and precision an expert swordsman did with his grip on the weapon mid-battle. Each swing and arc was deliberate, it had to be for the swordsman's own life might well have depended on it. While this was not a life or death situation, it did call for some delicate handling.

Protocol, a tribal nothing that, none the less, Honor's Compass was quite deliberate in keeping to. So, the Cliath receives his summons to come and speak with her at his leisure; it is not, her voice, all light and elegance ease had reassured the No Moon, an urgent matter but rather one I imagine you've been made aware of before even I, that of your new charge.

So, when he's let in by Katherine's dutiful maid Lucille, his coat taken and hung on a rack, directed down toward the vast openness of the Philodox's dining area, he finds his Elder reclining on one end of her sofa with a book open on her lap and a glass of red wine before her.

Music, soft, indistinct was playing in the background.

[Ivan] Has Ivan even been here before? He can't remember it if he has, and for all his flaws and foibles, he is, in fact, a rather good scout. Good memory. Sharp mind. So, no. He must not have been here before. His interactions with his elder have been minimal and glancing at best. There was that tribal dinner that one night, after which all manner of debauchery occurred. There are the intermittent moots. Other than that, their circles have been as separate and distinct as planetary orbits.

He arrives alone tonight. No entourage. Just Ivan, driving his newest toy -- a Lamborghini Reventon, one of a handful ever produced. He's casually dressed. He wears a blazer over his jeans, and his shirt is untucked, the collar undone. He is indeed aware of his charge; may have already helped her settle into her new apartment.

Still. Formalities; warnings; possibly even punishment. The Adren summons. The Cliath comes, hands clasped at his back, shown in by dutiful, stoic Lucille. Katherine is reading. She does not look so much older than he, Ivan reflects, but her age and power are in her eyes. He clicks his heel against the floor, formal, and executes a sharp little bow of the neck.

"Rhya."

[Honor's Compass] Yes, he must wonder why precisely she has summoned him before her for such a seemingly small house-keeping task, really. She says as much after -- "Resplendent Dusk," a smile, Katherine sets her book aside and gestures for the Ragabash to seat himself across from her.

A coaster for a drink has been set down in preparation and his Hostess turns as her maid approaches. "Lucille shall fix you whatever you'd care for, scotch, beer, wine?" This concluded, Katherine makes a silent study of her tribesmate; her pale eyes very hard to dictate mood from. She was, of course, rather good at keeping them chaste; afflicted by temper.

One supposed that was the talent of her auspice, to a degree.

Still, back to -- "You must wonder at my asking you here in person for such a small thing. The truth is, I as often as we indulge in our toys of modern technology, when it comes to matters of tribe, of Kinfolk, I prefer to look into another's eyes.

I received this letter from Foretells the Dawn-yuf," she in fact slides it from inside the sleeve of her book, unfolding it flat on her lap. One leg crossed neatly over the other; folded at ankle. The line of her slacks was utterly perfect, a soft cream color that was so totally Katherine.

"Informing me he has personally requested you to act as his mate's Guardian in Chicago during her last months of pregnancy. Obviously, I have no reason to deny the request of Foretells the Dawn but I also wished to, I suppose, remind you, Ivan that this responsibility means that your actions are now speaking for us both in regards to Ms Durante."

She does not call her Hilary, perhaps it seems out of place.

"Her mate speaks quite highly of her regard for your skills, and I have written back to him acquiescing this request. Do not consider this a demand of rank, or tribal alpha, but I would like to be informed of any major developments regarding Ms Durate's health, and whereabouts."

[Honor's Compass] [Bah, typos! Unafflicted, that should read. Also, *deletes extra 'I'*]

[Ivan] Ivan is too sly by half. Anyone can see that at a glance. A master liar, so good he can lie without speaking a word. A sneak and a cheat, all the dishonorable things Katherine's auspice abhors. Perhaps she, an Adren herself now, wonders how on earth he managed to convince anyone he was an appropriate guardian for any kin -- much less the noble, rageful adren that owns Hilary Durante.

He's been an Adren Galliard a very long time, Foretells the Dawn. Before that, they murmur, he was another sort of adren altogether. A Philodox. Who knows what madness drove him from one auspice to the other. Who knows what madness drove him to give the care of his lovely mate,

his faithless wife,

over to this supreme womanizer, this Crescent Moon bastard with his smile like a knife and his knives like death itself, unseen in the shadows.

There's a beat. Then, lightly, "I rather thought, Rhya, that Hilary Durante being appointed to my care relieved you of any responsibility regarding her actions or whereabouts or condition. It'll all be on my head now, as they say. And to be blunt, I know that you know about her and Christian. We both know Mrs. Durante is a scandal waiting to happen. When it happens, it'll ruin the reputation of everyone responsible for her.

"An opportunity to pass this burden off on another has magically materialized on your doorstep like christmas. You could hand this woman into my guardianship, at her own mate's insistence. You could wash your hands of it and keep your hands clean of whatever blowback Hilary Durante might cause. You, Rhya, would have perfectly plausible deniability on your own part.

"Yet you insist on remaining in the proverbial line of fire. Might I inquire as to why?"

[Honor's Compass] Katherine leans forward and recaptures her wine while Ivan considers what she's said and then responds. These two, who, by human standards cannot be very different in terms of age are wholly different sorts of beasts when it came to their Garou natures. One was too sly by half and the other was entirely too honorable for her own good.

Some might believe Honor's Compass something of a Martyr, the way she insisted on remaining entwined in all things, as the Cliath notes.

Perhaps she knows all about Hilary and her pack-mate, perhaps she even has heard whispers about the man before her and Ms Durate, too, leaning back with a wine glass pressed against her chest in a dangerous movement should it for some unGaialy reason slip from her grasp the Half Moon's mouth gives a little toward a smile.

At her ease, beyond her moon, the Philodox seems almost amused by what she hears.

"It does, you are quite right, Ivan. I could sit back and put my heels up and in fact I shall to a great degree leave all duties and cares and fumbles to your hands in regards to her that really is not even in question. But to pass her off, burden or no, troublesome or no, scandal or no, is to neglect my duty to my tribe.

It is, to be rather as blunt as yourself a moment ago, lazy.

I don't keep my fingers in every pie here out of some desire to be the whipping boy for every last mistake, but by agreeing to be your elder, by our own electing to keep me there, I am expected to know what's going on around me. I am no friend to your Ward, that's so. To be frank," Katherine's mouth cleaves deeper to her smile; her eyes take on a sheen of amusement.

"I do not like her overly much. But I do not believe in miracles of this sort, I'm afraid. Too often they turn to soot and misery in your hands. Should that happen, I want to be prepared. Consider me the Ace in your pocket, hm? I will not take blame if it belongs to yourself, but I will be ready should I have to be."

[Ivan] [you fell off AIM, btw!]

[Honor's Compass] [What the --, freaking AIM.]

[Ivan] Katherine would be a fool not to at least suspect there's something more between Hilary Durante and Ivan Press than a simple, unlikely friendship. For god's sake the man can't even bring himself to be attached for a pack for long, and now he's rather willingly shouldering the burden of a kin to ward? And then there was that line in Dion's letter; something about his wife mentioning Ivan is pleasant company, of low rage, yadda yadda, reasons to want him near.

That's not even touching on the curious little titters in the yacht clubs, the country clubs, the glittering social circles that the Bellamontes are every bit as much a part of as the Presses. And the Durantes. That Mrs. Durante's been seen playing tennis with this shockingly young man, this son, she says, of one of her husband's many business partners. That she may have even gone sailing with him a time or two,

overnight,

though of course they can't be certain of it. How exciting, though, if it were true. Some clandestine secret affair in their vaunted circles, the refined, lonely lady and the young firebrand, just like something out of an old novel.

This young firebrand is all subdued manners tonight, standing still while his elder sits at her leisure. There's nothing about him that's stiff or uncomfortable. He's balanced, not slouching, not leaning -- but perfectly at ease, as though gravity pulls on him less than an average mortal. He listens to her; smiles politely when she does, and then a little more genuinely, amusedly, when she confesses to not like Hilary Durante very much.

In the end, he only asks for a bit of clarification -- "Ready for what, Rhya?"

[Honor's Compass] He persists to stand, and Katherine does not force him to sit; or rise to match him. Some women, some Garou might view such as a challenge to their standing in things. How dare this Cliath stand while his Elder sits? Some would think it a very proper means to address yourself before your better -- like going before the King, you see.

Katherine's been in Ivan's place before.

Stood before powerful creatures very capable of destroying him if they so desired to, far more powerful than she would ever likely become no matter how long she lives. Maybe she thinks he's got the right idea of things, to remain on his feet; balanced; ready -- for what.

Katherine sips from her wine, it leaves a berry stain over her lips a moment as she ingests it; sets the stem of the glass down with a neat little clip of fine glass against coaster; leans back; clasping her fingers over one another on her knee.

"For anything, Resplendent Dusk. That is what I'm prepared for. I knew a head strong young Kinswoman once who lived in this city, who had the world at her feet and a literal Kingdom of men to choose from. Instead, she discovered my Shadow Lord pack-mate, she discovered a certain kind of treachery and, unfortunately, she discovered her own demise.

Penned me a rather lovely farewell note."

A beat; Katherine speaks slowly, quite deliberately.

"You've heard the stories about my younger sibling I don't doubt. She similarly could have had everything she desired within the tribe, but she decided, to begin things, on another of my pack-mates, a Fenrir that occasion." She briefly pauses, her eyebrow twitching. "One begins to think it occasions a written disclaimer for Kinfolk about my pack, doesn't it now."

It's humor, perhaps.

"I tell you these things so you understand me directly. I am ready for the worst case scenario, including, Gaia forbid, that you are killed and Ms Durante is suddenly left with an infant and a mate oceans away. That sort of what."

[Ivan] She speaks of the possibility of Ivan's sudden and unfortunate demise; she speaks of Hilary's infant in the same sentence. And there's that slow, sly smirk of his again, the same one that charmed the panties off many a young lass. He's not here to charm her, though. He's smiling because he can read between the lines, and they both know the equation there.

The possibility of illicit relations between Hilary and Ivan exists. The possibility that that child was conceived not between the kinswoman and her mate, but --

god, it's even possible that Christian fathered it. But at least Christian's hair is black. Ivan's is a dusky blond; Hilary's has enough red in it, sometimes, that it's wholly possible that their child wouldn't be darkhaired. No matter what happens, if the child is theirs, if the child is Ivan's, there's no way his skin would be as swarthy as Dion's.

And then Ivan might meet an sudden and mysterious death indeed, and Mrs. Durante left unexpectedly with an infant and no immediate guardian.

Two and two, four.

Neither of them say this aloud, though. Perhaps Honor's Compass doesn't wish to falsely accuse before she's had proof positive. Perhaps she's afraid of hearing proof positive when the Cliath responds. Plausible deniability. That's what keeps him silent on the subject of the baby's parentage, at least.

"I do believe," Ivan says instead, either amused or amazed, "you are actually, genuinely concerned about the welfare of your kinswoman. You're actually trying to protect her, even though you quite openly confess to disliking her, and possibly me as well. You are well-named, Honor's Compass-rhya.

"However, rest assured that I have little intention of getting killed in some... emotionally driven mishap." There it is again, skimming close to that truth neither of them have broached thus far. "There are already numerous contingency plans in place to prevent exactly that unfortunate event.

"If it makes you feel more at ease, I pledge to inform you at once if absolute disaster strikes, all plans fall through, and I need to leave the city. And in the event that I should actually meet a bloody demise -- or that this War simply catches up to me before my own lifestyle does -- my servants will be instructed to come to you at once with information regarding your former ward. They might," wryly, "at that point also beg you for sanctuary.

"Unless and until that comes to pass, Rhya, allow me to simply keep you informed in the same way I'll be keeping Mrs. Durante's mate informed. I will be sending him reports regarding her health and the health of the infant every 48 hours until she delivers. Thereafter, he'll receive reports every month. If you like, I'll forward you a copy of these communiques. Beyond that, please allow me to do my duty as her guardian. If I need your help, I will come to you. If not, you need not trouble yourself."

[Honor's Compass] Lila, Waking Dream, had named her aptly indeed at her Fostern re-birth. But it was not her only name, there too was a reason why she'd been named Truth's Meridian at her Rite of Passage. Katherine's quest for what was honest and what was honorable were the staples of her very nature, it was so.

She was not a creature so perfect, she says this, too, in a fashion after Ivan.

Rising to her feet; her fair hair tumbling around her shoulders in a fashionably arranged curtain of waves. Without shoes on, Katherine was still an impressive height for a woman. She was not a starving waif by any man's measure, her shape was decidedly that of a woman.

But time, and years being what she was had carved muscle too; this in her fluid movement upright. In the manner she held herself against his own balanced agility. "I am not as perfect as you might imagine," she disagrees lightly to the compliment on her namesake. "I do, though, try to keep my family safe and well taken care of, regardless of personal feelings one or the other of us may have.

I am pleased to hear you understand me, Resplendent Dusk. I feel quite sure you will take excellent care of Ms Durante."

A beat, she tilts her head.

"If you need to return to her presently, that is all I wished to discuss with you. Or else, you are welcome to stay on and share a drink with me."

[Ivan] Ivan's brow quirks for a moment, then settles. "I don't actually live with Mrs. Durante," he laughs. There isn't a whit of shame as he adds, "That would be thoroughly inappropriate. The woman's married, after all.

"Besides, I think she'd rather have these last days of pregnancy to herself. Maternal bonding time or something, before that fetus becomes an infant and gets caught up in the whirl of our tribe's politics.

"So: I'd be happy to join my elder for a drink. And by the way -- I'm sure you're aware of the hubbub near the Caern. Toxic waste dumps on our front lawn, all that? It was on the front page a day or two ago." Just a hint of smugness there like a cat in cream: a faint droop in the eyelids, nothing more. "At any rate, I have a proposal I wanted to put before you and other privileged parties. An excellent investment opportunity of sorts, which also has the happy side effect of preventing future mishaps like this Black Sun affair."

[Honor's Compass] "Mm," this is all Katherine notes of his not living with Hilary, of bonding with the fetus in her stomach soon to be pushed out in a very undignified manner, if you asked the Silver Fang Elder. Which, thankfully, nobody ever had. One imagined Katherine would insist on a sterilized bubble should she ever have to endure childbirth.

"Excellent, Lucille," the maid, almost a part of the fixtures she'd been so silent steps out of the shadowy nook she'd taken up station in. "Fix Ivan whatever he desires, some wine, perhaps?" This, to her Kinsman with a little gesture of open palm; raised brows before Katherine sinks gracefully back onto her leather sofa; folding her legs beneath her and adopting the large crystal glass she's been sipping from once more.

"Yes, I had heard tell about the Toxic Waste." She closes her eyes a moment, braces against a shiver up her spine. "Horrendous." Then, a head tilt, she invites him to sit. "Tell me about this proposal of yours."

At some point, the maid dims the lights elsewhere, and excuses herself while her Mistress talks ploys and politics with her tribesmate.