Glass Walkers != makeup
Jul. 21st, 2010 05:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently afternoon of Wed Jul 21 2010.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (69% full).
Edgewood House: Downstairs
Kerr is standing in the kitchen, beside a bucket of water and scowling at the floor. Kevin is sitting at the table with a can of Coke. There's a tension in the air, between the Fostern and cub. "Speech and Silence," she states. "And I get where you're going with it. But how d'you suppose I'll know when it's okay to -- Pah. Who cares. I said it, I have reason to think she's insane. Who cares?"
"You need to learn," Kevin says. "And it took me nearly five years to learn. Seriously. The amount of close calls I had because I couldn't keep my big yap shut... I'm trying to help you here, you know? As for Nikiya, I'm quite certain she doesn't give a hoot if anyone thinks she's nuts, I think that's the image she tries to put across to be frank, whether or not she actually is loopy. But yeah. Get into the habit, every time you are talking to another garou, especially one you don't know well, of double checking everything you say. No matter what they may say about Gaia and reincarnation and souls and shit, to all intents and purposes you do only have one life, and too many garou lose theirs in silly fights with their friends rather than fighting the enemy."
"Yeah, but..." Kerr stops herself, pressing her lips together again and even biting down on them. "Yeah, alright, Kevin-rhya," she says finally, quietly. "Last thing I need is any other reason for people to want to kill me."
Into this haven of good feelings and sunshine comes Shelby. She closes the back door and spends a moment brushing off her shoes before heading into the kitchen, where she stops. There's an ever-so-faint flaring of her nostrils for the other cub, but it's Kevin she focuses on, giving him a quick once-over. "Shelby Zaleski-Leveque," she announces pleasantly, "Ragabash cub of the Silver Fangs and called Doesn't Know When to Stop. Great-great-granddaughter of Adren Galliard Winter's Snow on Summer's Branches, Adren Philodox Silver Sword with Two Blades, and Adren Galliard Falcon's Cry Turns Tears to Blood."
Kevin touches his brow at Shelby's introduction; it's hard to tell if he's doing so sarcastically or from genuine politeness. "Kevin Lockwood, Knows-When-To-Speak-And-When-To-Keep-Silence, ragabash fostern of the Glass Walkers. How long have you been knocking around?" He seems glad of the interruption to his fraught conversation with Kerr.
Kevin Lockwood is now into his twenties, and physically, he blends in pretty well with those who would outwardly seem to be his peers - he's taller than many of them, leaner than most, and perhaps a little more mature-looking than the average. As ever his face contains a long chin, large nose, heavy eyebrows and brown eyes. He's resumed his previous style of long wavy hair combined with a clean shaven face.
His clothing seems to run pretty much entirely to black. Black jeans, a black t-shirt with the CND 'peace' symbol being struck by lightning, and a smart black windcheater jacket over the top of it. Also black, though rather less expected, is the studded leather dog-collar he sports around his neck.
He's a couple of inches over six feet tall now, much of it his long legs, as ever; sometimes, particularly when sitting down, he doesn't seem to know what to do with those legs, crossing them, tucking them under himself, swinging them sideways, or a dozen other uncomfortable-seeming positions.
Kerr lifts her head at the sound of Shelby's voice, turning a hard look on the other cub. "Speaking of knowing when to speak and when to shut up," she mutters. The Ahroun cub bends down and picks up the bucket she'd left on the floor, then turns with it toward an open window.
"It's very nice to meet you, Kevin-rhya," claims the Fang with a nod. She drifts over to his part of the kitchen and past, heading for the fridge. "Not quite four months now. I had my first change end of March." Though she opens the door she doesn't immediately dive within, instead sending a bright false smile at the other cub. "Always a pleasure, Kerr." Then she does bend to search within, bottles clanking as she moves things around. "Is the lemonade all gone?"
"There's Coke... unless I had the last can," Kevin suggests. He eyes Shelby and Kerr, not failing to note the chirpiness of one to the other, and the failure of the other to reciprocate.
"Didn't see any lemonade in there," Kerr states over her shoulder. The bucket is emptied, water dumped out the window and then bucket returned to the space under the sink. "There's no diet, though. So you might want to just have water."
Shelby mmns about the Coke and rummages some more, finally retreating empty-handed. "I'll just make some, then," she decides, opening first one cupboard, and then the next in her quest. With a poor-Kerr pout she faux-sympathizes, "And you wonder why nobody likes you," before continuing to the fostern, "A Glass Walker? Have you seen Jack Salem lately? Since he... came back?"
The girl standing before you is nearing her adult height. Just shy of five feet, three inches tall on an atheleticly built frame. She stands tall, head poised and shoulders back, in confidence of herself.
She has dark brown, nearly black hair, usually pulled back from her face. Steel blue eyes are set into that angular face that's just shy of being pretty. There's a slight curve to her nose that makes it appear a little on the large side but not out of place with the rest of her features. Still trapped in childhood, she's still sporting a boyish shape having not yet come into her adult form. Yet it's not difficult to see a femininity in that figure.
Now clad in new clothes, Kerr is now wearing a ringer tee, slate blue accented with navy. On cooler days she wears a black weatherproof jacket. Her pants are a dark gray, loose fitting cargo style. The simple ensemble is completed with a sturdy pair of suede hiking boots, gray in color and accented with black.
"Yes," Kevin says, in reply to the last question, choosing to ignore the previous remark. "But not enough. I don't know if he's avoiding me or... what... Do you know anything about what happened to him?"
"Actually I know why most people don't like me," Kerr replies with an offhanded shrug. "Still trying to figure out why no one likes you." She pauses to stand and look the Fang over. "I got it," she continues with a snap of her fingers. "It's because of that stick you've got jammed so far up it's pushing your nose into the air."
Glancing sidelong at the other Ragabash, Shelby shakes her head. "No. Just that he was gone a really long time. Or what was for him a really long time. I didn't want to press." Just as she discovers the sugar she sends a look over her shoulder at Kerr and sighs, patient. "You need more practice. I heard worse than that when I was eight."
"Ladies, ladies! You're both beautiful," Kevin says, smirking at the two girls in what is outwardly at least an attempt to cool down the situation.
Kerr seems on the point of saying something further before turning a glare on Kevin. There's definitely a sign of the moon talking to the Ahroun there. "Why don't you go and tell her how to keep opinions to herself," she states, pointing at Shelby. "Or is that only reserved for cubs like me who were fetched for Dancers?"
Shelby sends a look to Kevin as well, though hers at least looks penitent. "I'm sorry, Kevin-rhya." She finishes getting down the sugar and an empty pitcher before frowning at the lack of lemons - or, in fact, the lack of visible fruit basket. "Why do you think Salem-rhya might be avoiding you?" Ignoring Kerr? Why yes, yes she is.
"No," Kevin says, "it's reserved for those who make stupid remarks to people above them in rank. You cubs can play your own dominance games as far as I'm concerned." He turns to Shelby ostentatiously. "I don't know," he says, worry showing on his face. "Salem can be... odd. But we've mostly been friends... quite good ones sometimes... so..."
Kerr looks about to laugh. Or maybe throw something. "What about the whole introducing herself? For all she knew, you could have been some long lost uncle of someone in town. Someone outside the Nation." Kerr turns away and begins for the door. "But no. Oh no. That's okay, because it only might breach the veil. Opinions, they don't hurt anyone unless someone chooses to get pissy over it."
"I heard you call him Kevin-rhya," Shelby says placidly, "and he said 'Garou'." Mostly-placidly, anyway - there's an overtone of 'so there' which she either can't or doesn't bother to eliminate. "He's always been polite to me," she continues to the Walker and returns to the fridge, reluctantly pulling out the lemon juice. "Well, 'always'. I've only spoken with him a few times."
Kevin rolls his eyes skyward. "If you're trying to accuse me of breaching the Veil," he says to Kerr, "do please do it to my face and not to your friend here. Or else go the whole hog and go tell Avery. I'd love to see his face, though..."
From the living room there's silence, but if one should look they'd find Kerr staring at the door. She's breathing rather slowly, jaw set and posture stiff, unmoving save for the rise and fall of her shoulders.
Shelby shakes the lemon juice with gusto and enthusiasm before putting it down to find the measuring spoons. "Do you like your lemonade tart, or with extra sugar?" she asks Kevin, just as though Kerr weren't there. "Well, for that matter, are you going to drink it? If you aren't, I'll make it to please myself."
"Tart, for me. Kerr," Kevin calls through, "do come back here, come out of your sulk and be social. I really truly was only trying to help."
"Not sulking," Kerr replies quietly and far more evenly than earlier. "Just taking myself out before I do something stupid." She lets a pause linger before turning back for the kitchen.
The Fang consults with the directions on the back of the bottle, lips pursed in silent dismay. "Tart," she agrees absently, before looking - actually looking - at the other cub. Her, "Thank you," comes with all apparent sincerity.
"We are all on the same side here," Kevin says gently, dividing that reminder equally between both the cubs, not looking at one or the other.
Kerr leans against the doorway to the kitchen, looking toward neither at first. "Sorry, Kevin-rhya," she begins after a breath. "And Shelby, too." It's not added as an aside, but offered with as much sincerity as was given to Kevin. The Fostern is also offered submission, the Ahroun cub baring her throat to him.
"As you say, Kevin-rhya," Shelby agrees, the only outward sign of any lack of placidity a thinning of her lips. But she's also measuring lemon juice, so perhaps she's only concentrating. "This would be better with fresh lemons and agave syrup, but at least it's better than the powdered stuff."
Kevin waves a gracious hand at Kerr. "Consider it over," he says. "Now, let's have some of this lemonade. Damn, I wish you'd been around last week when it was hot and sticky in my apartment..."
Kerr nods and moves for the cupboard with the intention of getting some glasses down. She's careful to look at neither Fang nor Walker a mask of guarded reservation over her visage. The glasses are found quickly enough, and left on the counter beside Shelby's crafting of lemonade.
"It wasn't hot a week ago," Shelby claims with a wrinkle of her nose. "It barely feels like spring." She measures out an extra dollop of lemon juice and scants the sugar before setting the pitcher under the faucet. Kerr's efforts get a polite, "Thanks," as she returns all the 'ade fixings to their respective homes, and pulls out a tray of ice cubes.
"Well, all right, whenever it was hot. A week, two weeks. And if you tell me we had it lucky here compared to the east coast, I shall throw this lemonade at you," warns Kevin.
Still keeping to herself, yet helping all the same, Kerr finds a big wooden spoon in a drawer which she sticks into the pitcher. Then she takes a couple of steps back, placing herself once again at the doorway to the kitchen.
"Here? Ew, no," claims the Fang. "Wish I were back there. At least they have a proper summer. I've hardly been able to wear any of my cute clothes. It's all long sleeves, long pants." She frowns at the spoon - or maybe it's at the weather - but dumps the ice into the pitcher and refills the tray before bumping off the water.
"Compared to where I come from this is really hot summer weather," Kevin points out.
"Where are you from," Kerr asks, suddenly and as if wishing to avoid another back and forth tiff. "I came over from Montana, myself. It gets hot there, but not nearly so humid as here or the east coast."
Shelby says, "Virginia," just as if Kerr were asking her and not Kevin. "Sept of the Sunlit Waters, same as Zosia-rhya." She puts the newly-filled tray away and gives the counter a once-over before nodding to herself and crossing to finally stir the lemonade. "It's lovely there. Not that it isn't here, it's just... different."
Kevin seems pleased that Kerr has to ask. "England. Yeovil, Somerset. I'd have thought the accent gave that away."
Kerr shrugs slightly. "Wasn't sure. Europe's a big place and accents don't always mean that's where you're from." She nods to Shelby, though, politely. "I hear that Virginia's really nice, like in the fall. Lots of history, too, like England."
"Hardly like England," Shelby laughs, though it's friendly. "Sunlit Waters is only about 130 miles from Roanoke Island, though. --As the falcon flies, of course. I'm sure Kevin-rhya knows about far more English Septs...?"
"Nope, not a thing," Kevin says. "I firsted over here, and I've never been back." For a second he looks a little wistful. "We have rather more history than Virginia though," he adds, recovering somewhat.
"And Montana is just Montana," Kerr concludes, somewhat lamely. "Fishing, hunting, and farming is about all I know of it. No kings going crazy or queens killing people."
"At least the cows are sane?" the Fang tosses helpfully over her shoulder, and gives the lemonade a last stir. "Well," she continues to Kevin, trying to be helpful, "it isn't as though it's safe for even a Ragabash to get on an airplane. You could take a Moon Bridge though, couldn't you? --If you really wanted."
"Oh, I know, I know. My problem is," Kevin confides, "if I go back to England I won't want to come back."
"At the risk of sounding ignorant," Kerr says quietly, "what's a moonbridge?"
Pitcher out of the sink but Shelby doesn't pour yet, instead giving the stirring spoon a quick wash. "Oh? Why not?" She glances at Kerr again, then at Kevin. "I've never seen one, but as I understand them, they're paths through the Umbra. They can take you, well, anywhere. So I could walk from here to Sunlit Waters in a night, or a couple of days at the most."
"An Umbral hyperspace bypass," quips Kevin. "They can be unpredictable though."
"Umbra thing, got it." Kerr nods thoughtfully.
It's not until the spoon is washed, dried, and put away that Shelby pours out the newly-created lemonade, offering the first glass to Kevin. Only then does she collect the other two and hand one to Kerr. "Any of the Theurges should be able to tell you more. Or some of the Striders, maybe."
"Probably, yes," Kevin agrees. "Striders are regular whizzes at using those things. I'm not."
Kerr takes the glass with a quiet 'Thanks', only then glancing up at Shelby. "Only Theurge I know is Zosia-rhya. And... Yeah. Guess I could ask Tim-rhya though. If I see him again." She shrugs dismissively and again angles to change the subject. "How does the whole Garou thing work in the city?" The question is posed to Kevin, the Ahroun's gaze following.
Shelby says, "Meg-rhya's one, but I've only met her once. She was... prickly." She shrugs and leans back against the counter, only remembering then to put the pitcher in to cool. "The Get have one too. Um... I don't remember his name. Nor? --Norman."
"Norman, yeah, he's kind of weird... but most theurges are..." He sips the lemonade. "Hey! Nobbad. Right, garou in the city? Work the same as everywhere else. Except it's that little bit harder to fight the Wyrm while keeping the Veil up. But we manage somehow... mostly.
"What's mostly," Kerr asks with a nod to Shelby. "I've met Norman. Nice, but kind of creepy."
"You should see some of them at Sunlit Waters," Shelby claims with a roll of her eyes. "Zosia-rhya's practically normal, compared to them."
"Well, there was something about a year ago that turned a bit nasty..." Kevin recalls, before falling silent and frowning.
Kerr watches Kevin for a moment, looking like she wants to ask more. Instead she turns a questioning look to Shelby.
If Kerr isn't going to press, Shelby will. "Oh?" she encourages, looking expectantly attentive over the rim of her glass.
"Some cops died," Kevin says awkwardly. "It got pretty tight for a bit. FBI were sniffing everywhere."
"That would be bad," Kerr says quietly, looking at her drink. "Worse than just saying Werewolves are real and claiming to be one." Uncertain of how further to proceed, she takes a long drink from the glass of lemonade.
"Veil breach?" the Fang suggests delicately, glancing down into her glass and up again. "Is that what you mean by 'mostly'?" She glances to Kerr as well, lips twisting, but doesn't add to it.
"It was bad," Kevin finally admits, twisting the glass round and round in his hand. "We managed to just about patch it up in the end. It was touch and go."
Kerr lowers her glass and swirls the liquid inside gently. "So how do you keep from breaching the veil in the city?"
The Fang licks her lips but doesn't say anything, instead listening attentively to the Walker.
"Common sense mainly. Don't shift or use obvious gifts in front of anyone you're not prepared to kill," Kevin says, all humor gone from his voice.
Kerr nods and falls silent, peering at the lemonade in her glass. After a short time she looks toward Shelby and then Kevin, lifting a shoulder uncomfortably.
"I don't know why anyone would be involved in a Veil Breach to begin with," Shelby declares as that moment stretches on. "I hope something happened to the Litany breakers. Something appropriate."
"They got in trouble, yes. Pretty heavily," Kevin confirms. "But before you come down on them like a ton of bricks, you try keeping the Wyrm down in the city for a month or so. They didn't wake up one morning and say "Oh hey, let's make a veilbreach today!" They were faced with a split second decision, and got it wrong, and the consequences will follow them forever."
"Sorry for bringing it up," Kerr says, following Kevin's statement. "I was just... It wasn't something we've extensively covered yet. And people keep talking about it."
"That's why it's so important to follow the Litany," Shelby says, having more lemonade. "That's why we have it. Anyway," she goes on, turning to a lighter subject, "I haven't been into Saint Claire since I changed. I'm about to the point where I'd fight a Weaver Spider for the chance to get to a Sephora."
"Don't apologise. You need to know these things," says Kevin. Turning to Shelby he asks "What's a Sephora?"
Kerr looks up at Shelby, grinning slightly and not in a teasing way. "You shop there? I figured you were a classier sort. Not even sure if they have something like that in Saint Claire."
"Please," claims the Fang, though like Kerr, the edges of snark are blunted. "Of course I do. The Nordstrom counters are for old ladies. --It's a makeup store," she explains to Kevin, the poor boy. "They carry OPI, Urban Decay, Givenchy... that sort of thing."
Kevin chuckles. "In which case I shall forgive myself for not having heard of it. Please tell me it's not likely to be run by the Wyrm so I can keep on ignoring it."
Kerr looks at Kevin with a shrug and a grin. "Maybe more like Weaver, unless you're completely against make up." Her tone, despite earlier occurances, is lighter. Must be the lemonade. "It's like high end but not over the top, right?"
"You're a Glass Walker," Shelby points out brightly. "Aren't you all supposed to be gender-bending gothic rule-breakers? Eyeliner, nail polish, the works?" She taps one finger on the side of her glass, for all intents and purposes considering Kevin's skin tone or something, then nods as though she's made up her mind and turns back to Kerr. "What, Givenchy? Oh, a little. I prefer Too Faced or Urban Decay."
Kevin's jaw drops open and he STARES at Shelby. For a few seconds he's lost for words, astonished rather than angry. Then the anger starts to build up inside him. "And just what gave you THAT idea?" he growls, hands clenching into fists.
The sounds of someone coming up the front porch steps can be heard shortly before the door opens. Michael steps in and closes the door behind him. He makes a bee-line for the kitchen and is surprised to see a good group of people there. The Get cub is covered in sweat, his breathing heavy as he glances at everyone. "Hey Kerr-yuf, hey Shelby-yuf!" His eyes linger on Kevin a bit, non-threateningly, as he takes in the Glass Walker's features. "Afternoon! I'm Michael Joseph Schroeder. Also known as Grudge-Ender. Cub and story-moon of Fenrir!" He offers Kevin a warm, seemingly genuine smile.
Kerr looks about to agree with the Fang, grinning and nodding along with her words, even prepared to make suggestions though she doesn't wear make up herself. And it shows if one looks. But Kevin's mood change gives her pause and she steps, oddly enough, to place herself between the two Ragabash. "She's just playing with you, Kevin-rhya," the Ahroun cub says quickly. "Really, Shelby didn't mean anything insulting." She looks prepared to go further, maybe even offer her glass of lemonade to the Fostern, when Michael shows up. Not that she looks toward him or acknowledges him right away, but her words do still.
With a smile of her own Shelby's about to add something, at least until Kevin's anger ratchets. She gives him a startled doubletake and promptly tips her head up, displaying throat. "I'm sorry, Kevin-rhya, I didn't mean anything by it." Michael's entrance goes nearly unnoticed, save that her eyes flick his way.
"I should hope not," Kevin says. He tosses off his lemonade in one go, and rises to his feet, his bonhomie quite vanished. "Think I'm going to take a little walk out to the caern," he adds pointedly.
Michael glances between Kevin and the girls, a little confused. He moves out of the way to let Kevin depart. He shrugs his shoulders, before glances at the girls. "Any lemonade left?" He asks with a slight smile, not seeming to care about whatever just transpired.
There is a knock at the back door, more an announcement that someone is there rather than a request to be let in, as the doorknob turns and Avery comes into the house to look around. "Good afternoon," he says. "Kevin-rhya, Shelby, Michael, and Kerr."
Kerr turns slightly, a small shuffling of her feet to keep herself between the two Ragabash. "Thanks for the advice, Kevin-rhya," she offers nervously. "Hopefully I'll see you around again."
"Yes, Kevin-rhya," Shelby murmurs and relaxes, placing her back at the counter and wrapping both hands around her glass. "I-" But here's another body, and she darts a glance at the newcomer. "Good afternoon," she answers before placing her not-yet-empty glass in the sink, keeping her front toward the others. "Excuse me, please." With no more than that she makes for the back door, sidestepping along the counters as much as she can before slipping out to the back yard.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (69% full).
Edgewood House: Downstairs
Kerr is standing in the kitchen, beside a bucket of water and scowling at the floor. Kevin is sitting at the table with a can of Coke. There's a tension in the air, between the Fostern and cub. "Speech and Silence," she states. "And I get where you're going with it. But how d'you suppose I'll know when it's okay to -- Pah. Who cares. I said it, I have reason to think she's insane. Who cares?"
"You need to learn," Kevin says. "And it took me nearly five years to learn. Seriously. The amount of close calls I had because I couldn't keep my big yap shut... I'm trying to help you here, you know? As for Nikiya, I'm quite certain she doesn't give a hoot if anyone thinks she's nuts, I think that's the image she tries to put across to be frank, whether or not she actually is loopy. But yeah. Get into the habit, every time you are talking to another garou, especially one you don't know well, of double checking everything you say. No matter what they may say about Gaia and reincarnation and souls and shit, to all intents and purposes you do only have one life, and too many garou lose theirs in silly fights with their friends rather than fighting the enemy."
"Yeah, but..." Kerr stops herself, pressing her lips together again and even biting down on them. "Yeah, alright, Kevin-rhya," she says finally, quietly. "Last thing I need is any other reason for people to want to kill me."
Into this haven of good feelings and sunshine comes Shelby. She closes the back door and spends a moment brushing off her shoes before heading into the kitchen, where she stops. There's an ever-so-faint flaring of her nostrils for the other cub, but it's Kevin she focuses on, giving him a quick once-over. "Shelby Zaleski-Leveque," she announces pleasantly, "Ragabash cub of the Silver Fangs and called Doesn't Know When to Stop. Great-great-granddaughter of Adren Galliard Winter's Snow on Summer's Branches, Adren Philodox Silver Sword with Two Blades, and Adren Galliard Falcon's Cry Turns Tears to Blood."
Kevin touches his brow at Shelby's introduction; it's hard to tell if he's doing so sarcastically or from genuine politeness. "Kevin Lockwood, Knows-When-To-Speak-And-When-To-Keep-Silence, ragabash fostern of the Glass Walkers. How long have you been knocking around?" He seems glad of the interruption to his fraught conversation with Kerr.
Kevin Lockwood is now into his twenties, and physically, he blends in pretty well with those who would outwardly seem to be his peers - he's taller than many of them, leaner than most, and perhaps a little more mature-looking than the average. As ever his face contains a long chin, large nose, heavy eyebrows and brown eyes. He's resumed his previous style of long wavy hair combined with a clean shaven face.
His clothing seems to run pretty much entirely to black. Black jeans, a black t-shirt with the CND 'peace' symbol being struck by lightning, and a smart black windcheater jacket over the top of it. Also black, though rather less expected, is the studded leather dog-collar he sports around his neck.
He's a couple of inches over six feet tall now, much of it his long legs, as ever; sometimes, particularly when sitting down, he doesn't seem to know what to do with those legs, crossing them, tucking them under himself, swinging them sideways, or a dozen other uncomfortable-seeming positions.
Kerr lifts her head at the sound of Shelby's voice, turning a hard look on the other cub. "Speaking of knowing when to speak and when to shut up," she mutters. The Ahroun cub bends down and picks up the bucket she'd left on the floor, then turns with it toward an open window.
"It's very nice to meet you, Kevin-rhya," claims the Fang with a nod. She drifts over to his part of the kitchen and past, heading for the fridge. "Not quite four months now. I had my first change end of March." Though she opens the door she doesn't immediately dive within, instead sending a bright false smile at the other cub. "Always a pleasure, Kerr." Then she does bend to search within, bottles clanking as she moves things around. "Is the lemonade all gone?"
"There's Coke... unless I had the last can," Kevin suggests. He eyes Shelby and Kerr, not failing to note the chirpiness of one to the other, and the failure of the other to reciprocate.
"Didn't see any lemonade in there," Kerr states over her shoulder. The bucket is emptied, water dumped out the window and then bucket returned to the space under the sink. "There's no diet, though. So you might want to just have water."
Shelby mmns about the Coke and rummages some more, finally retreating empty-handed. "I'll just make some, then," she decides, opening first one cupboard, and then the next in her quest. With a poor-Kerr pout she faux-sympathizes, "And you wonder why nobody likes you," before continuing to the fostern, "A Glass Walker? Have you seen Jack Salem lately? Since he... came back?"
The girl standing before you is nearing her adult height. Just shy of five feet, three inches tall on an atheleticly built frame. She stands tall, head poised and shoulders back, in confidence of herself.
She has dark brown, nearly black hair, usually pulled back from her face. Steel blue eyes are set into that angular face that's just shy of being pretty. There's a slight curve to her nose that makes it appear a little on the large side but not out of place with the rest of her features. Still trapped in childhood, she's still sporting a boyish shape having not yet come into her adult form. Yet it's not difficult to see a femininity in that figure.
Now clad in new clothes, Kerr is now wearing a ringer tee, slate blue accented with navy. On cooler days she wears a black weatherproof jacket. Her pants are a dark gray, loose fitting cargo style. The simple ensemble is completed with a sturdy pair of suede hiking boots, gray in color and accented with black.
"Yes," Kevin says, in reply to the last question, choosing to ignore the previous remark. "But not enough. I don't know if he's avoiding me or... what... Do you know anything about what happened to him?"
"Actually I know why most people don't like me," Kerr replies with an offhanded shrug. "Still trying to figure out why no one likes you." She pauses to stand and look the Fang over. "I got it," she continues with a snap of her fingers. "It's because of that stick you've got jammed so far up it's pushing your nose into the air."
Glancing sidelong at the other Ragabash, Shelby shakes her head. "No. Just that he was gone a really long time. Or what was for him a really long time. I didn't want to press." Just as she discovers the sugar she sends a look over her shoulder at Kerr and sighs, patient. "You need more practice. I heard worse than that when I was eight."
"Ladies, ladies! You're both beautiful," Kevin says, smirking at the two girls in what is outwardly at least an attempt to cool down the situation.
Kerr seems on the point of saying something further before turning a glare on Kevin. There's definitely a sign of the moon talking to the Ahroun there. "Why don't you go and tell her how to keep opinions to herself," she states, pointing at Shelby. "Or is that only reserved for cubs like me who were fetched for Dancers?"
Shelby sends a look to Kevin as well, though hers at least looks penitent. "I'm sorry, Kevin-rhya." She finishes getting down the sugar and an empty pitcher before frowning at the lack of lemons - or, in fact, the lack of visible fruit basket. "Why do you think Salem-rhya might be avoiding you?" Ignoring Kerr? Why yes, yes she is.
"No," Kevin says, "it's reserved for those who make stupid remarks to people above them in rank. You cubs can play your own dominance games as far as I'm concerned." He turns to Shelby ostentatiously. "I don't know," he says, worry showing on his face. "Salem can be... odd. But we've mostly been friends... quite good ones sometimes... so..."
Kerr looks about to laugh. Or maybe throw something. "What about the whole introducing herself? For all she knew, you could have been some long lost uncle of someone in town. Someone outside the Nation." Kerr turns away and begins for the door. "But no. Oh no. That's okay, because it only might breach the veil. Opinions, they don't hurt anyone unless someone chooses to get pissy over it."
"I heard you call him Kevin-rhya," Shelby says placidly, "and he said 'Garou'." Mostly-placidly, anyway - there's an overtone of 'so there' which she either can't or doesn't bother to eliminate. "He's always been polite to me," she continues to the Walker and returns to the fridge, reluctantly pulling out the lemon juice. "Well, 'always'. I've only spoken with him a few times."
Kevin rolls his eyes skyward. "If you're trying to accuse me of breaching the Veil," he says to Kerr, "do please do it to my face and not to your friend here. Or else go the whole hog and go tell Avery. I'd love to see his face, though..."
From the living room there's silence, but if one should look they'd find Kerr staring at the door. She's breathing rather slowly, jaw set and posture stiff, unmoving save for the rise and fall of her shoulders.
Shelby shakes the lemon juice with gusto and enthusiasm before putting it down to find the measuring spoons. "Do you like your lemonade tart, or with extra sugar?" she asks Kevin, just as though Kerr weren't there. "Well, for that matter, are you going to drink it? If you aren't, I'll make it to please myself."
"Tart, for me. Kerr," Kevin calls through, "do come back here, come out of your sulk and be social. I really truly was only trying to help."
"Not sulking," Kerr replies quietly and far more evenly than earlier. "Just taking myself out before I do something stupid." She lets a pause linger before turning back for the kitchen.
The Fang consults with the directions on the back of the bottle, lips pursed in silent dismay. "Tart," she agrees absently, before looking - actually looking - at the other cub. Her, "Thank you," comes with all apparent sincerity.
"We are all on the same side here," Kevin says gently, dividing that reminder equally between both the cubs, not looking at one or the other.
Kerr leans against the doorway to the kitchen, looking toward neither at first. "Sorry, Kevin-rhya," she begins after a breath. "And Shelby, too." It's not added as an aside, but offered with as much sincerity as was given to Kevin. The Fostern is also offered submission, the Ahroun cub baring her throat to him.
"As you say, Kevin-rhya," Shelby agrees, the only outward sign of any lack of placidity a thinning of her lips. But she's also measuring lemon juice, so perhaps she's only concentrating. "This would be better with fresh lemons and agave syrup, but at least it's better than the powdered stuff."
Kevin waves a gracious hand at Kerr. "Consider it over," he says. "Now, let's have some of this lemonade. Damn, I wish you'd been around last week when it was hot and sticky in my apartment..."
Kerr nods and moves for the cupboard with the intention of getting some glasses down. She's careful to look at neither Fang nor Walker a mask of guarded reservation over her visage. The glasses are found quickly enough, and left on the counter beside Shelby's crafting of lemonade.
"It wasn't hot a week ago," Shelby claims with a wrinkle of her nose. "It barely feels like spring." She measures out an extra dollop of lemon juice and scants the sugar before setting the pitcher under the faucet. Kerr's efforts get a polite, "Thanks," as she returns all the 'ade fixings to their respective homes, and pulls out a tray of ice cubes.
"Well, all right, whenever it was hot. A week, two weeks. And if you tell me we had it lucky here compared to the east coast, I shall throw this lemonade at you," warns Kevin.
Still keeping to herself, yet helping all the same, Kerr finds a big wooden spoon in a drawer which she sticks into the pitcher. Then she takes a couple of steps back, placing herself once again at the doorway to the kitchen.
"Here? Ew, no," claims the Fang. "Wish I were back there. At least they have a proper summer. I've hardly been able to wear any of my cute clothes. It's all long sleeves, long pants." She frowns at the spoon - or maybe it's at the weather - but dumps the ice into the pitcher and refills the tray before bumping off the water.
"Compared to where I come from this is really hot summer weather," Kevin points out.
"Where are you from," Kerr asks, suddenly and as if wishing to avoid another back and forth tiff. "I came over from Montana, myself. It gets hot there, but not nearly so humid as here or the east coast."
Shelby says, "Virginia," just as if Kerr were asking her and not Kevin. "Sept of the Sunlit Waters, same as Zosia-rhya." She puts the newly-filled tray away and gives the counter a once-over before nodding to herself and crossing to finally stir the lemonade. "It's lovely there. Not that it isn't here, it's just... different."
Kevin seems pleased that Kerr has to ask. "England. Yeovil, Somerset. I'd have thought the accent gave that away."
Kerr shrugs slightly. "Wasn't sure. Europe's a big place and accents don't always mean that's where you're from." She nods to Shelby, though, politely. "I hear that Virginia's really nice, like in the fall. Lots of history, too, like England."
"Hardly like England," Shelby laughs, though it's friendly. "Sunlit Waters is only about 130 miles from Roanoke Island, though. --As the falcon flies, of course. I'm sure Kevin-rhya knows about far more English Septs...?"
"Nope, not a thing," Kevin says. "I firsted over here, and I've never been back." For a second he looks a little wistful. "We have rather more history than Virginia though," he adds, recovering somewhat.
"And Montana is just Montana," Kerr concludes, somewhat lamely. "Fishing, hunting, and farming is about all I know of it. No kings going crazy or queens killing people."
"At least the cows are sane?" the Fang tosses helpfully over her shoulder, and gives the lemonade a last stir. "Well," she continues to Kevin, trying to be helpful, "it isn't as though it's safe for even a Ragabash to get on an airplane. You could take a Moon Bridge though, couldn't you? --If you really wanted."
"Oh, I know, I know. My problem is," Kevin confides, "if I go back to England I won't want to come back."
"At the risk of sounding ignorant," Kerr says quietly, "what's a moonbridge?"
Pitcher out of the sink but Shelby doesn't pour yet, instead giving the stirring spoon a quick wash. "Oh? Why not?" She glances at Kerr again, then at Kevin. "I've never seen one, but as I understand them, they're paths through the Umbra. They can take you, well, anywhere. So I could walk from here to Sunlit Waters in a night, or a couple of days at the most."
"An Umbral hyperspace bypass," quips Kevin. "They can be unpredictable though."
"Umbra thing, got it." Kerr nods thoughtfully.
It's not until the spoon is washed, dried, and put away that Shelby pours out the newly-created lemonade, offering the first glass to Kevin. Only then does she collect the other two and hand one to Kerr. "Any of the Theurges should be able to tell you more. Or some of the Striders, maybe."
"Probably, yes," Kevin agrees. "Striders are regular whizzes at using those things. I'm not."
Kerr takes the glass with a quiet 'Thanks', only then glancing up at Shelby. "Only Theurge I know is Zosia-rhya. And... Yeah. Guess I could ask Tim-rhya though. If I see him again." She shrugs dismissively and again angles to change the subject. "How does the whole Garou thing work in the city?" The question is posed to Kevin, the Ahroun's gaze following.
Shelby says, "Meg-rhya's one, but I've only met her once. She was... prickly." She shrugs and leans back against the counter, only remembering then to put the pitcher in to cool. "The Get have one too. Um... I don't remember his name. Nor? --Norman."
"Norman, yeah, he's kind of weird... but most theurges are..." He sips the lemonade. "Hey! Nobbad. Right, garou in the city? Work the same as everywhere else. Except it's that little bit harder to fight the Wyrm while keeping the Veil up. But we manage somehow... mostly.
"What's mostly," Kerr asks with a nod to Shelby. "I've met Norman. Nice, but kind of creepy."
"You should see some of them at Sunlit Waters," Shelby claims with a roll of her eyes. "Zosia-rhya's practically normal, compared to them."
"Well, there was something about a year ago that turned a bit nasty..." Kevin recalls, before falling silent and frowning.
Kerr watches Kevin for a moment, looking like she wants to ask more. Instead she turns a questioning look to Shelby.
If Kerr isn't going to press, Shelby will. "Oh?" she encourages, looking expectantly attentive over the rim of her glass.
"Some cops died," Kevin says awkwardly. "It got pretty tight for a bit. FBI were sniffing everywhere."
"That would be bad," Kerr says quietly, looking at her drink. "Worse than just saying Werewolves are real and claiming to be one." Uncertain of how further to proceed, she takes a long drink from the glass of lemonade.
"Veil breach?" the Fang suggests delicately, glancing down into her glass and up again. "Is that what you mean by 'mostly'?" She glances to Kerr as well, lips twisting, but doesn't add to it.
"It was bad," Kevin finally admits, twisting the glass round and round in his hand. "We managed to just about patch it up in the end. It was touch and go."
Kerr lowers her glass and swirls the liquid inside gently. "So how do you keep from breaching the veil in the city?"
The Fang licks her lips but doesn't say anything, instead listening attentively to the Walker.
"Common sense mainly. Don't shift or use obvious gifts in front of anyone you're not prepared to kill," Kevin says, all humor gone from his voice.
Kerr nods and falls silent, peering at the lemonade in her glass. After a short time she looks toward Shelby and then Kevin, lifting a shoulder uncomfortably.
"I don't know why anyone would be involved in a Veil Breach to begin with," Shelby declares as that moment stretches on. "I hope something happened to the Litany breakers. Something appropriate."
"They got in trouble, yes. Pretty heavily," Kevin confirms. "But before you come down on them like a ton of bricks, you try keeping the Wyrm down in the city for a month or so. They didn't wake up one morning and say "Oh hey, let's make a veilbreach today!" They were faced with a split second decision, and got it wrong, and the consequences will follow them forever."
"Sorry for bringing it up," Kerr says, following Kevin's statement. "I was just... It wasn't something we've extensively covered yet. And people keep talking about it."
"That's why it's so important to follow the Litany," Shelby says, having more lemonade. "That's why we have it. Anyway," she goes on, turning to a lighter subject, "I haven't been into Saint Claire since I changed. I'm about to the point where I'd fight a Weaver Spider for the chance to get to a Sephora."
"Don't apologise. You need to know these things," says Kevin. Turning to Shelby he asks "What's a Sephora?"
Kerr looks up at Shelby, grinning slightly and not in a teasing way. "You shop there? I figured you were a classier sort. Not even sure if they have something like that in Saint Claire."
"Please," claims the Fang, though like Kerr, the edges of snark are blunted. "Of course I do. The Nordstrom counters are for old ladies. --It's a makeup store," she explains to Kevin, the poor boy. "They carry OPI, Urban Decay, Givenchy... that sort of thing."
Kevin chuckles. "In which case I shall forgive myself for not having heard of it. Please tell me it's not likely to be run by the Wyrm so I can keep on ignoring it."
Kerr looks at Kevin with a shrug and a grin. "Maybe more like Weaver, unless you're completely against make up." Her tone, despite earlier occurances, is lighter. Must be the lemonade. "It's like high end but not over the top, right?"
"You're a Glass Walker," Shelby points out brightly. "Aren't you all supposed to be gender-bending gothic rule-breakers? Eyeliner, nail polish, the works?" She taps one finger on the side of her glass, for all intents and purposes considering Kevin's skin tone or something, then nods as though she's made up her mind and turns back to Kerr. "What, Givenchy? Oh, a little. I prefer Too Faced or Urban Decay."
Kevin's jaw drops open and he STARES at Shelby. For a few seconds he's lost for words, astonished rather than angry. Then the anger starts to build up inside him. "And just what gave you THAT idea?" he growls, hands clenching into fists.
The sounds of someone coming up the front porch steps can be heard shortly before the door opens. Michael steps in and closes the door behind him. He makes a bee-line for the kitchen and is surprised to see a good group of people there. The Get cub is covered in sweat, his breathing heavy as he glances at everyone. "Hey Kerr-yuf, hey Shelby-yuf!" His eyes linger on Kevin a bit, non-threateningly, as he takes in the Glass Walker's features. "Afternoon! I'm Michael Joseph Schroeder. Also known as Grudge-Ender. Cub and story-moon of Fenrir!" He offers Kevin a warm, seemingly genuine smile.
Kerr looks about to agree with the Fang, grinning and nodding along with her words, even prepared to make suggestions though she doesn't wear make up herself. And it shows if one looks. But Kevin's mood change gives her pause and she steps, oddly enough, to place herself between the two Ragabash. "She's just playing with you, Kevin-rhya," the Ahroun cub says quickly. "Really, Shelby didn't mean anything insulting." She looks prepared to go further, maybe even offer her glass of lemonade to the Fostern, when Michael shows up. Not that she looks toward him or acknowledges him right away, but her words do still.
With a smile of her own Shelby's about to add something, at least until Kevin's anger ratchets. She gives him a startled doubletake and promptly tips her head up, displaying throat. "I'm sorry, Kevin-rhya, I didn't mean anything by it." Michael's entrance goes nearly unnoticed, save that her eyes flick his way.
"I should hope not," Kevin says. He tosses off his lemonade in one go, and rises to his feet, his bonhomie quite vanished. "Think I'm going to take a little walk out to the caern," he adds pointedly.
Michael glances between Kevin and the girls, a little confused. He moves out of the way to let Kevin depart. He shrugs his shoulders, before glances at the girls. "Any lemonade left?" He asks with a slight smile, not seeming to care about whatever just transpired.
There is a knock at the back door, more an announcement that someone is there rather than a request to be let in, as the doorknob turns and Avery comes into the house to look around. "Good afternoon," he says. "Kevin-rhya, Shelby, Michael, and Kerr."
Kerr turns slightly, a small shuffling of her feet to keep herself between the two Ragabash. "Thanks for the advice, Kevin-rhya," she offers nervously. "Hopefully I'll see you around again."
"Yes, Kevin-rhya," Shelby murmurs and relaxes, placing her back at the counter and wrapping both hands around her glass. "I-" But here's another body, and she darts a glance at the newcomer. "Good afternoon," she answers before placing her not-yet-empty glass in the sink, keeping her front toward the others. "Excuse me, please." With no more than that she makes for the back door, sidestepping along the counters as much as she can before slipping out to the back yard.