The monkey in the middle. [Kimber-Frank]

[Kimber Kovac] MOndays sucked on an epic scale usually. Way too many packages to ride around and too many other cranky people who partied too hard and didn't sleep enough. At least she'd gotten some sleep last night after Xeno'd left. It'd only been partly fueled by the beers she'd drunk.

But after JamPony called it quits for the day she'd deposited herself on a barstool at the Brotherhood and begun working her way through a few beers and a lot of peanuts. Her backpack was on the floor beside her, with her helmet, and she'd unzipped her jacket letting it gape open showing the crimson tank and very well broken in white tee she had on beneath. Blue jeans and free hair and attitude. yes she wore her confident attitude and coy smile like badges, like a second skin. Her back was to the bar and she was, again, enjoying watching a few people play darts.... badly.

[Linnea Bartlett] Another unseasonably warm winter night in the city of brotherly love: too warm for a winter coat, but not quite warm enough to wander the city bare-armed and bare-headed. Sickly orange clouds scud across the sky, reflecting the city’s constant glow and obscuring the stars and the bare sliver of a moon beyond. Half-blinded by the slashing brilliance of passing headlights, Linnea pushes open the entrance to the Brotherhood and walks in, pausing just inside the door while afterimages of the headlights play across her vision, blinking as her eyes adjust to the interior of the bar.

The door swings closed behind her, drowning out the constant drone of the city streets once more. The girl’s already in motion, walking over to the bar. She stops beside Kimber and flashes the girl a friendly grin while waiting for the bartender. “Uhm - ” she says, starting off with one of her usual verbal flourishes. She glances at Kimber again, then ducks her head and lowers her voice. She’s not enough of a vocal artist, though, that she can make herself heard to the bartender while leaving Kimber out of it. “I – uhm - ” she glances at Kimber again, takes in a deep breath – holds it, waiting, thinking then plunges forward. “ – the other night, I uh, left my coat? And uh, if there were any, well, if anything cost anything. I asked? So if you could let me know - ”

“Gotta speak to Mr. Valejo, Miss.” The bartender says, politely enough. “He’d know. Coat might be in the back room, I’m thinking. Meanwhile, you looking for a drink?”

“I’ll – have, uh, an iced tea,” the girl replies, “unsweetened.” Then at last she levers herself onto the barstool and gives it a tentative swirl, once around. Her long, blond braid flies out and hits Kimber in the side. Linnea stops, mortified, and shoots the young woman a wide look. “OmigodI’msosorry,” she exclaims, “really – I’m so – I am. I didn’t mean to do that.”

[Kimber Kovac] A few things made themselves known to Kimber as she took a long draw off her glass of beer and listened to the conversation happening to the side of her. Those dark eyes were still on the bumbling efforts of a woman to even hit the target while her boyfriend, or date or whatever the man was to her stood nearby coaching her. Aw, so sweet. Maybe thats why she drank her beer, to wash the cloying taste of the scene out of her mouth. Not known to be bitter but certainly well past the clouded naive view some could hold onto forever.

Backroom. That meant this strange girl was someone worth at least noting. Damages. A feat Kimber's not even managed yet. It amused her, that calculated risk of a smile [risky for the good and bad attention it could draw] growing by notches.

Her hand had just come up to slide through her hair, tugging abandon of curls and waves back from her face when she felt the marginal thud of a braid against her and shifted to take in the sputtering Linnea. Then she chuckled and finished the motion. "Chill chica. I've gotten hit harder in foreplay.." Rattles it off without even a blink of blush.

[Linnea Bartlett] The teenager tugs the braid of her shoulder and finds an easy point of balance on her stool. Her profuse, stuttering apology comes to an abrupt halt when Kimber responds. "Huh - " some people might be able to come up with a witty reply to Kimber's witty dismissal of her apology, but Linnea's stuck on it for a moment. She doesn't blush - not precisely - but she does stare momentarily at Kimber, and then look down and away at some point in the distance. Then she shoots Kimber another quicksilver grin, accompanied by a curling shrug. "Well, okay then. I do apologize, though."

The bartender returns with her iced tea, a lemon perched on the side of the glass, two seeds sliding wetly over the mouth into the swirling of tea and ice. Carefully, now, Linnea spins her stool back around to face the bar and dips her index finger into the tea, chasing after one of the errant lemonseeds. She manages to pluck one out and wipes it on her napkin, while pushing the second seed deeper into the drink. Ducking her head to the side - trying to find the seed swimming the the liquid - she shoots a careless glance down and catches sight of Kimber's helmet. After several more minutes of bobbing after the errant lemon seed (until it has been pushed alll the way to the bottom of the glass by the tumble of ice), she shoots Kimber another glance, taps the woman's helmet with her toe. "You have a motorcycle?"

[Frank St. Pierre] Swaggering in like he means to take over the world if he could just get around to it. Like he owns everything and he just hasn't gotten to claim it just yet. Frank's dressed like his normal rogueish self with black slacks and a wife beater covered in a leather jacket and a pair of red converse to wrap it up all nicely. hands stuffed in his pockets with a Camel perched at the end of his grinning lips.

My music, my life, my heart, my soul
My music, my everything, I give my all
My wife, my daughter, my love, my dream
My mother, my father, my brother, my team
My camp, my squad, my house, my car
My boat, my shoes, my pants, my shirt
My coke, my sugar, my cream, my butter
My toast, my all, my queen, my folks

Pushing through to the bar and patting twice with a palm as he says, as usual "Barkeep! Black and Tan and a Four Horseman!" and spins around to lean against the bar, glancing about and Linnea catches his eye....the self-conscious Silver Fang, interesting

Thought she was too young to be in here, eh... she's still Blood
He takes the shot hard and fast and then grins wider with a "nnnnnyaaaa"

My baby!
Walk like six strings talk like she's my everything
My baby!
Loves me, hates me, leaves me, runs right right, that sexy...
Baby!
All I know, she shed's all my confusion, so...
My baby!
Will not run from anything, I swear, this goes

[Kimber Kovac] Not many noticed, or cared, so much to make an inquiry, and it drew Kimber's attention back to Linnea after the abrupt finish to her earlier apology. Imagine that. Shutting the Silver Fang down to speechlessness. Not that Kimber knew what she was beyond the idea she wasn't just an average Joe.

Her drink was the usual mainstream Amnerican affair, kindly called golden or amber, but just looked like piss, and taste wasn't why she drank it. Come to ponder it, she might be hard pressed to really say why she did at all, beyond it was a habit and acquired taste. So it wasn't lost on her where she perched beside Linnea, Frank's entrance, his swagger, his stride. She sat on her stool leaned up against the bar, facing out, peanuts occasionally being popped between her grinning lips without a care.

This was relaxation time boys and girls. "Yeah I got a bike. Yamaha YZF R1... my baby." She loved her bike more then she did most people, and maybe Linnea caught that from the glance she was given by dark eyes in that wry face.

[Linnea Bartlett] As Frank rightly notes – were this not the place that it is, were she not born with the blood she bears – Linnea would be too young to spend her time hanging out in a bar. She looks it, too – an awkward, half-grown thing, with a pale, round face covered in fading splotches of freckles, pale eyes, pale lashes, and pale brows framing pale eyes, long-limbed, flat-chested, narrow-hipped, in a brown SWARTHMORE t-shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans that were nice enough, once, that they might’ve been capable of flattering even her lanky frame – until she managed to outgrow them. Her hiking boots are similarly broken in, scuffed and stained with a few substances one is better off not thinking about, at least not in polite company.

Lucky the Brotherhood has a menu and a kitchen to even things out and make the place legal, given the sheer number of underage Garou walking in and out of their doors on a weekly basis. Linnea tosses a greeting to Frank as he sidles up to the bar, “Hey - !” Even on her barstool – a piece of furniture that was specifically made to encourage slouching – Linnea sits straight through the spine, holds her shoulders level with the ground and her hips. She has a distinct sense of balance, even with that awkward adolescent body, constantly changing, she always knows where her center of gravity is, and it shows in the way she sits on the stool, in the way she tenses her long paraspinal muscles and arches her spine for an extra scant half-inch of height, to flash Frank a quick, friendly grin over Kimber’s head.

“Huh.” The words are meaningless to her. The brand name, the letters and numbers after it – absolutely meaningless, she manages a polite smile of interest as she follows the young woman’s glance. “Well - ” her pale brows draw together, “ – was it hard to learn how to ride? The first time I mean?”

[Frank St. Pierre] A wide smile in return and he raises the pint glass as he sloughs the Bar from the small of his back, hoping it can stay up without his mighty support. A woman's smile is an invitation. He makes his way over, that hard-bitten and smooth as silk voice calling out as he saunters over to the pair. The smoke perching dangerously at the edge of his lips is pulled out and ashes are flicked off into an ashtray as he passes without looking.

"Jailbait! How the hell are you doin? What's a nice place like this doing with a girl like you in it?" Possibly mixed that one up but hey, who's counting? One hand holding the pint and the other now holding the cigarette between index and thumb, the cherry facing inward of his fist. "Making friends? Influencing people? all that I suppose"

[Kimber Kovac] "Not for me, but I'm quick with some things." She had a knack, she'd been told, for what she'd become skilled in. Started as a knack though, one which left her a bit more esteem then the endless run of mediocrity that school and life afterwards would have seemed to hold. She said it with a grin, a knowing smile, an easy confidence as she shifts on the stool effortless and agile. Linnea was perfect posture and grace. Frank was swagger and presence. Kimber was lithsome and confident.

She hadn't wondered at why the obviously younger girl was here, not after the inital 'backroom' reference, and the fact Frank knew her must mean se's been around before. That smile turned from Linnea onto Frank, as she took in what details she could [red shoes??] and filed them away into a mind that's always looking for openings and oppprtunities. "Just gotta be quick witted."

[Linnea Bartlett] “Naw - ” her smile widens at Frank’s response to her enthusiastic greeting – but that feels weird and exposed, doesn’t it? As if someone were looking at her: so she drops her chin a half-inch, then, and tries to rein in the expression by compressing her lips together. It doesn’t work. Her energy – her rage – comes from the waxing full moon, bright and scintillating. It buzzes constantly in the back of her head and spills out like sparks from an errant wire. “- I left my coat here, uh, the other night?” That’s enough to still her features briefly, to dull her vibrant energy: the other night. Her cheeks twitch, her eyes narrow faintly and she shoots a half-lashed glance over her shoulder at the bartender, the door to the kitchens, and the back room beyond.

“So I had to come back and pick it up. I’m - ” Her glance slides back to Kimber, then returns to Frank. “I’m busy with stuff. You know? Work - ” but this isn’t exactly the time or place to talk about it. “ – and we should talk sometime. You know, officially? I was talking about motorcycles with – I’m sorry,” she continues, back to Kimber this time. “I didn’t get your name?”

[Frank St. Pierre] He nods a bit with a chuckle and pats Linnea on the shoulder "Gotta chin up and be less self-aware, there JB" from Linnea to Jailbait to simply JB. How far will she let him go with it?
He takes the smoke and snuffs it between the two women. A hand pulls out the pack of smokes and he pulls it out with his lips, pack replaced and a black zippo pulled out, flicked open and lit sideways, like a gun. Deep inhale and his eyes finally fall on Kimber "Yea, there... What would your name be, Babysitter?" A bit of a grin and a wink to her. Smooth as silk and tough as leather... or so he'd want you to believe. He was kind of like a guy selling you a Pinto and making it sound like it could outdrag a Charger. Just a bit less greasy, a touch less slimey. Likeable enough but he's still selling ice cream to Eskimos

[Kimber Kovac] In a way, reminded her of Michael, and she didn't much care for Michael. It made her watch him juuuuust a bit more closely. "Kimber." This was to Linnea, like she wasn't deigning to answer Frank's question, or had simply deferred answer.

Why? Because more came on the heels of that as dark eyes were settled his way, easy, risky smile lighting her lips. "And chica here don't seem to need a babysitter, not if she's good enough to get to go to the backroom." A nod in the direction of said special place and clearly defining one detail.

Kimber was in the know.

[Linnea Bartlett] “It’s Linnea - ” the girl says at last, with an exasperated snort. Sadie called her George, Henry and James called her Georgia, Mary Madeleine called her Linnie, sometimes, but Mary Madeleine didn’t like being around her anymore, and her mother and eldest brother called her, “George. Katherine, Benjamin, Bartlett. That’s my name.” She caps the whole thing off with a deliberate glance at Kimber, wiping her right hand on the worn thigh of her jeans and offering it to the young woman, in greeting. “Very nice to meet you, Kimber.” Meanwhile, a slicing, sharp look at Frank by way of emphasis: her name, her independence, or perhaps else – the Garou and warrior embodied in and lurking beneath the adolescent’s skin, alive, amused for the moment, well.

Kimber’s reference to the backroom draws another look from the young Silver Fang. Her pale brows rise; she takes in the young woman with renewed interested, tipping her head sidelong – the long braid sliding across her skinny shoulder – as if, by studying the woman closely, she could figure out who and what she was. She can’t, of course – “so, you’re, uh - ” the teenager’s voice drops, she shoots a quick glance around the room. Most humans can’t stand the place – too many beasts in children’s skin, too many monsters, too much primordial fear oozing through their brains – but one never can tell, and Linnea, so careful, won’t say anything out loud. “ – in the know?” Her nostrils flare and she snorts a self-deprecating huff, muttering, “I sound like a bad – a bad spy novel.”

[Frank St. Pierre] That smile changes, ever so slightly... from 'say, you interested in a Bridge in New York that I have for sale?' to a bit more standard one. As if that answered more questions before she even mentioned the Backroom. "Kimber.. Kimber Kovak? I think we have mutual acquatences... My Lawyer for one" Deep drag and exhale, swig of the drink "Cassie-girl gave me your info, just ain't gotten around to, y'know, calling" Sounded like he'd said it a few times before, modified slightly of course. 'Aw geez Baybee, I woulda called but I was so damn busy and keep such odd hours, I didn't know when I could catch you to ask you out again'. He nods a bit "but you're right, JB here can hold her own just fine, even if it looks like she'd be busted in twain if she ran afoul of a stiff breeze"

He laughs a bit at the girl's protest of the nickname and nods, hands out as if to say 'don't hurt me' as best he can with a half of a pint and a cigarette "Alright Alright, I understand, Linnea... no more cutesy nicknames... all up and up and yes'm and no'm. I know how y'all can get"

[Kimber Kovac] She laughs. What else can she do? Linnea's practically comic relief, despite the prickles she could send across one's skin without even a thought. "Yeah, Ah'm in the know Linnea... see? He knows who I am, even if I don't know him from any of the other lonely and seeking men around here." Oooooo her smile could cleave hearts as she says that. Maybe its a rebuff for his tone, or his comments earlier, or who even knew? She was kinda sarcastic on occasion, kinda bitchy, but less frigid then "Oooo Cassie huh? Thats not much a glowing endorsement mi boyo. The Ice Queen's not seen her proctologist lately afterall, and she's icier then ever."

Kimber not like Cassie? Despite the fact she was agreeing to kick Cassie and Giselle around by way of teaching them, she didn't like the uppity lawyer much more then before. Draining the glass her beer had been occupying she glanced behind her, slight turn on the stool, to signal the bartender for a refill.

[Linnea Bartlett] “Well - ” Linnea begins reluctantly, her pale eyes flashing in the fire and candlelit atmosphere of the bar as she looks back at Frank. “It’s not that I have to be all proper all the time, it’s just that I – well, you know, in my position,” her shoulders swell just so, and her voice has taken on a self-important tone wholly lightened by the flash of her friendly grin. “I really have to think about my dignity. I have to maintain a – a certain – je ne sais quoi. It’s really important. They point it out, you know, in the handbook? That they give you. It’s listed right under – uh, under je ne sais quoi.”

She drops her hand back to her lap, her dull, broken nails finding and worrying the grooves in the worn denim. “So, uhm - ” her gaze jumps from Kimber to Frank, and back again. “You know each other but you’ve never met? So are you the same, uh, ethnicity?”

[Frank St. Pierre] His eyebrow arches, looks between the two and he laughs his ass off without a care in the world, then recovers "Ethnicity? Personally? I'm European mutt bastard and I'm not even going to try to guess at Kimmy here" Always finding names people will likely hate... something he likes playing at. "But do we have something in common?" He glances at Kimber a bit "I'd wager to believe so, but hell, I'm no expert on the subject"

He finishes off the drink and orders another wordlessly by slamming the empty down on the bar and pointing to it. Ugh Ugh Beer! Back to the task at hand again as he looks to Kimber with a shrug and a twinkle of humor in a blue eye "Who said it was an endorsement? She makes sure my dumb ass stays out of the Cooler"

[Kimber Kovac] Her wave was dismissive for his reference to what Cassie did. "Been there, done that, got an ugly jumpsuit." Her time wasn't hard though she wasn't differentiating. Petty theft and small time larceny wasn't worth much of anyone's time. "If you were as slick as you act, you wouldn't need Miss Cass." It sounded taunting, almost, and it didn't. She wasn't sure enough yet of Frank to really push the buttons, and so she edged them, poking the edges of that ego to see where it might hurt, or where his breaking points lay.

At least she seemed more kindly disposed towards Linnea, the glance for the girl heavy but not cool or scathing. Might just be the awareness something crawled dangerously beneath the freckled skin. "I have no ide who or what he is except he knows my soon to be student, Cassie." That said she tugged her new beer close and turned again so her back graced the edge of that bar. Elbows slid back to rest on it too, and she seemed comfy like that, in arched slouch, beer in hand. Whatever the posture might do for figure she didn't dwell on. It was those types of things which sent Javier a-drooling most nights, not helped by the fact she loved her strappy tanks and the color red. The white tee was like a thin curtain over her current crimson tank.

[Linnea Bartlett] They’ve ordered and reordered their drinks. Linnea has barely touched her iced tea, and the glass sits on the bar, ice melting, the glass sweating onto the damp napkin. She swings her narrow hips to set her stool spinning into motion, and kicks out one booted foot when she’s facing the bar, in lieu of a handbrake, picks up her iced tea and swings back around, her fingers carefully wrapped around the damp glass, craning her neck outward, seeking and finding the straw with her mouth.

“Oh - ” the girl continues, lifting her head from the glass and the straw, swallowing a mouthful of the unsweetened tea and shooting a glance at the Shadow Lord. “I didn’t really mean ethnicity Frank.” There’s a touch of adolescent exasperation in her tone, and she stops there and tries out an exaggerated wink… but only ends up looking like she’s managed to get a mote of dust in her eye. “I just meant, people who know people through people are plenty of times connected. You know?” All the circular logic and spinning thought spirals in the world and Linnea still cannot get around to what she wants to ask. “So, uhm – I was just wondering if you were? – uh, Crap. This is kinda stupid, isn’t it? I think I’ve tied my brain into a pretzel.” She pauses again, shoots Kimber another lilting look, eyes narrowing with renewed interest. "Wait - you've been in jail?"

[Frank St. Pierre] He listens to the girl twist herself into a corner and then change the subject which makes him snicker "I've been there too, little one.. four counts of possession of a firearm, three counts of aggrivated assault, two counts of indecent exposure... long story.. and a partridge in a pair tree" a dismissive shrug and a glance to Kimber "Student? Gonna teach her to be less of a frigid bitch?" truth was, that's kind of why he liked her... it was so easy to get a rise out of her. "She mentioned something about us getting along, maybe that's what she meant." A long drag and deep enough swig of his drink that it's gone from Black and Tan to just Tan "...we're both disreputable scoundrels"

[Kimber Kovac] "Yeah, haven't you been in?" Its so blase, like she expected Linnea, blushable, proper Linnea, to have served time. It came as no surprise that Frank had. Cassie had been right afterall. They were somewhat alike in certain respects, and as such, might well get along together. Peas in a pod, and all that jazz.

"Its a long story, really, and some night maybe I'll even tell." The way she toned that, as she glanced from Silver Fang to Shadowlord, it almost sounded like innuendo. "But I don't even know your name mi boyo so spill, or I'll make one up for ya, and I know Cassie and Michael hate it when I do that." Her brow lifted, a mild challenge in it and her beer was lifted, glass up and drink taken. Unlike Linnea, she was drinking nice alcoholic stuff, and held it easily, practiced and assured. Afterwards she licked her lips clear of traces, eyes sparkling. "But anyways, you wanted to know if we're related, right? If he's cousins to Cassie, then yes. If not, then I guess we'll all just have to sit here and wonder." She chuckled. It could be noted she didn't let Frank in on what exactly Kimber'd be teaching the Ice Queen.

[Linnea Bartlett] "Uhm - " It isn't that Linnea can't see their kind committing crimes. She has - doubtless - committed a few of her own, by the standards of human morality and human laws. "indecent exposure, Frank?" Her mouth sets, narrows again, and her voice drops a several decibels, as she breathes - almost under her breath. "I just - I don't think you should get caught." Still serious, she shoots Kimber a brief, serious glance. "I haven't been in jail, no. I - I don't think - " Something spasms in her jaw, she shoots Frank another glance. "I don't think it would go over well." Her voice is still quiet, with a shadowed undercurrent of her usually bright, livid energy. "I don't think that would be good for anyone."

"That's Frank St. Pierre," Linnea replies, still subdued but now recalled to her duty as semi-hostess of the impromptu meeting. "I'm sorry, I should've introduced you, Kimber, Frank, Frank, Kimber. Uh - I don't know who Cassie is? Hey - look - " With that she spins around again and sets her mug of iced tea down on the bartop with a sloshing thud, stretches her shoulder and arches her hips to slide her right hand into her right front pocket, pulling out a few dollars to pay for her iced tea. She spins around again, flashes her quick smile at the both of them. "I gotta grab my coat and split. You guys, try not - " Her brow darkens, narrows, then rises. Another grin. " - try not to get arrested, okay?"

[Frank St. Pierre] He winks to the Fang with a grin "I'll let you know next time I plan to get hit on the Indecent charge, little one... so you can watch, was fucking hilarious the last time" he chuckles just thinking about it and slides into the seat that she once took up, nodding to her again "Be good... or good at it".

Full attention on Kimber now, no more splitting between the two. "She said it best, Frank's the name. I have a bunch of other names but really... Frank sums it up really." He puts on the 'I'm half kidding/dreamy eyed look' with a grin "What say you and me get outa here and go do things of questionable legality depending on your state and religious background?"
also bad pickup lines
---------------------
Nice shoes, Wanna fuck? (has worked... strangely)
Want to get out of here for Pizza and Sex?
Do you wash your clothes in Windex? Because I can see myself in your Pants
Are those Space Pants? Because your ass is out of this world
I have a week to live.

[Kimber Kovac] Unlike the other two, Kimber's nicely normal, well normal by the standards she doesn't wig out and turn 10 foot and furry with a temper to make people run in terror. No, Kimber's just a girl with a predilection for racy, thrilling hobbies. She gives Linnea a wave, a grin, a wink." I'll try not ta sugah." It sounded like she should be blowing kisses, up close and friendly.

When the girl had gone and it was just the two of them alone in a crowded bar, she made sure hesaw her roll of the eyes. "Please... Frank, do I look simple to you? You're gonna need better pick up lines then that." So not buying it as she turned her gaze back onto the bar leaving him sitting beside her. This close he might catch the scents of leather and exhaust, hair so free it might have been wind tossed at high speeds sometime recently. Of course, the helmet at her feet would make it more clear.

[Linnea Bartlett] Some moments later, Linnea emerges from the backroom with her coat tucked over her right arm, and her aqua scarf trailing out behind her. She waves a goodbye to both Frank and Kimber, and disappears out the front door and into the night.