Confidence without Arrogance [Ferdinand-Adrian]

[Linnea Bartlett] It's a cold night, the promise of snow sharp in the air - the thread of a foot or more blaring from every radio and television news station. KYW 1060! - the 24 radio news station's bumper sings softly from the radio in the kitchen, as the kinfolk employees gather around and mutter to each other about snow, snow emergencies, whether or not the grocery stores will have everything they need, in case it is as bad as they say.

Linnea is seated at the bar, with a library book open before her. There's a mug of something no longer steaming in front of her, and a plate with a half-eaten sandwich and french fries long since gone cold. Both elbows on the bar, she leans over the book, her jaw platformed on the flat of either palm, narrow-eyed and intent. The teenager's long legs dangle from her barstool, in constant motion - thumping against the side of the bar again and again and again as she swings them thoughtlessly.

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] The idea of snow is actually quite interesting. And what of it, over half a foot, this was something that Ferdinand had not thought of happening any time soon. He tried to encourage his sister to come out with him while it was still free from the weather. However, being a woman whose life solely stayed within Florida, she believes the sky must be falling and refuses to leave the warmth of the fireplace.

So he was out alone to the brotherhood. Keeping his coat close to him up until entering the gathering place. And after a short moment of looking over the place he notices his alpha and heads towards her.

"Doing some light reading?"

[Linnea Bartlett] The pale teenager's face lights up with a flashfire grin, mometarily startled, her pale blue eyes ghosting wide. They are a strange, unmatched, perfectly counterpointed pair: one and the other, dark and fair, both so perfectly, unabashedly wellbred that the air seems to swell and sizzle with potential. Her mouth twists, then flattens. She spins on her barstool and turns her shoulders to show off the book open on the bar. "Ferdinand!" Such is Linnea's enthusiastic greeting. "It's a history of Kensington," she explains, her pale gaze flicering over his shoulder, her voice quieting considerably. "I thought we'd take territory - I'll show you. There are maps and - "

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] He moves over to look at the gathered maps. Looking at the area she thought of to take as territory. Examining where it is and how it is connected to the rest of the city.
"Hmm that seems to be a interesting choice of places to call home as it were. And our stomping ground would be where exactly?"

He continued to eye the map, seeing where the caern would be and some other choice areas.

[Linnea Bartlett] "Here - " her finger falls on Penn Treaty Park to the south, then traces a circular route north. She is focused, intent. " - and here, and here. I don't know how much we can hold - or how much the area has deterioriated, but I think - " yesterday she hated the idea of making this decision; she tore her territory from the city's map, ripped it from its moorings. "I think that covers it." Her voice is still quiet, low for her packmate's ears. "Territory we can hold, and - flanking the church, important to keep clean. What we can't cleanse, and hold, well - we'll have that as hunting grounds."

Today, decision made, she has no regrets regarding her choice, although once she finishes noting the boundaries, she stops and watches Ferdinand, her pale lashes narrowing over her blue eyes, her body perfectly poised on the barstool. She draws in a quickling half-breath, watches her tribemate and packmate to be - with a moment's hesitation. " - what - what do you think?"

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] He moves over to the map once again, running his finger around the area for which Linnea had directed. Wondering about the area and what it would entail for the pack. This was a major task to uncover.
"We will need a spirit talker for this. Unless you know of the proper rites to work this area over. It will be a worthwhile task to encounter."

[Linnea Bartlett] "I don't." Her reply comes hard and quiet on the heels of his statement. "I don't know any of it. I don't know anything I need to know, Ferdinand." Her pale eyes are stark, brilliant, her breath hushed and flaring. Tension rings her starkly: the tendons in her neck bulge against the worn collar of her old cotton tee shirt. "Ben said he can - " What else had Ben said? Be the Alpha: there's only one. Still swaying on the turning barstool, the girl folds her arms across her stomach and flashes Ferdinand another glance. " - take care of the spiritual life, for a while. We - we will have to work with what- what we have, too. I - maybe my mom can - it's - " stop stammering, Linnea. Her mouth flattens again, pale gaze flicering across Ferdinand's features. When she speaks again, she is once again focused, closely, on her point. " - it's a long way from Fairfield, Ferdinand. But I think it's necessary. This is where we're needed. Can you - can you live here?"

[Adrian] He had gotten wind of this place from Will and his older brother Alaric and it was all mutual feelings that the name of this place was breathing Coggie. But never-the-less, he still needed to check it out with his own eyes first and foremost.

He stepped through the doorway of the entrance, his approach was one commited in silence, he said nothing to no-one, he made eye contact with a person or two, setting those deep and intense chocolate globes upon a few patrons who look upon him. No smiles, no waves of hello, no affection to dull out to the masses.

A look spawned of apathy and a lack of empathy is what he wore upon his face. A symphony of motion he was, from the way he walked, the move, the flow of his body structure and voice of Angels slips pass his lips when sat up a bar stool and ordered up a drink. Simple coke -- no ice.

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] He paused several minutes after Linnea finished speaking. Watching her to see what she was thinking of, how she was reacting to this.
"You cannot doubt yourself, it is apart of being a leader. We are hear to follow your lead."
He watches her balance on the barstool, the tension in her started to flare up more.
"As for farifield, it is an ancestral home. Brick and mortar. Caroline can hold down the estate, if you believe we are needed there then we shall stay there. I am sure I can gather up some funds for it getting a house together."

[Linnea Bartlett] The atmosphere is dark and low: oil lamps and candles cast a diffuse, attractive glow, and a fire crackles in the wide stone heart. The bartender, Will, serves up Adrian's coke, no ice - and stops, still, taking the young man's measure. He's unremarkable, the bartender, except for his energy, the faint lines of care around his face. Except for the invitation he imparts to Adrian, a half-dozen whispered words served up with the coke, no ice. ("If you are what I think you are and you're here looking for family - backroom's the place for business." Accompanied by a thumb subtly hooked at the door to the kitchens and the backroom beyond.)

"I - I know you're right, Ferdinand." Her features are stack, her round, young face drained of its usual goodhumor, her shoulders stark with tension that is mirrored in the line of her jaw, the starkness of her gaze, the pale hollow of her cheeks. Behind her eyes, she can see again the field of battle: the heroes and villains, entombed in black and white stone. She can still hear the cries of the dying; she still remembers the last words of the dead. "I know," she says, more firmly this time, resolute. "I know you're right. We need to start looking for someplace close by. If your sister can hold Fairfield - " the corner of her mouth twists, upward. "It'll be a nice place to have, a nice retreat. This is where we belong."

After serving up Adrian's coke, no ice, and invitation, Will finally interrupts the two teenagers standing close, their gleaming heads paired over an open book. He grabs Linnea's half-finished sandwich, the cold fries and congealed mound of catsup in the center. "Done with this, 'Nea?" The girl nods absently, distractedly - but then Will leans forward, murmurs something that only the young woman and her companion might catch. "Might be some business in the backroom for the two of you young'uns."

Linnea flashes another glance at Ferdinand, pale brows rises like half-moons, and flips her book closed. Wordlessly, she slips off her stool, and starts off toward the backroom, pausing only if Ferdinand does not immediately follow, a mouthed "let's go" tossed over her skinny shoulder are her more elegant and composed tribemate.

[Linnea Bartlett] (Her features are STARK, not stack. :) )

[Adrian] His coke came, but with the lack of a smile. The glass pressed the lush of his lips for only moment as he took a brief sip before the coke found a home upon the bar infront of him. His eyes lifted up from infront and followed the swivel of his neck to glance to side, watching for a moment -- perhaps to long of a moment his eyes set upon the form of a young lady.

He was quiet tonight, his moon was passing and giving way to the Modi's of the nation and night off a moot draws ever closer with the setting and rising of the sun each day - only a few more. His fingers never uncurled from around the cool glass, the moisture from the condensation doesn't bother him the slighest, it was the flow of nature moving to its beat, to its own accord -- everything has its own rythm and he just let it all flow.

His exchange with Will the bartender was a quick one, still no other words spilled forth from his lips after moments of sitting their upon the stool in silent contemplation, he came to a slow rise. The glass was still within his grasp and brought it with him -- towards the infamous backroom. His stride was an easy one, he walked a tilt to him till he disappeared from the front into the back.

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] He does as she motions, heading towards the backroom known as the Den. Looking around the bar one more time before passing through those wooden doors that isolate the bar from the back room.

He is a patient person, bred for greatness and the aura about him makes it assured.

[Linnea Bartlett] The kitchens have long since closed; only a few line cooks remain to throw together a late night snack, a cold plate of cheese or pasta. Two dishwashers are finishing the up racks of plates and pots and pans for the morrow. The kin turn and watch the Garou - the monstrous children - as they stride through. Gawky Linnea, all awkward arms and legs, knobby knees and elbows held akimbo, who nevertheless walks with animal surety, perfectly aware of her changing body, pushes open the door to the backroom and holds it for her packmate-to-be, then shuts it behind him. She pauses just inside the Den, pale blue eye glancing across the Jukebox that Ben loves to much, before falling on Adrian.

"Hi." Her mouth waxes into a smile like her moon: full and bright. To human eyes, she is entirely ordinary, her skin spotted with freckles, her features unremarkable, her blonde hair pulled back from her face into a practical if unflattering french braid. "Will said - " She glances at the door, the tension of the moment turns her stomach in knots, but then she remembers Ben and shoots Ferdinand an unreadable glance, reminding herself who she is and who she must become. "I think introductions are in order. You first."

[Adrian] He made himself comfy - in the most comfy way possible. If there was a sofa he was sprawled down into it, his legs would stretch as far as they could, it there was a chair, the same mannerism was taken, a slouch and stretch technique, or if it was stools, he would lean up against the wall. He just left behind the stools and they weren't the most the comfy he had ever been upon.

Some people were bred for greatness, while others were just bred to slay and slaughter, some were bred to think and contemplate. [wise men wonder while stronger men die]. Or some was simply bred for to pass all that is known by the nation to the future genrations. He fall somewhere inside of all that. His blood ran as pure as the Sliver Fangs of the nations, but his attitude, outlook, and prowless was a bred only from the might of Great Fenris himself. At first glance one might think he was to handsome, to pretty, to delicate to be a Fenrir.

At first glance someone might just die screaming.

She looked upon him, unsure of what to say it seemed for a moment, he raised a brow slowly, arching and letting a long moment of silence fill up the room -- purposely. His eyes narrowed down on her hard and then he spoke, his voice filled the room, its the sound that should be remember, it was distinct, maybe it was the voice of an Angel. [of death]

"Adrian Vaughn. Einherjar's Roar of Savage Fury Skald Claith of the Get of Fenris...and you?

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Brown eyes looked to his alpha first before turning to the Get and addressing him as was proper for his tribe.

"I am Ferdinand Diego Corozon Jr, known to the Nation as "Councils The Divided" Cliath Philodox of the Silver Fangs, House Unbreakable Hearth, Sun lodge. Son to Ferdinand Diego Corozon Sr "Speaks with an Iron Tongue." Anthro Philodox Silver Fang of House Unbreakable Hearth and Sun Lodge. Son to Robert Corozon "Bridge Between Worlds" Elder, Homid, Silver Fang, Theurge of Unbreajable Hearth and Moon Lodge. Son to Alfonzo II Corozon “Mediates with Reason” Anthro, Homid, Silver Fang, Philodox of Unbreakable Hearth, Sun Lodge. Who was born to Lt. Macro Corozon “Defends The Traditions” Adren, Homid, Silver Fang, Ahroun, House Unbreakable Hearth, Sun Lodge."

And then once again he just stood there, behind his alpha. His arms crossed over his torso.

[Linnea Bartlett] Linnea's gaze flashes from Adrian to Ferdinand as he recites his name, the names of his parents and ancestors, and something deep inside her recognizes that she has been too long without the company of her tribemates. Since the battle, there have been too few of them left in the dark, blind, winding corridors of the Caern.

When Ferdinand finishes, Linnea waits a suitable (polite) half-moment to allow Adrian to digest that lineage, then offers her own name.

"Linnea Bartlett," the pale, skinny white girl says, her voice accentless, precise, ordinary. "Linnea George Katherine Benjamin Bartlett - " gathering momentum, each name is spoken with perfect care. Each name was given to her and each name belongs to her, and each name is invested with the unconscious pride that keeps her stranding straight and tall, where most similarly appointed, gawkily adolescent girls would want to slouch, to deny their height and their birthright. "Vanguard of the Dawn" - it is an absurd name for such an ordinary girl. It would be an absurd name for such an ordinary girl, but when she says it, charged with the blood of her ancestors, who foughtg and bled and died for their holy ground - so close - for generations - why, it seems like a promise for tomorrow. "Cliath Silver Fang Ahroun of House Wyrmfoe, and Wyrmfoe of the Caern of Echoes. Daughter of Atlas, Athro Silver Fang Ahroun, sired by Blade of Justice, Adren Silver Fang Ahroun, son of Eventide, Elder Silver Fang Ahroun, who was in turn the daughter of Deathwatch, Elder Silver Fang Theurge - of the moon lodge, and sister to Vision-of-the-Fall, " she can go on. Most introductions would. Linnea manages to claim each ancestor and dismiss the pagaentry of the excercise at one go, with a faintly crooked smile. "Welcome to Philadelphia. Have you been to the Caern?" She flashes another glance at Ferdinand, then looks back at Adrian. Her half-smile widens, and there's a sense of movement about her, now, even though she's almost entirely still. " - are you here to stay?"

[Adrian] He started to take off his leather jacket, his eyes never removed themselves from the others, never took his eyes those of the unknown and maybe just maybe he was preparing himself for a fight, one can never let their gaurd down around anyboby in a closed off backroom it seemed, he didn't have time to for escapes yet so he concentrates on the task at hand. The jacket was setup the back of a chair, he frame was laced with supple muscle, he was a work of art, like a greek god - an Adonis or perhaps a norse god - a Thor.

A simple tall T is what he woar, the oversized shirt didn't hamper his moment in the slightest, their was a tatoo riding along the lenght of his arm, a bladed weapon in the appearence upon his hand, a harder glance would tell in full what it was. His feet remained shoulder width apart, he was tense. And the smile full and bright smile that was offered upon him was not returned in the slightest.

A blank stare fell upon the proud fang who speak of names that resound through the nation as hero's, Adrian could care less. There was purity that shined through out, a line of hero's dating back far and strong but that was the past, and this is now. The currents tidings of life is all that mattered, the here and the now. And then after all of that...it was her turn.

Fuckin' Fangs

Was his passing thought about halfway through all that. There was the slow roll of his shoulders as he listened to the novel drag on and on. He took her in and messured her worth as she said she lay claim to the Wyrmfoe of Caern -- times indeed it must. His voice slipped passed his lips once more. "--I have not, I was told recently their was a battle--" There was a pause as took a step the side, a pace perhaps in the fledging era as two steps were taken before coming to a stand still again. "--I hear the Fenrir are a scattered, we are divided--" There was anothe pause, two more steps, back towards the direction he started from. "--and yes, I am."

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] The Half-moon stood there, taking full measure of the man who was pacing before them. A newcomer to the Sept, the same as he was in such a same way. Deep brown eyes holding that of epic battles and a line of heros seemed to just look at him, watch him, measure him.

These were the last reminents of the nation, those who were self-assured. Hubris had run wild.

[Linnea Bartlett] "I fought in the Battle for the Caern of Echoes." Linnea says, quite simply. She is no longer smiling, and her usual goodhumor only serves to heighten the impact of her moment of gravity. She says nothing for several moments, her attention inward, her body poised, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet. "The Wyrm came and we fought on a battlefield covered with the shattered bones of our ancestors," - she is no Skald, she is no Galliard, to paint the air they are breathing red with bloodied words. The simply truth must momentarily suffice. She does not look at Ferdinand again, but she can feel him at her flank, the aura of authority he radiates infuses her with confidence matched by her lineage, in turn buoyed by the supple voices of her ancestors.

" - and those Fenrir who survived have formed or are forming packs as they must, to defend their homes. We lost the greatest of tribes on the day of that battle, but those who remain have shouldered their duty and done it well. Do not impugn their honor or tarnish their glory - " she is poised to say more. By now, her hands have turned into white-knuckled fists, the slender digits folded neatly together. Except for the strange, furious economy of her speech, it is the most visible sign of the Ahroun's tension. "But we need your strength if you can humble yourself to your duty. I will introduce you to the Warder and the Grand Elder, if you wish it. If you are willing to take your duty shifts guarding the Caern like the rest of us - " the girl hooks one shoulder upward, a taut little half-shrug. "They'll probably let you stay. Security's tight, though, and no one gets by with shirking duty to the Caern or skipping shifts - "

[Adrian] He moved to lean back up against that wall, pacing was just umbefitting of him. Fingers, palms, and the beggings of his wrist find a refuge in the trenches of his pockets upon his denim jeans. His eyes never wavered from the girl though -- she was the focus of his attention, the one who held position within the Caern, he worth was more than that of the other, such is the flow of the world, a rythm that was unpredicabtle to him cause this a nice twist.

One leg drew itself up to implant into that very same wall that supported his back, a flicker of his gaze met with the male Fang, just from the corners of his eyes, Linnea was more important at this particular time. His expression could not be read, his eyes did not betray his thoughts or motives -- intentions. Deep pools chocolate swallowing up all into its bleak abyss was unrelenting in its pursuit of taking in the Linnea, who seemed so --young -- to bear that much wieght upon her shoulders.

Then she started speaking, cutting at his own honor and thats where this conversation will be cut short, after little monologue. He pushed off of the wall and grabbed his jacket, he slipped into it easy enough and straightened himself out with an ease of motion.

"I impugn no of your fallen--" There was a pause as he started to drift towards the door, his eyes completly turned away from her, as he spoke again. "--as for everything else. I'll be around -- soon." Then he was gone, as simple as that he left the glass of half drunk coke back there and paid for it on the way out.

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] He watched the man disappear from the room. Another one who seemed to think his place better than those who were known and had proven themselves.
"I think you shall see some more challenges for your position Linnea, less they only bark and have no bite."
He continued to just stand there, pondering over the new arrival.
"But no matter, we have other pressing issues to attend to besides chances at challenges. And I shall be here to advise you if any such things are needed."

[Linnea Bartlett] Ferdinand's words serve to ground the furious Ahroun, to reel her back to the present reality, with the Brotherhood and the Den and the ground beneath her feet. She does not unfold or unbend, her arms remain tightly crossed, her hands fisted and shoved beneath her elbows, her musculature is taut - but she shoots Ferdinand a pale glance, unreadable for the moment, accompanied by a forced half-smile. "I don't worry about challenges, Ferdinand," she says, quietly. "I - it's not about me. I stepped up because I had to. If someone else is better suited - and beats me in a challenge - " Her eyes crinkle at the corners, flickering away from her Philodox. " - we're all better off, aren't we - "

"I - I don't understand that," she continues a moment later, nodding at the door. " - the - I understand confidence. I understand rage - but - I don't understand - that. " She cannot find the word arrogance - or perhaps hubris and so she finishes impotently, her sentence empty, her point unmade.

Moments later, "I need - I need to get out of here. It's too close. Walk back to the Caern with me. If we go the long way around, I can show you - the - the edge of the territory I'm considering."

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] "A leader, even wyrmfoe, must always tread that thin line of confidence without arrogance. You must always believe you are worth the position without believing you are the position. It can change how other react to your commands. I hope you understand what I am about that."

She did not need to vocalize her words, he knew exactly what she meant to say even without spilling but a noun. It was the flaw of the modern Nation, too many Chiefs and not enough braves. Those who were convinced they were born to lead and to hell with everyone else. But when push comes to shove, those who speak little, prove lots.

"Yes, I feel it too. We should get back to the Caern, I am sure that there are things we need to speak of. And if something should catch our worthwhile ire in watching over the newfound territory, then so be it."

[Linnea Bartlett] "I - I'm going to write that down," Linnea manages, the suggestion of a self-deprecating smile twisting the corners of her mouth. "when I get back. Confidence without arrogance - I need to remember that." She unfolds her arms long enough to push open the door to the Den, then holds it open for Ferdinand behind her. The kitchens are entirely silent, now, the bar is closed, the fires banked - and Will is drowsing on the bartop. Linnea stops long enough to pull out a $20 - enough for her earlier meal and a generous tip - and slides it beneath the barkeep's elbow, then grabs her coat from where she'd abandoned it before.

She shrugs her way into the coat, lifting it high over her head, her long arms spread like a portrait of the crucifixition, like the wings of an albatross, and shimmies the sleeves down her arms until the yoke is settled across her shoulders. Linnea waits long enough for Ferdinand to retrieve his coat and winter gear from wherever he left it, then pushes open the front door, opening it to the blast of the winter night, metallic with the promise of snow. "I'm glad you're here," the teenager says, as she winds her scarf around her nose and mouth. "I really am."

Outside, Linnea sets a brisk, driving pace - fast enough to clear her mind and spend her furious energy, without forcing them to run.