Kin Thief [Michael]

[Linnea Bartlett] The Brotherhood is neutral territory, protected by a third party, open to all. It's there that Linnea invited Lennox to meet her, on a rainy Thursday night when winter seems - finally - to have given way to spring. The main room is drenched in atmospheric shadows and kindling light, a soft fire roaring in the grate, oil lamps dancing in the mouths of two dozen little lamplets on two dozen tables. The young Silver Fang is not to be found in the main room, of course. Garou business requires more private space, and near soundproof walls.

She walked in fifteen minutes ago, paused at the bar long enough to get an iced tea, unsweetened, and to flash a smile at Will the tender, who last saw her drenched in blood, bearing body parts, furious, and then disappeared the backroom, sometimes called the Den, with its battered jukebox and well scarred floors. The teenager's hair and shoulders are damp from the drenching rain, and stain her t-shirt darker with wicking moisture as she shrugs off her coat in the backroom, rubs the goosebumps from her bare arms as she adjusts to the temperature. She has a book in hand, and reads it as she paces at the back of the room, waiting.

[Michael Lennox] Michael Lennox is by all accounts a man of purpose, vision, and resolve. Thus it is with little surprise, that he arrives for the duly appointed meeting ontome and dressed as any power-broker would.. Whereas some might exude a somber or humble air or even one of strength, Michael's is of absolute purpose and strength....a commanding presence....

He makes his way back to the backroom to meet the Silver Fang who is his junior by ten years andf by all accounts...this shows so much in the manner he carries himself with...

"Evening Linnea"

[Linnea Bartlett] Linnea is casually dressed; jeans that fit her long legs, and a University of Pennsylvania t-shirt, advertising some rugby team, a fake coat of arms emblazoned on the front. Her hair is pulled back from her young face in an unflattering if practical French braid, without any extra strands to soften the effect around her freckled face. As the door opens, the girl stops pacing, looks up and shuts her book firmly. Her pale eyes flicker across the Shadow Lord.

"Michael." There is a supple thread of a tension in the glance, in the expression that twists across her shadowed mouth like a mobius strip. Nevertheless, she is more composed and assured than he has ever seen her before. "Have a seat. We have a few things to discuss."

Everything about her is assuredly practical. She wears no adornment except for the supple thrill of her breeding, which almost sings in the air around her.

[Michael Lennox] His own response is more subdued. He sits where directed and offerss every appopriate gesture of welcoming.

"That we do.....why not...begin with why you called me here?"

The truthcatcher responds...his expression peaceful and yet domineering in a subtle manner.

[Linnea Bartlett] "I called you here to discuss Sept business." The girl replies as the Shadow Lord takes his seat. Her chin has risen fractionally. She crosses her arms, the book firmly tucked against her skinny chest, clothbound, the title obscured in the crook of her arm. The gilt lettering shines subtly against the ordinary cotton, the winter-pale length of the girl's arms. She is briefly silent, her mouth compressed as she composes her next words. "I - I'm planning a thrust against our enemies, and wish to give your pack the chance to participate."

Her bicep twitches, contracts and bulges against her skin. "But we have other business first." Her nostrils flare, tension whipcords through her. "The matter of Giselle."

[Michael Lennox] His brow rises and he gives the matter some thought. His expression darkening as she broaches the true topic of tonight's conversion. Precious seconds tick by in which the Shadowlord merely studies the young and yet stronger Ahroun. The years of wisdom and experience between a stark contrast. How could such an Ambassador be wrong...at all?


"Alright...let us clean the air over this subject?"

[Linnea Bartlett] The girl has more than rage to sustain her tonight. The bonds of her pack are firmly set, and her totem's strength and grace augments her own. Perhaps she should be cowed in the long moments of silence, as the Truthcatcher's expression darkens - certainly her respiration rate quickens, as does her heartbeat. She imagines Cassian, his face, hears his words in her ears and holds herself close and sure.

Her fingers tighten against the spine of her book; the knuckles go white. "You lied to me, Michael, when last we spoke. I trusted you, and you lied to me." There's a certain passion underlying the words; the teenager is hardly gifted in subterfuge. The white heat of her rage is briefly as much a presence in the room as her array of ancestors spread out around her like a filigree of starlight as reflected in the ineffable stamp of her breeding. "You had business in Europe - " Her mouth is a flat line. "a lie of omission, not commission. Nevertheless it was a lie: an endangered Silver Fang kin is my business, and my tribe's business. Don't lie to me again."

[Michael Lennox] His brow remains neatly lifted as a study is done of the younger, less experienced, less battle-proven ahroun or not is done. In the end, some measure of mercy...or is it grace is given.

"A lie of omission perhaps....but the fact I had not planmned the meeting is surely overlooked by yourself. You say all tribal claims come through? I had not known you had taken the role of elder among the trive and the sept....tell me Linnea...what would you do if I honorably challenged for her?"

[Linnea Bartlett] "Judgment's Teeth-rhya is clearly tribal Elder. You then went to him instead of to me?" The girl responds, her pale eyes sparking fire, her nostrils briefly flaring with frustration as her temper rises. "I would not have to make such claims had you not tried to deceive her father, an Athro - " The girl's mouth clamps shut, she visible pulls hard against the reins of her temper, her knuckles flexing white against the book. "If you challenge me, I will not refuse it. But you'll have no part of her. " For all the momentary grace of the speech, the tacks on, at the end, unable to stop herself. "She doesn't want you, anyway."

Her jaw firms again; she lifts her chin and studies the Shadow Lord from behind the veil of blond lashes shading her pale eyes. "If you lie to me again, I won't forgive it." Perhaps, in such a small statement, is an indication of the ground he lost. One month ago, she was smiling, hesitant, unsure of herself, or the luminous power of her blood - so easily led. Now she is packed, the strength of a totem buoying her words, the raw material already clarified, refined. "Stay away from her, bring me only truth, defend the Sept, and I'll forget the glyphs her father carved in you. Is that fair?"

[Michael Lennox] He watches her a very long moment. some would consider it too long. "I have bled beside you Vanguard of the Dawn" His comment cut short and followed by more study of the teenager.

"But it is important to me....in no way did I decieve her father...none...I will undergo a truth scan for this." He nods and watches her as if signifying some greater truth to this.

"I am bound to not se eher for a year...a year...the one I love.....I love" watching her so clearly..."Is that what you wish?"

[Linnea Bartlett] "It doesn't matter what I want or what you want. It doesn't even matter what she wants, but even if it did, she doesn't want you." The teenager manages, vehemence lifting her voice from a low-slung whisper to something bright, louder, more in keeping with her moon. Abruptly, the girl stamps her foot against the scarred floor. "She's a Silver Fang. Someday she'll choose a Silver Fang.. If we live long enough, her children will be Silver Fang, and their children thereafter. It's our right and our privilege and our duty and our heritage to keep our lines pure, and we hold our kin carefully and closely."

That speech, so fully formed, holds in it whispers of more than the teenager's own beliefs. It is backed and underscored by the wisdom of centuries whispering in the neat folds of her young mind, errant electrical charges firing in the cool, close darkness of consciousness. "Forget her, Michael. Do your duty. Find someone better. Find someone who doesn't - " Her mouth narrows again, fingertips tapping against the hollow core of the book cover. Abruptly, she changes subjects. "I need a way to contact you, when the Sept requires your aid."

[Michael Lennox] His scorn is as evident as if it were shown under the brightest day with no shadow of deceipt. And it is with this scorn that he watches Linnea. In this, she can feel that certain experience of being judged. Just as she was once before him.....her soul stripped from her body....and from that separating spirit and soul.

"You speak...but you do not know." Allowing his words to take some measure of recognition in her own expression before continuining. "I love Giselle.....and I will challenge for her IF I so desire...if it is you then so be it..." a certain since of condemnation is very evideent in the air..."If she does not want me...then permit her a meeting with me to air this...publicilly,,,,,afterwhich I wont mention again"

Again his gaze lingers to freely upon her striiping her of hide and flank and leaving her undone...moreso than any BSD could ever hope to do..."You have my cell phone...I answer to that even in the middle of a court case..." and so he has proven true thus far

[Linnea Bartlett] Linnea is silent, her pale eyes narrowed upon his face, tension writ liberally in the severe lines of her skinny frame and the indefineable aura sparking around her body. Her brows draw together in thought. "I know - I know what I would say, and I know what she would say. However, you pledged your honor to Harbringer of Raptor's Talons-rhya never again to have any dealings with his daughter. I cannot undo that sentence or unspeak those words." Her head lowers again, the thick braid whispering against her spine. Thinking, and furiously.

At last the girl looks up, relenting momentarily. "If it will cure your obsession, I will allow her to write you a single letter. Then you have to forget her."

[Michael Lennox] The rebuke is clear as daylight sparked upon the night in a moment's notice. His frown so severe that it woulf not only cause worry but also self-doubt.

"So I am to agree to words spoken when one of your elders spoje using Majesty? How wrong is that? Are you preparied to be mated off to some unknown?"

[Linnea Bartlett] Her pale skin flushes suddenly, color rushing to her cheeks. It is clear that he has struck a nerve. Nevertheless, her body language is straight and tall through the spine, her arms narrowly folded in front of her chest, unrelenting. "You spoke the words. And I gave mine to an Adren that I would do as I am now doing. I won't go back on my word."

She unbends at last, turns to grab her coat from where it was flung against one of the chairs earlier, curls and smooths it over her arm, the book she was reading. "If it would help you, I will allow her to write you a letter." The teenager shrugs, narrow-shouldered, sure-footed, live-wired. "That's all I can do."

[Michael Lennox] He nods, "She can write me a letter......." a moment's pause. "I would appreciate that....especially after so much." Looking at the Wyrm foe with a modicum of respect.

"Sit." Motioning her to return. "You have other business for me"

[Linnea Bartlett] The girl simply nods, deeply enough that her thick braid slides across her shoulder. She straightens and stills, although she does not sit. Not at the moment. "I'm planning a raid on a location the enemy used as a staging ground prior to the attack on the Sept. The Gauntlet is thick in the area. I have packs to cover the physical ground, but I need a pack in the Umbra, in case they try to escape that way and to clear out whatever banes remain."

She pauses, shifts. "I have pictures and sketchy plans of the building. I know you have a Theurge. Maybe you can work with The Butcher as well."

[Michael Lennox] He nods, "Well cover the umbra then...to cover any who might go that route to escape or those foolish enough to use the umbra as a stagining area....is that all you ask?"

[Linnea Bartlett] "That's it. I'll relay the date, time and plans once they are firm, and get you the information we have on the location. Next time you come to the Caern, I have a file with labeled pictures and a rough sketch of the plans." The girl replies, seriously, focused. "Otherwise," an apologetic shrug. "I have duty, unless there's anything else - "

[Michael Lennox] HE shrugs...."What if I challenge for Giselle...would you realy stand in my way" It is so clear that his pack would be ready by his expression

[Linnea Bartlett] "I would and I will." The girl responds, stopping at the door. She is absolutely firm, her pale eyes blazing, her mouth set. "I gave my word and I stand by my word, Michael. If you challenge me, I'll meet the challenge. It won't give you Giselle, though. You'll still have her father to answer to. I'm going."

Her hand is on the doorknob, turning. Soon she'll be out the door. "Good night."

[Michael Lennox] And for some odd reason...he smiles.

"Good night Linea....Vanguard of the dawn..."