4/4/2005

06:06 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (30% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 49 degrees Fahrenheit (9 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 15 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.14 and rising, and the relative humidity is 58 percent. The dewpoint is 35 degrees Fahrenheit (1 degrees Celsius.)

County Line Road, In the Woods
At this point in its journey, the faded asphalt of County Line Road meets an ancient dirt road rutted with tire-marks.  The paved surface buckles at the edges, as the trees gain their slow victory over the works of man.  Ancient pines and maples dominate the surrounding forest, along with a few oaks and an occasional sequoia towers over its smaller companions, jutting upward into the sky.
The road leads southward into the forest, its cracking asphalt giving way to a hard-packed, rutted dirt surface.  To the north, patches of light dapple the crumbling pavement, and the trees seem to thin out a little.  The trees arch over the road on either side, creating patterns of greenish light and shadow.
Contents:
Cy
Obvious exits:
North on the Road  South on the Road  
Cy shifts into Homid form.

[look Cy]
There's not much to look at beneath the film of city grime and bicycle grease; five-foot-four would be a generous height estimate. She has a pale, wide, weak-featured face that adds to her apparent youth. Dirt-streaked round cheeks, snub nose, and dark eyes are haloed by a hacked-off mess of hair that can't decide whether it's pink, green, black, or some muddy in-between shade. A stainless-steel menagerie of varying gauges lines both ears; her most noticable piercings are a set of heavy black talons that stretch both earlobes to almost an inch in diameter. She rarely smiles, and tends to squint. On the occasion she does show her teeth, it's obvious that she's missing her upper left incisor.
Monochrome black garb seems to fit her tightly for the sake of utility, rather than fashion: jeans, t-shirt, hooded sweatshirt, bandana knotted around her neck, duct-taped All Star sneakers. The most prominent patch on her hoodie is stamped with the words, "FIX SHIT UP". The cut of her clothing reveals a sexless build with a short torso and nimble, stick-like limbs that are obviously underfed. There's usually a grubby bike messenger's bag strapped over one shoulder and a heavy length of chain draped around narrow hips, strung through the belt-loops of her jeans. She looks like just another pan-handling street urchin.

It's midday, and the County Line Road is deserted but for the twittering of early-springtime birds and the shifting of dappled shade across broken pavement. Deserted, but for the sleek silver track bicycle leaning against a roadside tree-trunk.

Kenneth's wandering. And today, it's pretty darn far off where he's wandered to, walking down the road, right in the middle of it all. The halfmoon's hands are in his pockets, expression contemplative. As the light catches just right on the bicycle's metal, he looks up at the strange sight, slowing down his already strolling pace. Casting his gaze around, he fishes for an owner of said cycle.

No sign of any rider, at first--although closer inspection reveals a length of chain wrapped through the bike's wheels, effectively rendering it immobile. Just beneath the rustle of wind through branches, there's a telltale 'tsk-tsk-tsk' of bass line as though from muffled speakers. It's comng from somewhere overhead, by the side of the road near the bicycle.

Kenneth nears the bike, checking it out for a moment before catching the distinctly unnatural bass. Again his eyes scan at ground level, before he looks higher up to focus upon the sound's origins. One hand coming out of his jeans pocket, his fingers scratch lightly along the underside of his chin as the Shadow Lord searches.

Cy pages: It's a /nice/ bike, if he knows anything about them. Italian make, extremely lightweight.

Much rustling ensues from overhead, just a few paces down the road. Abruptly, a black-clad figure falls into view, dangling monkeylike from both hands on a low-hanging tree branch. In a flash of neon pink-and-green hair, the skinny kid drops to the roadside and sits cross-legged, backed turned to Kenneth. A pair of large headphones over both ears are the obvious source of the bassline.

Kenneth looks over immediately to where the rustling occurs, and the girl who drops out of a tree. His brow furrorws, taking her in, dyed hair, headphones, all. The random kid sighting is not /quite/ what he had expected. As a result, though, he moves a bit closer to her back. Looking about, he stoops to pick up a small pebble. Judging a bit of distance, the halfmoon tosses it lightly, sending the pebble bouncing out in front of the girl.

She's on her feet in a flash, dropping whatever it was she was working on--a notebook and a bit of yellow-green fluff, apparently--as she whirls to fix eyes on her assailant with a snarl. Knees bent and shoulders hunched, she looks ready to bolt... or maybe pounce.

Kenneth tenses near invisibly with an anticipatory first reflex, feeling his leg muscles tighten then loosen. Now that she's turned around, he gets a better look at her. Before he even says anything, Kenneth lifts his fingers up and taps at the side of his head, mouthing the words, 'Take off the headphones.'

The black-clad youngster blinks once, owlishly, but the tension stays high as she shoves the headphones down around her neck with one hand. The bassline is much clearer now, underlining some raucuous punk anthem. Dark eyes cut a quick glance between the tall guy and the bicycle, just a few paces away.

"Now that you can hear me," Kenneth says once the girl's headphones are down, "Jus' sayin' yo and how you doin'. Y'know... bein' on the same deserted road and all that." He doesn't appear to be directly confrontational; rather lax, compared to the girl before him. Yet, at the same time, he doesn't appear automatically friendly. Even if he is on a bit of the good-looking side. "Name's Ken. You?"

"Touch me and I fuckin' /kill/ you," the scruffy kid hisses, bristling at the mild question. Sneakered feet remain planted firmly, her scrawny legs flexed and at the ready. She looks like nothing so much as a punk-rock version of some feral, cornered animal with her lips peeled back in a snarl. There's that missing tooth, too.
From afar, Cy notes, Charisma 1 and Rage 4. And it's the week before her First. Wooo, crackly crunchy Ragey.

Kenneth smirks at the threat, in a way that seems to hint at more than just the lean looking youth. "As if I'd die," he replies, though not approaching nor retreating. Then, more seriously, "Look all I was doin' was sayin' Hi, since I heard your headphones an' saw your bike. What, I look like an axe murderer to you or something?"

The grubby, nail-bitten fingers of one hand curl into a compact fist. "Touch the bike and I feed you y'own nutsack," she adds lowly, dark eyes narrowed. There's a crackling snap of electricity that seems to set her disastrous hair on end, although it could just be an errant breeze.

Kenneth's gaze darkens at first as he eyes the girl up and down again, and then he lifts his hand up nonchalantly. "I /ain't/ stealin' your bike," he answers to the threat with a nonplussed snort. "Got better things to do than petty theft." The Shadow Lord then looks at a dead on stare at the girl, eye for eye. "So, whatcha doin' out here?"

She seems slightly mollified by his reply, but doesn't release any of that palpable tension. Trying to keep one eye on the older boy, she bends to scoop up the bulging notebook and bit of light-greenish fluff, shoving them into the messenger bag strapped over her shoulder. "Drawing," the girl finally grunts, all defenses up.

Kenneth shrugs a shoulder. "Fair 'nuff. But you're out real late aren't you?" He waves the hand down the road. "Be awhile before you get back home, even on your bike."
"Ride fast," she retorts, re-adjusting the strap on her shoulder. She glances in the direction he indicates, briefly, and echoes his shrug. "No curfew." Wiping a runny nose on one sleeve, she stares balefully at her 'captor'.

Kenneth's brows lift, and a bit of a smirk remanifests itself. "Running from something?" he asks outright now, hand resting on his hip casually.

The scruffy girl shakes her head once or twice, shifting her slight weight from one foot to the other rapidly. She can barely meet the boy's gaze all of a sudden, and she frowns darkly. "Gotta go," she mumbles. "Gottago, gottago."

Kenneth tilts his head in a bit of a look at the girl, before he is the first to turn away and head off the roadside and towards the deeper wood. "Suit yourself," he says with a hand lifting in a pseudo-wave of 'see you later'. "You be careful out there. There're things out here that'll eat you if you're not."

The younger girl makes a dash for the bike as soon as there's a clear shot, freeing it from the chain and mounting with a few practiced movements. She heads in the opposite direction, towards the city--but not before circling once to eye the retreat of the young man from afar. Then, she's off like a streak of spoked lightning.

By the time she's gone and circled once, Kenneth is nowhere to be seen. Creepily disappeared, as a ghost in the shadows of the woods. He waits from behind a tree until the sound of the bicycle is farther down the road, and then shifts down to his lupus form. Warily, the Shadow Lord trots out onto the open road where the two had been before, and sniffs about for the girl's scent and other information mere looking wouldn't tell him.

[And later in the evening, when Kenneth returned citywards.]

Wharf Street, Industrial Sector
An untidy sprawl of warehouses and the occasional factory, particularly the power plant, spreads westwards, through several blocks around and west of the wharves. The wharves themselves are decrepit, rotting from the river inwards, though the landward ends are still maintained sporadically. Ash and dirt and smoke cover everything in a dark film that dulls color and darkens whiteness. Rainbows of small oil spills are nothing unusual in the warren of streets and alleyways; nor is the presence of rust along metal eaves. In the alleyways, huge trash bins are accompanied by oil drums, tires, and the waste of decades of industrial carelessness. The smell of smoke from the power plant overlays all; between smell and residue, all combines to lend an air of desperation to the empty collapsing warehouses and one of depression to those warehouses yet standing and in use.
Contents:
Dillen
Obvious exits:
Converted Warehouse  North  West  

Kenneth is just a few feet away from the entrance to the warehouse that houses the Shadow Lord loft, leaned up against the wall. Hands in his pockets, the halfmoon gazes skywards, watching the dark blue, almost black night. Perhaps picking out what meager bits of stars there can be seen, he does so in utter silence.

Dillen sits on the steps of Shadow's end. He looks up to see his friend coming close. He bows his head a little and gives a nods.

Kenneth slows his walk, finding a figure out in front of 'his' territory. The halfmoon looks to the Get, coming to a stop in front of him. The hands come out, fingers relatively lax. "Yo," he verbalizes, looking down at the galliard.

Dillen looks up and gives a quiet, "S'up?" He keeps quiet for the most part, kicking at the step below him.

Kenneth remains a cold neutral towards the galliard. "Talked to Brom," he says stiffly. "Fought 'im too." Only the most perceptive would be able to make out the stains on his black t-shirt in the dark, but they are there nonetheless. "What're you doin' here?" The question isn't demanding, but questioning all the same.

Dillen shrugs. "Was gonna clean the place up for you. Just, sitting here and getting the courage to go up there. Saved some cash and was gonna buy some new stuff." He looks up to Kenneth. "And what happened besides fighting?"

Kenneth narrows his gaze a touch. "It's already been cleaned," he states evenly, fingers still lax at his side. And in answer of the latter question, he looks off down the street abruptly for a moment. "We talked."

"And did anything come of it?" Dillen's eyes showing some hope of the future for the pack.

Kenneth doesn't say anything at first, still looking down the road. Then, another jerk of his gaze brings it back to the Get. "Yeah," he replies with a forced aloofness. "Told 'im to go meet Snaekolfr." That's all the Shadow Lord admits, before making his way up to the entrance and unlocking the door manually with a key from his pocket.

Dillen nods his head, taking a deep breath. "Want me to go in with you?" He rises to his feet.

Kenneth unlatches the door, pauses, and looks back at the Get. He doesn't answer immediately, but after another long moment, pushes the door open more. "Go on ahead," he utters.

Dillen nods his head and walks in first. He moves into the elevator, waiting to see if Kenneth follows. "Or do you want me to go up alone?"

Converted Warehouse - Shadow's End(#3589RAJh)

 Track lighting along the 30 foot skylighted ceiling in this spacious complex accents the smaller sconces along the walls every 10 feet or so, keeping the entire area adequately lit, even while allowing shadows to play in odd areas during the night. Over all, the entire effect is dark and post-modern in places, warm and inviting in others. On one side of the lower floor, a spiral staircase leads up to a mezzanine that stretches along one entire side of the place. Two suites with separate baths can be found there, nearly a perfect match to the two downstairs. One of the downstairs suites is larger than the rest, though all of them seem excellently appointed. The end of the apartment nearest the entrance contains a large rec room with a comfortable-looking sofa, several leather recliners and a high-end entertainment system. The other end of the apartment contains an impressive workout room, complete with free weights, and other assorted fitness equipment. The center of the lower floor contains an open kitchen area. A sprawling, dark-grey counter surrounds a set of expensive-looking burnished appliances. Charcoal grey carpeting covers the floor and huge, vertical blinds hang near the workout area, covering windows that stretch halfway to the ceiling and overlook the river.

Contents:
Dillen
Obvious exits:
Elevator  

Kenneth, in answer, follows up behind the Get. Once the elevator whirrs down, he steps in first and waits, looking at the Get, for Dillen to get in. Once they're in and the button is pushed to go up, the ride is made in silence on his part. Not until the doors open and the loft's condition is revealed, does the Shadow Lord offer, "Watch your step. There's bound to be glass I didn't get." Dried pools of blood stain the carpets, unwashed out. The uncarpeted flooring however, looks like it has been shoddily washed and swept - only some pathways that lead to the kitchen, and leading to the broken-railed staircase.

Dillen looks all around, his first glance at the place. He swallows hard and lets out a deep breath. He steps over and kneels, running a hand across the blood stain. He then rises and looks to Kenneth. "What do you plan to do with it?" As he looks all around, eyes sticking on the door to where Lucas lived.

The blood doesn't travel that far, save for some dried halo'ed stains where Kenneth himself had walked. "Nothing," he answers plainly, moving to the kitchen. From there, the bright gleam of a flashlight flicking on beams out. Kenneth carries the torch with him, walking back over to the Get. "Cutter wanted to burn it down." The halfmoon looks around, but the flashlight doesn't move with his gaze. "I almost agree with him." The wind starts to pick up, and blows right into the loft from the shattered panes overlooking the river.

Dillen gives a bit of a shrug. "Or use it to live in, tear the place up and redo it. I still have three grand from Jarred." He looks to Kenneth, "If you want it."

Kenneth snorts a bit, and turns away, carrying his flashlight with him. "Three grand won't last," he says in return, walking towards the staircase. "Why the hell do you want to live Here?" From two steps up, he looks back at the galliard, voice emphasizing with bitter significance.

"Because it could be a place for us. Somewhere where we can train, learn, sleep, without someone always looking over our shoulder." He looks around the place. "I know you have bad feelings about it. But better to use it for something than just burn it down."

Kenneth tightens his jaw, looking back off. Flicking off the flashlight, he continues up the stairs. "Whatever." After going up a few more steps, the Shadow Lord pauses yet again halfway. "And how do you expect to maintain this place?"

Dillen shrugs. "Find a way. I still get painting gigs and they pay pretty well. Maybe rent a room to us all. Actually pay for our keep." He shakes his head, "I'd just want a place of our own. Ya know."

Kenneth shakes his head again, starting up the steps. "You make it sound like we're some hippie pack, livin' in a peaceful commune together," he growls out. For a moment, the Shadow Lord disappears from view, entering his appointed room. The door left open, small light suddenly clicks on from the upper hallway, providing some semblance of visibility. Kenneth returns then, and looks down from above. "Might as well leave the place as is, if /we/ end up living together."

Dillen gives a shrug. "That would be up to you. And it's not a hippie commune. It's like boot camp." He walks upstairs and to the door of Lucas' room. "You want to go in... Or shall I?"

Kenneth barks out a laugh. "Yeah, right, whatever." The halfmoon turns away, concealing what emotion spread over his features after that. He waves a hand for the Get to go in if he wants. "Hasn't changed since I went in there."

Dillen pushes the door open and walks into the room. He's in there for a while, standing in the middle of the room. His eyes just looking all around. "Never even been in here."

Kenneth shrugs a shoulder lightly. The walls of Lucas' room no doubt sport the heavy claw marks that evidenced the ahroun's fits of rage, or perhaps the marks are from someone else... Either way, the room is decently furnished and relatively unchanged. No blood spots the floor here. Kenneth doesn't say anything at first, just letting the Galliard take in the room. Then, he says, "Mine's not much different." The halfmoon waits a tic, and tacks on, "You want to live with Brom?"

"If it means we learn how to be a pack more effectively, yeah. If it means I have to listen to his bullshit, no." He shakes his head, still in Lucas' room. "Did Lucas have any jewelry or anything? Besides the rings?" He takes a breath, "Or just something he liked... Like to have something that was his, if you don't mind."

Kenneth shrugs again. "It ain't my shit," he says with no indication of stopping the Get from rifling through the room. "Lucas wasn't the type to wear earrings or nothin' either," he adds, just a touch of his snarky attitude inserted.

Dillen finally finds something and slips it into his pocket. He doesn't rifle too much through the room, simply wishing something to remind him of his friend. He walks out, closing the door behind him. "If we do live here. That room stays the way it is. A reminder."

Kenneth simply flicks the flashlight on again. "If," he notes with little flourish. He starts back towards his room, pausing at the open door. "It's gonna be a bitch to clean up this hole."

"If." Dillen responds to him. He walks out to the banister and looks down over the place. "Kenneth. I want peace between us. What can I do to make that happen...?" He looks over at the other. "Tired of fighting with my packmate..."

Kenneth doesn't quite enter his room yet, but doesn't look back at the Get. "You're Garou, Dillen. And moreover, you're a Get. There ain't ever gonna be peace for you." Then he does lift his gaze slightly, staring at the far wall.

"Yeah. But I'd rather at least have you not wanting to kick my ass all the time." Dillen rests his arms on the banister. "Could use some peace with you, man."

Kenneth snorts again, not looking at the Get still, but not entering his dimlit room, its lamp providing the meager source of lighting. "I don't always want to kick your ass. It's when you're annoying that I do." His eyes shift, eyeing the galliard from the corners.

Dillen turns his head to look at Kenneth. "Are you okay?" As he turns to look at the other. "Why won't you go in?"

Kenneth finally turns to look at the Get. "What, you don't want me to talk to you?" he asks in return, brows furrowing in interpretation.

"I'd rather you talk to me and let me know what is going on. It's in your tribe to keep to yourself. But being pack, I need to know what is happening." He looks back downstairs again. "SO I can know if something is wrong. And vice versa. You need to be able to know if something is wrong with me." Dancing around the issue of taint.

Kenneth keeps himself from curling his lips back, a defensiveness assuming more in his body tension than his actual facial expression. "There's /nothing/ wrong with me," he insists with a growl.

Dillen raises a brow. "And there is nothing wrong with me. But what of down the road? It would be nice to know how the other person works, in the head. That way we work as a pack, a unit. smooth."

"That," Kenneth snaps out, "will come when we have some Wyrm thing's ass to kick." The Shadow Lord's hand tightens its grip around his flashlight. "And I would rather not go 'round tellin' you every little thing I do or think like you're my personal shrink."

"Oh fuck an A, Kenneth. I don't mean that you have to. But, dammit, you may have to trust me a little." Dillen turns and heads for the stairs, going down them and towards the door.

Kenneth stabs out with his words, "Trust is /earned/ not given!" And as the Get descends, Kenneth finally slips into the room.

Dillen turns around and yells back up, "Then tell me what else I need to do to get you to see that I trust you?" He stands in the middle of the lower floor, arms crossed across his chest and looking upwards.

Kenneth violently throws open the dresser drawer, tossing some shirts onto the rumpled bed inside. Then in a huff, he pushes the drawer back closed with a slam of lacquered wood. Stomping out of the room, the Shadow Lord goes to the end of the balcony and stares down at the Get. For long minutes that pass, he doesn't say a word. He just stares. "You just do your thing," he states flatly.

Dillen growls out an even, "Fine. I will." As he heads for the elevator door, hitting the button to open it and get out.

Bzzzt. Bzzzzzt. The buzzer sounds at the bottom as the large man stares upwards at the abandoned warehouse.

Kenneth slaps a hand to his forehead, annoyance reaching a max point as he has to descend the stairs and answer the intercom. "What?!" he shouts at the inanimate speaker object.

Dillen decides to stick around for a bit.

Staring at the box that squawks at him, Brom squints and taps it a few times, then shouts upwards. "HEY! ITS ME BROM!"

Kenneth takes his finger off the intercom button for a moment and instead slams a fist against the wall beside it. "God DAMN Fuckin'... WHY can't they just Leave Me ALONE?" The plea is to no one but the higher powers, and ignoring Dillen for the moment, the Shadow Lord thunks his head against the wall several times before he steps back from it, breathing hard with effort to contain and compose himself. The outburst passing slowly, he presses the button again and growls out, "Come up." The buzzer lets the Get in, and the Shadow Lord promptly retreats away, headed back for the stairs.

"Great. Just what I needed." He looks to Kenneth, "Want me to stick around? At least with two of us, we can put up a front against his all mighty." Dillen rolls his eyes at the thought of listening to Brom's conquests.

Brom glances at the elevator and tilts his head, sniffing at it for a moment, before cautiously making his way inside. He stares at the controls at the elevator, then glances around in confusion as he spins about in a circle, searching.

Kenneth has a hand against his head to wipe at what might have caused some slight bruising - though he didn't hit his head that hard against the tough wall. The halfmoon is halfway up the stairs as he works down the temper bubbling close to his surface. "Do what you want," he utters in reply to Dillen. Kenneth stops there, free hand on the bent up banister as he waits for the Get philodox to come up.

Dillen shrugs and heads for the kitchen, stepping over some glass and shaking his head.
You paged the room with 'Although I think the elevator's buttons only have 1 floor and lobby.'.

Its about five minutes and Brom is still in the elevator, spinning in circles slowly, staring at the controls. He squints his eyes, then lets out a loud frustrated huff which can be heard coming from the speakers. Its almost cute. He finally jabs at a few buttons. There it goes! Its going up!

Dillen looks to Kenneth. "I think he is having problems." This causes Dillen just a little bit of a grin. "Now that is funny."

Kenneth thus stands at the halfway point of the stairs for five minutes, not showing his humor, if any, at the situation. Like a hawk the halfmoon is perched on the stairs. Once the doors open to reveal the extremely poorly lit loft, Brom is treated to the grisly remnants of the final fight between Jarred and his tribemates. The dried blood caking the carpet is unwashed, and only in some paths that lead to the kitchen, hallway, exercise set and stairs is the glass from shattered points swept. Once Brom arrives, he is greeted with a nonplussed stare by the Shadow Lord.

Stepping out of the elevator, he throws a glare over his shoulder at it. Brom looks frustrated. "I fucking hate ... technology." He pauses and glances around. ".. Man.. look at this mess. Hey guys." He says, flashing a quick grin. "How is it?"

Dillen just shakes his head and looks at Brom, "Alive and wanting to kill something." He says, quite frankly.

Kenneth just shakes his head as Brom steps further in, turning partly on the staircase in debate of whether to ascend or descend. "Whatever," he replies as his answer.
Brom glances back and forth between the pair of them and furrows his brows. "What's wrong guys?" He asks slowly.

Kenneth just shakes his head as Brom steps further in, turning partly on the staircase in debate of whether to ascend or descend. "Whatever," he replies as his answer.

Brom glances back and forth between the pair of them and furrows his brows. "What's wrong guys?" He asks slowly.

"Just tired of waiting, that's all. I want to get back into it." Dillen growls.

Kenneth decides to start up the stairs instead. "Nothing's wrong," he answers flatly, heading towards the source of the only light in the loft coming from his room upstairs. "Except Dillen wants /us/ to live /together/." A pause. "/Here./"

"Its nice." Brom says glancing around slowly, sniffing the air. "Could use some fixing upping but.. its not bad. I suppose.. except for that elevator. Who did this belong to before?"

"The shadow lords. Jarred, in particular." Dillen says, leaning against the counter in the kitchen. "I think we need a place of our own to train in."

Kenneth doesn't answer as Dillen provides the information, instead retreating more up the steps and into his room. His body blocks part of the meager light emitting from the lamp upstairs. For the moment, no words come from the other philodox, only some sounds of his movement upstairs.

Turning his head to follow Kenneth, Brom asks. "And what do you think? You don't want to stay here?" He calls after the Lord.

Kenneth re-emerges, dressed in some different clothing from before, plus a tennis bag. "Pardon me if I don't want to live in the former home of a traitor and a fag," he hisses icily. "But I don't care if you wanna use the place."

"Then I'd say that we shouldn't use the place. Especially if it serves up such bad memories for another of our pack." Brom says with a slow nod, glancing to Kenneth, then back to Dillen. "In my opinion, if we have a base of operations, it should be our 'home', a place we can come 'home' to and feel comfortable."

Dillen just gives a shrug. He looks to Kenneth and runs a hand across his hair. "Yeah, you're right. We can find somewhere else."

Kenneth rakes a hand through his hair, closing his eyes as he visibly shoots down some thought rising in his head. "Look - we can fix up the place," he tells the two of them, turning and descending the stairs. "The fact that I still come here, maybe it's 'cause I can't stand the farmhouse for very long either." He pauses, swallowing down hard as he looks from Get to Get. "If you wanna use here as a safehouse, fine. You wanna use it as a base of operations, fine. Pack territory is right out there anyway," he says with a nod towards the river, viewable through the shattered glass windows. "But I /ain't/ calling this place Home."

Brom furrows his brows as he glances back and forth between them. "I'll let you two come to that decision, I am used to sleeping out in the snow in only my fur and claws, or living on the floor of a log cabin with a few lumber jacks. It doesn't matter where I sleep, long as I sleep. I just want you all to be happy."

Dillen gestures a hand to Kenneth. "It is his decision. I don't want him to suffer."

Kenneth scowls at Dillen. "Save it Dillen. I ain't sufferin'." And then with a quick shake of his head, and a shrug of his bag further up his shoulder, he turns to head for the elevator. "I just got one thing to say. And that is..." He turns, looking back, "If Snaekolfr lets Brom in.. one of the first things I want to do, is give a little payback to a certain group of vampires." He looks from one to the other. "With, or without you guys."

Brom raises up his brow, then -grins-. "Vampires? I want in." He says, snapping his head in a firm nod. "I love killing those fuckers."

"I am so in for that." Dillen nods his head. "Be glad to kick some ass there. Done it before. Do it again." He grins.

Kenneth doesn't smile back - he is deadly serious about his vow - and instead turns back to the elevator, pushing the button to call it up. "There's a couple of bottles of wine left in the fridge. Got it from Jarred's room." As the elevator rumbles up, the halfmoon steps in. "I... gotta do some laundry. See you guys." And with that, he pushes the button for the doors to close.

Dillen takes a deep breath and watches the doors. "He's a good guy. Just hard to get to talk." He looks to Brom. "You were pretty cool, Brom."

Tilting his head, Brom lifts up a brow. "I was pretty cool?" He asks as he rumbles in his throat, hands sliding into his pockets.

"Yeah. You were. I think Kenneth may actually believe what you say." Dillen takes a deep breath. "May even believe in pack a little more."

"Well, we kinda threw down last night, I let him throw the first punch an we had it out a bit." Brom hitches his shoulders. "Figure he needed to get that out of his system, it was fun." He says. "So, am I going to have to kick your ass -again- to be Alpha or are we just not going to waste each other's time?" He smirks.

Dillen looks out from under his hair. "Oh no, there has to be some blood for it. Otherwise we wouldn't be Fenrir." He gives a grin to the other. "But you aren't in yet."

"Well, introduce me to your totem then so I can beat the fuck out of him and get on with it." Brom says as he hitches his shoulders, arms crossing over his broad chest.
Dillen shakes his head, "Not tonight. Tomorrow. Kenneth needs to come to terms with this place and we need to leave him be." Dillen takes another look around and heads for the elevator. "C'mon, mountain man. I'll operate the big bad thing for you."

Making his way to the elevator, Brom lets out a loud huff. "I hate elevators." He murmurs as he steps inside, glancing at the controls.