Matt nods solemnly. "Aye. We 'old grudges a /long/ time. Oi'm /personally/ distraught about tis betrayal." the weight of his sarcasm proves too much, and he breaks, laughing as he swallows more beer. Damn. Empty. Still: "Tobin, Oi fink th' Fangs are like an overstuffed chair. Way too tight, but comfortable if ye can get 'em ta fookin' relax. Oi 'ave no idea what yer talkin' about, an' Oi've got a pretty good memory fer th' 'istory."

Tobin stares blankly at Matt for a moment before the traces of a grin work their way across his face. He quickly chases the grin away though and shrugs, "Oh well, just thought I'd ask."

Matt smiles. "Point is, no. We're not still mad. Oi'm not, anyway, an' Oi doubt Sierian or Rusty are, so there. The Fianna in St. Claire are officially not mad at you. Dunno about Sasha. He's tryin' ta drink Cam's Jameson. May 'ave ta read 'im over it."

Ceylan's eyes dart from one man to the other, and she looks..quite lost.

Bernie steps up onto the porch, accompanied by a soft humming and a bag of groceries, and looks slightly startled to see the group, Matt in particular. "Mmf. 'f I knew you were goin' here too, I woulda caught a ride..." She frees up a hand, and waves it vaguely toward the group as a whole. "Hey."

Tobin blinks, not having expected further answer, he starts to reply to Matt when he notices Bernie approaching. With groceries. He eyes her suspiciously while getting up to open the door for her, "I'm not cooking again, am I?"

Ceylan looks up to Bernie and she bows her head to her, "Ceylan Kemal, Fullmoon Black Fury, Cub, called Chases-Mountains-across-the-Wild's-Light."

Matt looks startled, but recovers, smiling. "Oi! Well, you can get a ride 'ome then, eh? Joost being 'ere ta educate th' little ones."

Bernie nods a bit. "Good idea. They could use it, I'm sure." She grins at the 'little ones' in question, and adds to Ceylan, after a quick glance around the area, "Bernie Rosenberg, Stomps-Th'-Wyrm-With-Steeltoed-Boots, Cliath Gnawer Raggie, niceta meetcha. An' no," she adds, to Tobin, now, "y'don' hafta cook. Y'don' hafta eat, either."

Tobin scowls at Bernie and sighs, "I guess that means I'm cooking. Well, let's see, have any of you ever had dinner crepes?"

Ceylan looks quite blank at Tobin.

Matt says "Dinner crepes? Let me guess, one of your ancestors is French?"

Tobin eyes Matt and says, "In this case my ancestors have nothing to do with it. I learned it from my father, who learned it from a recipe book. Along with a lot of other things." He sighs again and fishes into one of his coat pockets, coming out with a small pad of paper and a pencil. He prepares to take notes, "Or, I can take your order."

Bernie grins, and shifts the bag to rest on her hip. Sometimes, hips are handy. "Only crepes I've come in contact with are paper, so. I prolly oughta haul this stuff t' th' fridge, though, it's been out a while, walkin' here."

Ceylan looks to Tobin, and asks him, "Do you perhaps have any burek handy? Or perhaps Shish, or kofta?"

At the far end of the lane, gravel skitters loudly, heralding the sight of a sandy-colored blur on four legs. It darts into the shadows beneath the trees lining the lane, and then out into plain view again--sprinting headlong for the farmhouse.

Tobin looks over at Ceylan and blinks, "Well, I've got whatever Bernie-rhya brought, which I don't think includes those things. But, I made be able to make you some curry if..." He trails off, watching the, blur, approach the farmhouse. Maybe 'rocket' might be a better term. He steps behind something solid-looking.

Matt tracks on movement and is standing quickly, almost before identifying the incoming wolf. His stance is a fighting stance, though it owes more to Kensington street fighting than any dojo.

The unnaturally-fast blur skids to a halt at the foot of the porch, all blazing wet-gold eyes and lolling tongue. The wiry, unfamiliar mutt lifts its head and barks once--a torn, grating sound that's harsh on the ears. Run-quick!

Ceylan blinks a bit, at this rocket-turned-wolf-person-thing and immediately stands up, at the command, and she glances to..uh..whoever's in charge here, that would I guess be Matt?

Matt frowns. "Cubs, inside. Now." To the wolf he doesn't know, he growls ~I am Heals-the-Breach. You are whom?~

Bernie hands Tobin the bag of groceries and pushes the door open, ushering the cubs inside. Meanwhile, she looks the visitor over, and takes a quick look around the general surroundings.

Ceylan doesn't skip a beat once Matt utters the order, and she's already heading inside as Bernie gets the door open.

Tobin moves towards the door but doesn't quite go all the way inside. He's still got his pad of paper and pencil but they're quickly rendered useless as he's handed groceries. "Maybe it wants something to eat?" he suggests weakly.

The mutt chuffs in frustration, her single intact ear flattened against the narrow skull. No time for formalities, Breach-healer! She turns a skittish circle, full of pent-up energy. Sepdet-rhya is missing, and her blood is on the rocks!

"In," Bernie growls, human-style, giving the Fang a push inward. "Put it in the kitchen. Sit. Stay. Got it?"

Tobin scowls but goes inside. "Woof." he mutters.

Matt scowls. ~When an unknown wolf comes to this house where none come in wolf-form, in manner teeth-bared, charging toward cubs, there is time for introductions. I need not explain my caution.~

The mutt still herself with another throat-rattling sound of exasperation, and lifts her muzzle with a hint of noble blood. So be it, ~Wastes-Time~.

Bernie shuts the door behind the cubs, and leans against it, setting her backpack down.

Shifting up into human form, the punky-looking stranger shakes out her dreadlocks and grimaces as she stomps up the stairs to stand nose-to-nose with Matt. She has a few inches on the Fianna, and her topaz eyes narrow. ~Bloodsinger. Cliath, Strider, Galliard.~ "And," she adds in english, "A relative reporting a goddamn missing /elder/. Light a fire under your ass, hombre."

Matt doesn't back down. "Don't shift here. Ever. Do ye know Bernie?" He nods to the Ragabash by the door. "Is she Kin? Does she know what ye are? Oi don't. Or where you're from. For all Oi know, you heard a name, and hope to lure some o' us away from th' mickey an' th' cubs. Oi don't fink that's th' case. But Oi don't know it ain't, got me?" His eyes don't leave hers, and the fire behind them is the fierceness of an overprotective elder brother.

"...an' that outta th' way, Bernie, Stomps-Th'-Wyrm-With-Steeltoed-Boots, Raggie, Cliath, 'Gnawer, an' so what did you find, an' did you have any particular direction in mind for us t' run? 'cause if there isn't somethin' huge comin', we might be better gettin' folks an' goin' t' see what's there. Maybe even if there is. Hi." The girl pushes a curl back behind her ear as the rapid fire comment ends.

The tall, dark-skinned stranger snorts--close enough for the breath to wash over Matt's face angrily. She gives a vague roll of her eyes. "/Shit/, kid. Sept's small enough that you'da heard about some fuckwit trolling for cub's blood by now. Want more names? Isaac. Little Bear. Dena. Walks-Thin-Ice. Enough for ya?" Her lip curls, baring a white incisor before she turns away from him, stomping back down onto the gravel before glancing back over her shoulder. "Enough thinkin', _ninitito_. Or should I go find someone who actually gives a flyin' fuck about Hope-Star?" In her impatience, she bluntly ignores Bernie's questions with a cold gaze. She's too busy glaring at Matt.

Matt's lip curls. "Oi said Oi believed ye. But yes, enough. An' Oi care fer Hope-Star. Oi also know she wouldn't want ta trade 'ersel' fer three cubs. You said 'blood on th' rocks.' Where?"

Tatt tilts her head towards the eastern forest. "High promontory. By the lip of the cave." Her boots scuff against the gravel, restless.

"Oh, good," Bernie mutters, "Done with the posturing, now we can get to something useful." She shakes her head, annoyed, and asks louder, "Lots of blood or only a little? Any sign of her goin' somewhere from there, on this side?"

"Nada," the Strider answers, with a shake of her dreads. "No blood-trail, but her scent's strong heading back down into the valley. And... there's enough blood for me to worry."

The door to the House opens up, and Ceylan's head pokes out, low enough for another head to be added above her.

Tobin adds his head, to the space left for it above Ceylan's, peeking as quietly as he can.

From afar, to the room, Tatt needed mostly to get the word out, so the sept can start panicking about Sep's absence. :)
Tobin pages to the room: Sep's gone missing? o.o
From afar, to the room, Tobin panics!
Long distance to the room: Bernie nods. Let's say Tatt, Matt, and Bernie went and looked to see if together they'd find anything more, and then went telling people?
From afar, to the room, Tatt chuckles. Yup. And that sounds good, Burn. :)
You paged the room with 'Settled, then. :)'.
Tobin pages to the room: Cubs were going to spy. I suppose we could say the adults had gone by the time they decided to spy.
You paged the room with 'If they weren't, the adults (Bernie, at least) would've been pissed. She said STAY! Rar. >:)'.
Tobin pages to the room: Would the adults have let the cubs know they were going off, or would they have just left?
From afar, to the room, Tatt hmfs, and is the only IC adult here. 30-year-old cliath. :}
Long distance to the room: Bernie would've leaned in and said. And repeated the Stay part. ;)
Long distance to the room: Bernie is an IC adult, 'rouwise. ;)
Tobin pages to the room: Okay, well since Ceylan and Tobin had already decided to spy and then peeked, let's just say the adults were maybe just leaving?
You paged the room with 'Sure. Bernie growls at you again. STAY. Nyah. :P ;)'.
Tobin pages to the room: Hee. Ok. ;)