The front door leads into a small mudroom; coats are hanging on hooks. It opens into the spacious, well lit living room, with several battered old couches arranged into a sort of conversation pit facing the fireplace, a table in the center of them. There are a few chairs, some straight-backed, some plush and comfortable, arranged to make secondary conversation areas, with little end tables placed in strategic locations. There's a notable absence of either breakable objects, or elaborate electrical equipment such as televisions. The walls, painted an increasingly dingy white, have some sweeping dark fabric prints on them, but no paintings or posters. A steep, uncarpeted staircase leads up to the second floor. There are several doors that lead out to other sections of the house, as well.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 57 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the northwest at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.07 and rising, and the relative humidity is 86 percent. The dewpoint is 53 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501
Currently the moon is in the waxing Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (82% full).
Compact is the word for him: wiry, maybe 5'6" in his beat-up black combat boots, with a sense of compressed energy and imminence like a coiled spring -- or a cocked gun. Never quite still for long, balance flowing through the balls of his feet. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue-green eyes, the colour contrasting with his fair skin and spiky copper hair; just below the left is what at first appears to be a faint mole, but closer inspection reveals as a small, long-healed scar. His features are appealing, with high cheekbones and a good jawline, but it's the confident mien and roguish smile that most often seem to draw people in.
He's in old black jeans with a rip in one knee and the cuffs half walked off, and his lack of shirt displays a small collection of tattoos. On his left arm, just below the shoulder, is a parachuting rat holding a crowbar and wearing a pair of glittery-gold star-shaped glasses; on the right side of his abdomen, about where the waistline of pants sort of act as the ground, are a pair of rats with a mortar aimed up toward the left. Both tattoos are all in black (aside from the glasses) and resemble spray-painted stencils. His back is covered by a phoenix rising from flames, smoke, and ash, in suitably fiery colours and a completely different style. A reasonably close-up look reveals a number of scars worked into the design of that one. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a pair of dogtags on a length of ball-chain around his neck; his nails were apparently painted black some time ago, since they're starting to show chips. Late teens, most likely, and when he speaks it's in a mellifluous, southern-accented baritone voice.
A teenager, maybe 14 or 15 years old. The whole 5"7 of his somehow spell out "farm boy", with a body that obviously has been subjected to a more or less healthy dose of sunlight and the abs that tell of a young life that has seen quite a bit of labor.
Well, either that or he is one of those that spend a good deal of their youth in a fitness center with a tanning booth.
He is not unpleasant looking, with a cleanly shaven face (or one that needs no shaving just yet to stay that way), well defined chin and high cheekbones, with a pair of grey-blue eyes, a face that could probably be considered cute if he used his facial muscles more than he absolutely has to, almost like trying to give his face a nondescript look. The blond hair he has cut down to a crew cut does nothing to help here, he seems to go for the "practical" style rather than following some fashion trend.
Practical also seems to be the theme of his clothing style, a pair of khaki pants and matching shirt, both slightly worn but clean, along with a pair of boots on his feet that have equally seen a good deal of use but are (usually) kept clean and well cared for.
Shaggy brown hair and darker brown eyes frames this young boy's face. Justin has a slightly tanned complexion with a hint of Puerto Rican from his mother's side, Caucasian from his father's. He has a fairly lanky build that could use a bit of bulking upas he is built like a high school track runner. He wears loose fitted 'destroyed' blue jeans, simple tank tops, and worn down sneakers that are about five months in need of replacement, and during the cold, a thick green military jacket from his Grandpa. He looks like your average, ordinary American young teen that plays outside and is fairly active. Tall at five foot ten, he is a few inches higher than most his age for now.
Frederick shakes his head and grumbles, more to himself than anything. "Stop jumpin' to conclusions, will ya? Jarl is jarl, I ain't in no position to question that. It's just so ... I dunno", he throws his hands up and jumps from his chair. "Stuff is so different here. It's like the litany and stuff don't mean jack anymore. Fuck, I mean, like, there's ... I dunno, forget it." He huffs and drops back into his chair, not even acknowledging Felix' arrival.
<OOC> Felix: That's okay, 'cause I'm not here until I pose in. ;)
"Whatcha mean the litany don't mean jack? The litany is upheld pretty tightly in my opinion." Justin says as he rubs the back of his nose. He is in a pair of white boxer briefs standing in front of two bucket air conditioners he built with the shirtless Fenrir. The two are sitting in chairs next to each other and soaking up the cold air on a hot and humid afternoon.
Felix comes in from the back, also shirtless, carrying the rest of his clothes, and decidedly sweaty. "...oh, holy fuck, that feels good," he exclaims, stopping short in the aura of the ACs. The other two Garou get glanced over as he adds, "Hey."
Frederick grits his teeth as he leans back in his chair, just simply allowing the chilled air brush over his chest. His rather restlessly flexing toes (sans his trademark boots for the moment) give away that he is not quite as relaxed as his posture may suggest. The "hey" prompts him to open his eyes, grey eyes turning briefly towards Felix before simply closing again. "Ya know", he answers Justin rather than Felix, "things run very, very differently here. Far more ... I dunno how to put it, less orderly. People don't know where they belong, I guess. At home, you sure did know that!"
"Well, just because you just got here and is a bit confused doesn't mean the litany is not being upheld. That is kinda a blanket statement." Justin smirks over at him. "Why don't you touch base with Brom and talk to him? You are staying with him right? Maybe he's just letting you get your toes wet for now."
Felix arches a brow at the discussion, and eyes Frederick. "Kinda blanket statement that's liable to rub folks the wrong way," he notes, and sets his shirts down, heading to the fridge to snag one of the beers. He eyes the other contents, coming out with an apple and heading back to lean up against the nearest reasonably appropriate support near the ACs. "...now, are we talkin' people not knowin' where they belong, or people not necessarily agreein' with where you think they belong?" he inquires easily, "'cause it ain't the same thing."
Frederick says "A BIT confusing, now that's an understatement if there ever was one", the Get grumbles as he opens an eye, watching Felix move about but he doesn't bother to get out of his chair. Just his toes keep flicking and drumming against the floor. "Whatever. Hey, it ain't like I can adapt. Things are way easier here. I mean, nobody even bothered to wake me up so far for some training. Or try to catch me with my guard down." He flexes in his chair, doing his best to look like he's reeeeeally enjoying himself now. "Comfy, I tell ya!"
Looking amused, Justin glances over to Felix for a moment, then back to Frederick. "Tonight. You are coming out with us and we're going on a patrol in the Umbra. There is a few rough spots in the city that I want to take a poke at if you're down. Big guy like you would love to tangle with a bane or two, huh?" He hops up to his feet and ambles over to a pile of his clothes and starts to put them on after giving a few snaps of his elastic band about his boxers.
Felix watches Frederick aiming for that enjoying effect, and smirks, taking a bite of the apple, with a nice solid crunch. "Adaptability's important. Though I reckon if you deeply miss people tryin' to catch you with your guard down, somethin' might could be arranged. Hypotheoretically speakin'." He flashes Justin a grin at the plans, giving him a small nod, and biting the apple again.
The Get opens an eye to look over to Justin. "Umbra, huh?", he shrugs. "Ain't no Godi but if ya wanna...", he grunts at Felix' comment, shrugging, "Do yer worst. I've been spending my life lookin' over my shoulder. Part of the whole training. Guess it's finally gonna come in handy." He closes his eyes again and seems quite relaxed and self confident.
"That's the problem, you are too busy looking over your shoulder. You won't see what's coming right atcha." Justin laughs, amused. "But, yes, the Umbra. It is our pack's purpose. We're umbral treasure hunters and we find lost stuff and bring it back, as well as keep it tidy as best we can." Wiping his sweaty chest off with his shirt, he lobs it over to the couch and heads for the kitchen. "But, this is on the serious though. We may be a coyote pack and all but we still got each other's back. Pranking is cool and all but we're family first."
The Galliard just lets the smirk spread into a toothier smile, perfectly appropriate for another bite. "...it ain't come in handy 'til now?" he asks, giving Justin's abandoned shirt a considering look, then heading over toward it, "Must be nice where you been livin'." He picks up the shirt and wipes his own sweat off with the other side of it before dropping the garment back where he found it and heading back to claim Justin's abandoned chair.
A soft groan comes from the Get "Oh fuck it, you know what I mean with me lookin' over my shoulder. C'mon, don't pretend you're stupid", he grunts as he shifts in his chair, trying to find a position that allows him to enjoy the cold air some more. "And just so you know, my training's had more focus on the physical. We didn't have much time for spirit stuff. We teach to produce experts in their fields, not people who can do a little of everything." He sneers slightly. "Yeah, we have that luxury." An eye opens to look at Felix. "It was nice. We ruled the place, we owned it and nothing and nobody had a chance to move in on us. Last leech was like a decade ago. Our warriors were outbiddin' each other to get him." He smirks. "Ya know, gainin' Glory ain't easy when there's no stinkin' bane and fomori daring to come close enough to find out what sound they make when you shred them." He shrugs again, leaning back in his chair. "Guess that's easier here, eh?"
"Yeah, well.. welcome to the world of darkness, Frederick. Saint Claire is the Gotham of the North East." Justin says as he throws his hands upwards. "This is a huge city, a million people strong here. This is where a lot of bad shit will come and follow. I know that you want to make this a competition. Your bad ass warrior Sept against our stupid and weak pussy Sept, but we have a lot of heart here. We care about what we do. -I- care about what we do here." The Gnawer says as he rubs the back of his neck. "And we have heroes that live here, but sometimes it's like swimming up a waterfall. You try your best and you kill the bad guys, but here in the city, you can't stop it. All you do is try your best."
Benny has arrived.
There's two homemade air conditioners sitting here, with two chairs sitting near them, and sitting in THOSE are Felix and Frederick, both currently shirtless. Justin is as well, but in the kitchen right now. Felix tilts his head at Frederick's remarks, and pulls his knife from his pocket to finally open his beer. "Sounds borin'," he says, "...and like y'all got way too many people workin' way too small a space. Fuckin' waste. No wonder they sent you where you might not be useless."
<OOC> Justin: Shall we hop to a GM room?
<OOC> Benny: I believe we should, that way we aren't taking up Edgewood House