This basement is only partly below ground level, and there are windows evenly spaced on the walls, right below the ceiling level. The main part of it is a large open area with a small kitchen in one corner and a large, ratty carpet in the center, covering the cement floor. There is a rather large window in the kitchen; it looks as though it might actually open onto the street. On the wall opposite the kitchen is a large bin, and there are folding tables along the wall perpendicular to it. On the other wall there are a few folding chairs, many fewer than one would expect from the number of tables.
A hallway next to the kitchen leads off to two offices and what once might have been a classroom.
The old church is dark, dimly lit by outside light coming in through scum-encrusted windows during the day, and tomblike during the night. There is a coatroom in the back of the nave, with separate doors leading off to mens' and womens' restrooms, and two staircases, one going up to the balcony and bell-tower, and the other leading down to the basement. The double doors leading out to the street are at the back of the coatroom.
The hard wooden pews in the sanctuary are, for the most part, still intact. There are even Bibles and hymnals left in the shelves along the back of each row, although many of them look rather chewed on. The altar on a dais at the front of the church is empty, and the lectern that once stood next to it has been knocked over. Rotting red cloth hangs at the very front of the church; there might once have been a design on it, but it has long since faded or been eaten away.
In another era, she might have been considered terribly attractive. As it is, she sits just on the prettier side of average. At about 5'6", the girl looks to be carrying around a hundred and sixty pounds, giving her a rather full, hourglass figure unusual for a girl in her mid-teens. She has quite a pretty face; it's a bit plump and tawny freckles are scattered across her nose and cheeks, but otherwise her complexion is unblemished, and her features are well balanced. Full lips frame almost-straight teeth, often revealed in a cheerful grin, and large, almond-shaped eyes, the irises a warm, gold-flecked shade of brown and the lashes thick and dark, peer out brightly through wire-rimmed glasses. Her mass of unruly black curls falls untamed to the middle of her back, stray strands frequently dangling before her face. It looks as though she might be wearing an almost imperceptible bit of makeup, perhaps a light dusting of gold eyeshadow and some sort of very pale peach lipstick; the only thing resembling jewelry, though, is a silvery key hanging about her neck on a dog-tag sort of chain.
Her style of dress is equally unlikely to get her on the cover of Cosmopolitan, but it wouldn't be out of place in the average high school. She's clad in a deep green tanktop of some stretchy, slightly shiny fabric, which clings to her curves, the v-neckline scooping low enough to display quite a bit of cleavage. The shirt does absolutely nothing to disguise her bustiness, in fact playing it up for a change. The hem is tucked into a threadbare pair of baggy dark blue jeans, cinched tightly around her surprisingly small waist by what appears to be a seatbelt -- the buckle even reads "GM". The frayed hems pool around the ankles of her decrepit black Docs, laced with sparkly silver laces which have also seen better days. Atop all this is a huge and ancient black leather motorcycle jacket, the cuffs of which constantly fall down over her hands. Slung over her shoulder is a bulging canvas backpack, probably military surplus, dotted with patches and pins in various colours and states of repair.
Her name isn't quite accurate. Her ears are pointing up. Those big, bat-wing like ears that, if she didn't smell like a Gaian, would remind a lot of people of some Black Spiral Dancers. Of course, given Garou, some people don't bother to find out, first.
Other than her ears, she's relatively boring. She's very sturdy -- burly might be a better description. About 6'11", it's the kind of burly that's got a lot of muscle to it -- it's just not well defined muscle.
Actually, she's not entirely boring. Her mop of mousy brown hair is long enough to mostly obscure her eyes, which, since her eyes are remarkably weird, makes sense. They're almost yellow, and don't look quite human. They almost look like cat's eyes, but they're not quite the right shape for that. The rest of her face isn't offensive, just boring. The nose is a bit big -- maybe it's been broken, or maybe she was born that way. Makeup, it's clear, is of very little use to this person.
"Battered" would describe her choice in clothing quite well. Straining to fit over her figure are a black leather jacket, an almost new t-shirt, blue jeans, and doc martens. All slightly older than God, apparently.
She looks dirty in the way someone who's just gotten out of a long day's hard physical labor looks dirty, and it's clear she at least tries to stay clean.
At a little under six feet tall and wiry, Matt is trim the way a cross-country runner would be. His hair is white-blonde and short, gelled spikey. His eyes, the blue-grey of rainwater, stand out from his pale skin, the most striking part of his countenance. His hands are firm and workman-like, with scars on the knuckles from a few rows in his recent past, a motif that is echoed, for different reasons on his back. Where they can be seen at the nape of his neck, a maze of wire-thin scars trail onto his back, which is presumably cris-crossed with them.
Matt is dressed for comfort in an SCCU sweatshirt, faded blue jeans, hiking boots and his father's leather jacket, covered in embroidered patches from British punk bands like the Sex Pistols and the Stigmasochists. At his neck a thin chain catches the light, with a small Star of David pendant on it, resting at the base of his neck.
Kaz is in the process of extricating herself from an Anneka, who's asleep in lupus. She looks about to go upstairs.
Matt stops in the doorway, seeing the sleeping 'neka. Raising an eyebrow, he let's Racoon do the talking.
Pack> Matt says ""Oi, an' we should go out, Oi'm finkin'?""
Bernie manages =not= to bump into Matt from behind -- barely -- and bounces up onto her toes to flash a grin of greeting at Kaz, with a tiny wave, while she waits for the verdict.
Kaz shoots a thumb's up, and, in fact, once she's fully extracted from Anneka, heads upstairs.
Pack> Kaz says "That'd be a ten four, ol' buddy."
[Forgotten Church]
Pack> Kaz adds, "An' Jesus Christ, never let me talk CB lingo again."
Pack> Matt says "CB Lingo? Books?"
Pack> Bernie says "Trucker slang... from the radios in the cabs? Citizen Band, I think it stands for..."
Kaz flops onto the dais, grinning. "So hey."
Matt grins. "An' Oi, yersel'. 'ow ye been keepin'?
Kaz shrugs. "We got two new cubs, Anneka Rited, I want her in here so bad I can taste it, and I've been pretty fuckin' lazy, the last two months."
Bernie leans on the end of a pew, and nods -- at the Riting, that is. "I've been spendin' too much time on school stuff," she remarks, "...an' work. Gotta start doin' more other stuff, again."
Kaz says, "Amen and amen to /that/, Bern. Enjoy you bein' around, y'know?"
Matt smiles ruefully. "Sorry Oi've been outa touch, loike. Been on the Mickey fer th' tribe. Brick an' 'od, 'ammer and Chelsea Rails."
Kaz shrugs. "The fuck, stuff happens. I don' give a shit, so long as it ain't permanent, you know?"
Bernie nods in agreement. "Yeah. So what else's goin' on, then? I mean, anything recently new an' excitin', or's everything kina goin on th' same, still?"
Kaz ticks off on her fingers. "Some asshole lost cub was eating people, so Anneka killed him, but I think you knew that part. John's got a grudge against her now, which is fucked up. Um. Other than that, things is pretty much the same."
Matt ticks off on his fingers. "Went ta th' Barrister East End ta settle inheritance, an' gave up the corn. Working on a pope fer th' Fianna. Reckon I can guarantee a hot-tub if Oi build it mesel'.
"Oooh, hot tub!" Bernie exclaims, grinning, "...I better be invited t' use it or you're gonna end up with th' world's biggest jell-o mold. Fair warnin'." She slips down the side of the pew into the seat, hair (and other things) bouncing a bit as she lands inelegantly. "I've just been workin' and, uh, school-workin', like I said. Oh! Hey, Kaz, now that I c'n drive an' all I'm doing delivery, did I tell you that? Pays better."
Kaz starts grinning. "Hot tub, huh? Sounds like a fuckin' plan t'/me/..." She trails off. "No, yeah? Did you get a car while I wasn't lookin'?"
Matt nods. "Noice auto, too. Makes me jealous."
Bernie nods also. "Yeah, 's def'nitely nice. 's gotta CD changer that plays more CDsat once'n I've ever owned." She shakes her head at that, with a faint grin. "Lance gave it to me; he was s'posta help me out with building one in exchange for math help, I think, but next thing I knew..." She shrugs, and then grins again. "It's cool."
Kaz just says, "/Huh/," a few times. "Well, shit, maybe now I can start borrowin' your car and stop borrowin' Rach's truck. Unless you value your gear box..."
Matt grouses. "...scooter doesna even 'ave a radio..."
Bernie eyes Kaz dubiously, but then grins again, shrugging. "'s an automatic, so you prolly couldn' do too much harm, I guess. Jus' don't hit anything with it, yeah?" Matt gets a poke in the side, and she looks up to him, "Like you could hear it anyway... c'n still drive mine 'f you want music more'n breezes, though."
Kaz holds up a hand. "Scout's honor, honest to God, I ain't gonna crash anything. I ain't never crashed anythin' yet, have I?"
Matt bahs. "You septics drive on th' wrong side anyway. 's wierd, it is. Oi always feel loike someone's going ta come right at me, any minute."
Bernie smirks, shaking her head. "An' I let you chauffeur me around? I must be nuts," she decides, stretching a little. "...an' no, Kaz, I've never heard of you hittin' anything 'cept potholes."
Kaz says, "Well, y'nuts, but he ain't gonna kill you, no matter /what/ he does to /himself/, so you're safe, see." After a moment, she adds, "Well, I've had some pretty good wars with potholes. But I ain't killed no one's suspension in at /least/ five years, so it's ok, really."
Matt grins wryly, and pokes back. "Oi'm packed wif Bone Gnawers, under Raccoon, in a pack named 'Trouble', an' /you're/ the one 'oo's crazy?"
Bernie laughs, shaking her head. "Yeah! =You're= jus' =lucky=!" she declares, and nods once emphatically. "...a'ight, so maybe we all oughta be in straightjackets."
Kaz shakes her head. "No freedom of movement. Definitely to be avoided."
Matt counters. "Certain fashion cachet, though. Loike 'Clockwork Orange.'"
Bernie nods solemnly, weighing the points. "Maybe we'll jus' keep th' arms unfastened. Besta both worlds."
Kaz says, thoughtfully, "Well, it's certainly /distinctive/..." She trails off. "Anyway. Patrol an' shit. I should get th' heck outta here."
Matt nods. "No prob, Tens. Joost figured ta check in wif ye."
Bernie nods, pushing up out of the pew and hopping back to her feet. "Yeah... I gotta 8:20 class in th' mornin' anyway." She slides out of the aisle and gives the Alpha a quick hug.
Kaz hugs Bernie with a smile, and says, "Yeah, well, checkin' in's a good thing, definitely. I'll check in with /you/, next time."