Out of thin air.

[flint_garou]

What the fuck is this, the reversed Garou version of 'A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court'?

10 April, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (69% full).

With the evening temperature mild, and goodly breeze keeping the air fresh, it's a great evening to go for a walk. The park itself has a few comers and goers who apparently feel this is just-so, and music can be heard on the breeze, coming from somewhere further in the city.

Flint has his hands shoved in his pockets, jacket sullenly tugged closely around his frame. Nonetheless, the Glass Walker has a bit of a smile on his face as he looks over at Alexandra, walking next to his packmate. "Thanks," he offers, quietly, likely for her insistence that he get out of the workshop, and out of the tenement, and out, in general, "this. It's good to get out, and all."

Nick and Val are over by the park's fountain, kibbitzing with one another as they frequently can be seen doing at least two or more times each week. Nick has a black Magic 8 ball with him, held idly in his left hand. Val's got a coffee from a local coffee shop.

Thomas is apart from the others, though he can be spied heading in the general direction of the fountain. His head is down, battered hat pulled low, and he appears to be lost in his own thoughts. His pace can be generously described as 'meandering'.

"So, what is all this about?" Val quietly asks, before taking a sip from her coffee and scanning the park. "I mean, it almost feels like things are starting to quiet down again. At the very least, I'm hoping that they are. And hey, I managed to learn that trick you were asking about before. But I don't really think that I'll be asking to learn anything else from that Nik guy. There is some creepy shit in that place of his."

Alexandra smiles in return. "I was going a little stir-crazy myself. Figured a walk and some fresh air would probably do us both some good." As she looks around the park, she notices Val and Nick over near the fountain, and adds, "Looks like we weren't the only ones."

Nicodemus raises his right hand, using an obtusely incomprehensible gesticulation as a means of explaining an unexplainable concept. "It's like a… You ever seen that movie 'Donnie Darko?' Sort of like that, but not. And with pressure. But…" He gives up trying to explain and follows a different discourse path. "Creepy shit? Like dolls?"

Flint adjusts the direction that they're meandering along the path to angle for the fountain, as well. "And you're right, as usual," he says, with a grin. "Which," his voice drops a volume level, "is why you're. Better— you're better suited as alpha than I am, you know. Anyway. I think things might be quieting down, some? At least on my end." Flint raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Riley took— she took care of that. Thing, I texted you about earlier. And Devon and I worked things out, and. But yeah, I was going way stir-crazy, even. Even though I had what to work on, in the workshop."

Thomas's steps slow a little as he spies both parties, but he continues on toward the fountain regardless. Now, however, his head is raised just a little bit higher, and he's paying more attention.

Val shakes her head. "Try a room with ceramic tiles, chains on the walls, a garden hose, and a drain in the middle. Place had a metallic smell to it as well. Doesn't take a genius to put two and two together on that one."

Alexandra looks a little uncertain, "I dunno. I've never done anything like that before—I wasn't even team captain on my soccer team. But we'll see once we have everyone together, I guess. I'm willing to try, if it comes down to it." A short pause, as they draw near to the fountain, and then she greets the two that are already there. "Hi, Mr. Dalton. Hi, Val."

Nicodemus puts two and two together fairly quickly. "Ew. I'd have preferred dolls. That's not very re-assuring at all." He spies Flint and Alexandra approaching, but not Thomas yet. The mage nods towards the two approaching garou. "Hey, Flint. And…. Sorry, I've forgotten your name," he apologizes to Alexandra. Then his gaze strays from the garou. He looks westwards towards the street that divides the park from the city. He drops his magic 8-ball. It cracks on the cement and clear fluid spills onto the ground. "Fuck," he breathes.

Frighteningly in-time with the eight-ball smashing on the ground, there's a sudden, loud rolling peal of thunder—despite there being clearly no thunder-clouds in the sky.

Thomas draws up within hearing range about when Val describes the room, which results in him giving her a half questioning, half incredulous look, right up until the 8-ball cracks, and the thunder rolls. His head jerks up, and then again, skyward. "The fuck?"

Flint gives both Nick and Val a wave, and then he's totally derailed by the crack of thunder, immediately moving a little closer to Lex's side to guard her back should something go awry. "The hell?" he asks, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Nick?" Val starts off saying, concern clear in her voice. But, anything else is put on hold as the crack of thunder rolls out and she bolts to her feet. A complete bundle of nerves, as she squints westwards.

Alexandra's gaze follows the descent of the 8-ball, but when the peal of thunder rings out, she spins to get a look at whatever it is that Nick might have seen.

Nicodemus makes, perhaps, the obvious statement of the day as he glances from street to cracked 8-ball and back to street. "That's… not normalish." He takes a couple tentative steps backwards, away from the probable source of the thunder.

A sudden whoosh of wind breaks from the treetops and quite out of nowhere, a sudden alteration in the temperature gradient stirring the local airmass. First burning, then freezing, the air shimmers; leaves turn purple, then chartreuse. Another loud crack of thunder and a flash of light are all that herald a very brief, momentary wound in the gauntlet which suddenly spits out an armored man with some force, promptly sealing behind him. Yes, armored—fully. In platemail, which must be uncomfortable, as he rolls a good way into the park. Clearly dazed, it takes him a moment to gather himself, though he's quick to unsheathe his sword regardless, even down as he is, holding it to the fore. Staggering as he stands, voice thick and accented, he speaks roughly, eyes casting about as if some monster is prone to jump on him at any moment, "Be ye friend o' foe? A cradle t'the Wyrm?"

Thomas stares at the man. His mouth is even slightly agape.

"Not normalish at all." Alexandra glances to Flint. "Sounded like an invitation to me, though. Want to go see if we can find what caused it?" Of course, that quickly becomes moot, as the second peal of thunder deposits the man in armor. Of those assembled, the Shadow Lord would be the only one clearly recognizable as Garou due to her breeding. "I have no idea what he just said. I don't suppose any of you could decipher that, could you?"

Flint takes a few steps towards the stranger, holding his hands up. "Easy, at ease," he says, voice calm, level, even if the tension that rolls from the young teen belies his Rage and it being his moon. "We're friends. Friends, okay, yes? My name's Flint." A glance at Thomas makes it that the Glass Walker might not be entirely sure of that, but it disappears, fleeting. "Hey Lex? Veil," is added quietly, as Flint looks about the park. Then, to the stranger again, "Come over here by the fountain, and we'll introduce ourselves more. More properly?"

"Oh fuck me," Val hisses out, as her hand jabs in to her pocket and latches on to something. She eyes the normal humans in the park, then swallows hard. "Oh fuck me," she repeats.

Nicodemus suddenly looks in Thomas' direction, half-raising a hand defensively, then towards Val, then just backs away from the group as he alternates looking between platemail guy and Thomas. His right hand stays halfway up, fingers spread. "The hell?"

Still quite discombobulated, but starting to regain his balance, the armored man grips the sword with both hands, holding it in a defensive posture as he begins to slowly retreat, back towards the street. "A' dunnae understand all ye leid. Speak words a' ken!" Swallowing hard, the man glances around wildly once more, "Ma heid's mince," he says, more to himself, just short of taking a long, ragged breath. Flint gains his attention most, at least at first, "Friends? Friends!?" the man nearly seethes. "A' been carried about like a milldaughter's ragdoll an' always the Wyrm's kin speak a' themselves as 'friends'." When his eyes fall upon Alexandra, his opinion doesn't seem to change much, though it does give him some pause. "What country is this?" He's very close to becoming quite the spectacle, if he moves back much farther.

Flint grumbles a little, and speaks in Dirk's direction again, voice still tinged with the persuasive gift. "Please be at ease, good sir," he says, still tense and the words obviously take some concentration from the Glass Walker. "We be in a place where it is of the utmost import to preserve the Veil. There are places which be safer to talk. We be friends, and I speak truth. You be in the country of the United States of America, in the city of St. Claire, and the protectorate of the Hidden Walk."

Since Flint seems to have a better grasp of his accent than she does, Alexandra looks to Val and Nick, then briefly to Thomas and the other people in the park, clearly speaking of them. "Uh…any ideas?" She's clearly at a loss.

Thomas briefly jerks his gaze toward Nick at the movement, frowning faintly, but in the next moment his attention has shifted back to the man with the sword—and he's moving. Before the motion can really be registered, the kinsman has stepped inside the reach of the sword, hooked a foot behind his leg, and delivered a sharp, heavy blow to the strange man's jaw. "Welcome!" he says cheerily, as the stranger hits the ground. "You silly cocksucker, just how much have you had to drink? Can you believe this guy?" He makes an attempt to step on the sword itself.

Val glances back at Nicodemus, as the Walker Kinsman starts to back up. As events transpire, she scowls. Then, she gets distracted by Thomas' actions, jaw dropping open just a bit. But, that only lasts a moment, as she hastily backs up and pretty much glues herself to Nicodemus' side. "What's wrong?" She hisses, low and under her breath, to the Mage.

Nick lowers his right hand fully, then holds both his right and left arms behind his back. He stands in place now, a little distracted, but not so much as to ignore Val's query. "I'm not sure. Nothing?" His tone is not entirely convincing as he eyeballs the other people in the park, especially those paying significant attention to or attempting to record the activities.

The word 'America' seems to hold some meaning for the armored man, but that poofs as he's attacked by Thomas. There's an audible thud and clatter of metal as he hits the ground—though it becomes quickly apparent that the armor is not just for show. In the fraction of a second before Thomas' foot would come down on the sword, he rolls forward, grasps the hilt, and simultaneously shoves a gauntlented fist into Thomas gut with speed that could only be described as rage-fueled. However, the whole melee succeeds in pushing him away from the road and into a copse of trees what at least partially hides him from onlookers. This does not seem to please the man, who clearly feels like he's being backed into a corner. His hands grip the sword more seriously, obviously preparing for an assault. "Boston? New York?" He doesn't chance to glance away, but it's clear he's seen the larger buildings and skyline. "Ye speak lies. There be no town or country a'kin t'this." But it's clear he's not entirely sure what this place is, either. "But if y'don't be a' the Wyrmbood, then speak your purpose." He keeps an Eye on Thomas.

Thomas's breath is quite thoroughly drummed out of him, but he lunges a little further after the armored man, enough to bring him into the trees as well. There isn't any follow-up attack just yet, even if both of his hands clench into fists. "Hah!" he says loudly, and wheezily. "You are so piss-drunk, Al. Sit down before you hurt yourself, and we'll get you back home." He gives the armored man a sharp, warning look. "People are starting to stare."

Flint squares his shoulders, grabs Lex by the wrist to pull her along with him, and with as much purpose as the Galliard can muster, not to mention clearly fueled by Rage and it being his moon, stalks over to where the armored man and Thomas have ended up, placing himself between Thomas and the stranger for the moment, once Thomas has spoken. "Do not accuse me," he says, words starting to have an audible tinge of Rage as well, although the persuasive gift is still there, "of speaking lies. I speak the truth as I am aware of it." Then, his voice drops to a level audible only to Thomas, the armored man, and Alexandra, once he's decided that they're far enough away from people. "Please, do as he says, this is an area where keeping the Veil is of import, and we can go somewhere safer, soon. My name is Flint, named Carves the Requiem for Cockroach's Children, and I am a story-moon of Cockroach's tribe, ranked once under Gaia. Where in this country you be matters little, except that you be in the protectorate of the Hidden Walk. The home of my family be close to here, and you will come with us, and we will speak further, there." A half glance goes towards Thomas, with an obvious 'who the fuck are you' overtone to it.

Konstantin seems to have wandered into the meadow from the street, meandering down the pathways toward the fountain. As usual, he's smoking a cigarette.

"Bullshit," Val says flatly, as she pulls out her phone and starts to tap at the screen. "Something spooked you. You kept looking between the guy with the Magic Sword and Mr. Stare-at-Birds," she mutters, before putting the phone to her ear. "Hey. This is Val. You guys probably have calls flooding in about some armored guy in the park. Yea. Yea. No, no, don't bother sending out any cars. I'm already here and the situation is well in hand. It's just some guy dressed up for a renfaire and piss drunk off his ass. Some buddy of his was driving him home and decided to let the guy out in the park, because he was going to puke. His friends seem to have it well in hand." A pause. "Yes, yes, I'll take responsibility and file a report on the incident. Yes, I'm certain that it isn't going to turn in to anything ugly. It should even get cleared up before the media shows up, unless radio chatter has already happened?"

Alexandra gets pulled along out of sight, and once there, adds to Flint's explanation with, "Alexandra Morgan, Seeks the Raging Water to Silence Her Strike, Cliath Ahroun of the Shadow Lords. Unless you want your first act in Hidden Walk's territory to be a violation of the Litany, then I suggest you prove that Silver Fangs have both honor and wisdom and listen to him."

Nicodemus grimaces at Val's 'bullshit' comment but doesn't respond. He simply stands his ground, hands behind his back, eyeballing people in the park to assess what they're doing and how much they might have seen—or if anyone seems prone to intervening with the heated discussions occuring in the clump of trees.

The worried look the armored man shoots Val, who is obviously and clearly possessed, does not speak well of his current level of comfort and willingness to trust. However, the various Persuasive appeals to honor and territory, compounded with Thomas not hitting him, seem to convince him enough to lower his weapon. Slowly, he speaks, obviously attempting to be more understandable, "Theodoric of Clan Duncan, son of Mary the even-handed, grandson of Glynn the first-wielder." He begins to sheathe the impressive sword, slowly. Just in case. "I am known as he who cries glory above the din of battle, named of the second rank, born beneath the moon of war-callers in the year of our Lord sixteen and seventy. I have sworn my allegiance to the Kings of Scotland and the Sept of the Thistle an' Spear." That said, and his sword stowed, the man makes a slow bow, one gauntlented fist against breastplate. "If you are brothers and sisters that stand against the teeth of the destroyer, I will follow you."

Once it's clear that there's no more fighting to be had, some people lose interest. But still, there's a guy in armor Over There, so a there are still a few people that linger.

Konstantin aims toward Val, although he's definitely trying to keep the Guy In Armor in his peripheral vision.

Flint nods at Dirk, and the young Galliard does seem a little tired, and a lot tense, and there's a long moment of silence, before Flint points in the direction of out, of the park. "You be far, far from your home now," he says, still with the calmness and persuasion, "but there are friends, here." He looks towards Thomas, and then gestures towards the edge of the park. His phone is pulled from his pocket, a quick message tapped out and then it's stowed before any questions can be asked. "I will try and explain further, when there is less risk to the Veil, Theodoric-rhya." To Lex, he sighs, and asks, "Take the rear? Please?"

Text message to Val, Nicodemus: Taking weird guy to the tenement. Claims to be on team jacob. Come if you want, or stay and do damage control, your choice.

Thomas gives Flint a look that's less than friendly as he muscles his way in, but the man doesn't offer any audible protest. And then, as the stranger's introduction is given, his eyes narrow. In fact, they narrow more with every additional line. The fingers of his right hand curl very tightly into his palm. "You need to go with these people to their home, because there's a fucking huge explanation needed and this isn't the place to have it, Theodore." He shrugs out of his duster and very, very reluctantly offers it over. "Put this on over your armor and make sure the sword is mostly covered. And if you get it dirty, I'll fucking punch you again."

"Oh good, no radio chatter yet," Val says in to her phone. "Lets keep it that way. We do not want the media swarming around the station for days, just because they have nothing else to report on and local drunk in armor makes a good giggle story. You and I both know that'd blow over in a few days, but it'd be no fun at all in the mean time. We have enough shit to deal with, without that kind of crap added to our day. Good. Good. I'll drop by later to write up the report." And with that, Val turns off her phone and returns it to her pocket. She eyeballs the situation further, focus shifting between the fellow in armor and those surrounding him.

Alexandra turns her attention from the armored Silver Fang to Thomas. Still speaking quietly, she says, "First, thank you for your help. But I think an introduction from you is in order now." To Flint, she says, "Actually, if our new friend will give me his hand, I'll walk with him. He'll still get looks, even with the duster, but having a happy little girl beside him might make him seem a little less threatening." There are some advantages to being young, might as well make use of them.

There's an electronic dee-dee! sound from Nick's coat as a message arrives on his cell, but he ignores it for the time being as he focuses on the one or two people paying the most attention to the ongoing spectacle. Still standing near Val near the fountain, Nick notices Konstantine headed towards the Corax. "Head's up," the mage offers towards Val before Konstantine gets into earshot for a human being.

Thomas says, snappily, "I think you can wait for proper introductions until after there's no longer a knight in shining armor standing in the middle of the city, don't you? I'm family. Experienced family, even, so can we focus and get him out of here?"

There's a slight ease in Flint's manner when Lex speaks, "Yeah," he agrees, and then the tension is right back when Thomas' words are snappish at him. "When we get home," he states, and then he starts leading the way out of the park. To Val, and Nick, the teen makes a call-me gesture, or perhaps trying to indicate the two should look at their phones.

"Theodoric," says the armored man, as if Thomas simply misheard him. He takes the duster as it is offered, giving it a pensive, 'the hell am I supposed to do with this?' look, though he eventually figures it out and does as Thomas requests, draping it over his armor. Though he still seems absolutely baffled as to why this is necessary. "Dirk, if that is easier," he offers, glancing to each of the many faces that surround him with unease. He seems far too overwhelmed to try and determine the nature of all these machines right now. For that moment, doing as he's told seems the easiest and less problematic path to take. "Is it as ye say, truly? This be the New World?" This directed mostly towards Flint, taking Alexandra's hand carefully as it is offered, gauntlets and all.

Alexandra says, "What I think is that you're a complete stranger to me, and that 'experienced family' generally have the sense to not take a swing at a Garou when the moon is nearly full unless they have a damn good reason to think that they're going to survive the experience." She looks to Flint. "If we're taking him to your place, though, it's your call—do you want to take a complete unknown quantity back to where you live?" She trails off a little there at the end, looking a little startled by something.

Konstantin cups his cigarette in one hand as he watches the group depart from the park. "Hey," he says to Val amiably. Nick gets a nod. "Konstantin," he says, by way of introductions. He squints at Nick a little and shrugs. "Thought maybe I've seen you before."

Val scowls, expression focused elsewhere for a bit, but Nicodemus' words snap her back to the what is going on around her. "Huh?" She says, glancing around quickly. She catches sight of Konstantin, rather closer than she would have expected, and she jumps a little. "Hi," she says in response, sounding a touch uncomfortable.

Thomas reaches out and tugs the duster further closed, then turns to skulk along behind and to one side of the newcomer, watching him carefully. His eyes are still narrowed to slits, and there's a palpable perception of temper about him. "Keep your head down and don't look at anything just now." He turns that look on Alexandra. "And how the fuck was I to know he was Garou? He was some armored dandy that came rolling out of thin air talking scottish. And I know where you live, so can we please fucking go? Otherwise, I'll take my coat back, thanks, and take care of my own skin while you all stand around flapping your lips about this in public."

Flint looks back at Thomas. "We're going to my place. I think I. I know who he is, anyway," the teen says, to Lex, and then that's all that gets said as the now very grumpy younger Galliard leads the way out of the park, entirely no-nonsense. To Dirk, he offers, in the most respectful manner possible, "Theodoric-rhya, shut your gob until we get to my family's home. I don't want to hear a word out of you, until we get there."

Nicodemus focuses primarily on Konstantin, occasionally glancing towards the garou in the nearby cluster of trees or at a random onlooker. "Nick," he offers to the Shadow Lord. "Can't recall meeting you before," he claims, then asides to Val. "That… was different," he says as he takes a few steps forward, crouches, and picks up his cracked magic 8-ball off the ground. The last of the fluid leaks out.

Alexandra's smile is rather forced, but after shooting a dark look at Thomas, she turns her attention to playing her part in Dirk's cover and follows Flint out of the park.

"Ah," Konstantin offers brusquely in response to Nick. To Val, he murmurs, "What's up with Our Lady of the Rusted Underpants?" He turns to face the group square now, idly flicking ashes off his cigarette.

Dirk does not seem to appreciate all these 'do this and thats' and makes as much clear with a rather piercing, increasingly irritated gaze in Flint's direction what brings the great weight and displeasure of his breeding to bear. "Aye," he says gruffly, though he seems to have the grace, for whatever reason, to not press the matter further. "Ye have my trust." The weight of those words are there for both Flint and Thomas to grasp, as they are directed in both of their directions. As promised, he then falls silent.

Thomas moves off after the group. That aura of temper goes with him.

Flint both bares his throat slightly, and snaps his teeth on the empty air as they reach the street. There's acknowledgement, slight submission, if slightly delayed, but still some amount of threat in the gesture, and then Flint seems mollified and such by Dirk's silence the rest of the walk to the tenement. Which, thankfully, isn't a very long walk, and after a moment, Flint digs a key out of his pocket, opens the lobby door, and waits to see everyone else inside before glancing about, and then closing the door behind him. "Alright," he says. "The first thing we are going to do, is get you clothing of this time and place," he states. "I will return soon, and then explanations." Then, the Glass Walker disappears down into the basement.

Alexandra releases Dirk's hand once they get to the door and the charade is no longer necessary, stepping aside to let the Fostern through first unless he indicates that she do otherwise. Once inside, her glare settles on Thomas, though she waits for Flint to return before asking any questions. "Be careful not to step on the roaches," she tells the two men.

Thomas glares in return, then turns toward Dirk, hand held out. "My coat." Friendly, he ain't.

There's a lot to see just even on that short walk to the tenement. Dirk's no stranger to tall buildings, but, lights! Cars! Various machines and a number of other technological advancements that cause the man to occasionally jerk in surprise in wonder! But, again, he remains silent. Even as they enter the tenement, and then briefly squeezes his eyes as they adjust to the light, he is quiet, aside from, "This is the home of cockroach's kin, then?" he asks slowly, trying to put minds at ease. The coat is respectfully returned to Thomas, even if his expression is none-too-friendly, either.

Flint returns from the basement bearing a set of large teeshirt, possibly appropriately sized sweatpants, and a sweatshirt. All in various shades of grey and not terribly flattering. But they're set on a couch, and Flint points to it, clearly intending for at the very least Theodoric to sit down. However, the expectant look turns on Thomas. "Introduction," the cliath snaps. "It's a fat moon and I have no patience left."

Text message from Nicodemus: Val says to warn you that the sword is silver and likely a fetish. Be careful!

Thomas pulls the coat back on without hesitation, giving the collar a few sharp yanks. "Thomas Lee," he says in return. It's not a snap, but nor is it any friendlier. "Uktena kinfolk." There's just the faintest emphasis placed on 'Uktena'. "And if I might point out, there wasn't anything requiring me to try and help you bunch out back there, so it'd be fucking fantastic if you stopped acting like I was a bleeding mockery."

"Yes, this is their home," Alexandra answers Dirk. She may be rather less cheerful than normal, but her tone is polite when speaking to the Silver Fang. Thomas, on the other hand, gets rather less consideration. "And the first thing I did was say thank you. But it would be 'fucking fantastic' if you would show some basic courtesy, yourself, instead of playing all mysterious and then being pissy when we're upset with you. Ahroun. Two Galliards. Gibbous moon. You'd do very well to remember that."

In the same vein of 'trust' Dirk is, for the moment, indulging Flint's directions. Though he does take a moment to stare at the clothes, hand on his sword's hilt as a place of rest. With a short sigh, he begins to unbuckle his belt, and thus, the sword, to place them aside as he sits. Apparently, the process of removing the various pieces of plate (all of which are tied to him separately) is going to take some time. As he is sitting, however, the word 'Uktena' nabs his attention. He listens, pulling with care at the various armor ties. Apparently, he's trying to be courteous to his hosts by staying Out of That Conversation.

Thomas inhales sharply. "I ain't 'playing all mysterious', I was playing fucking safe. A better thanks might be if you let up on the lectures, because, if you please, I'm over forty and this ain't exactly my first barn dance. If you two are feeling that volatile, maybe you ought to excuse yourselves and find someone to take over, rather than threatening someone who, as you noted, ain't exactly in the position to fight back."

Flint pulls his phone out of his pocket, and grimaces at whatever he reads, before tapping out a response. "Thank you," he offers, tersely, to Thomas. "My packmate's thanks— it is mine, as well. Apologies for my temper, but that's life right now. Neither of us know you, Thomas. We're playing 'fucking safe' too. And, as it happens, I don't need your suggestion as to how to handle my moon. The Glass Walker moves over towards Lex, settling his hand onto her elbow and half a pace behind her, and that does calm him down somewhat. The sword, even taken off, is given a cautious glance, and Flint murmurs very softly to Lex. "The sword is silver, Val says. Possibly a fetish."

Text message to Nicodemus: Thanks much. Noted. I think things are under control.

Alexandra says, "Excuse ourselves? Excuse ourselves? If you hadn't noticed, this isn't your house. It's not my house, either, so I can't kick you out, but I can sure as hell suggest you leave and come back when the moon is thinner."

Dirk finally speaks, saying, in this thickly accented English. "I think that's enough. All of ye. I apologize for my conduct; I pray it doesn't further an ill will. Keep the heid." He tips his head towards Thomas.

Thomas's eyebrows arch past the low pulled brim of his battered hat. "What a coincidence!" he snaps. "I don't need your suggestions about how kinfolk should be. If you can handle your moon, fucking handle it, kids, don't threaten me with it." He does start moving toward the door, though he turns only a shoulder, and never his back, to the three Garou, but Alexandra's remarks draw him up short. "Yes, excuse yourselves before you cause damage or kill someone because you're close to losing your temper. That's still something they teach younger Wolves in your tribes, isn't it. Or maybe not, since you're acting like it's unthinkable." His gaze goes towards Dirk, and there's something stiff about his movements as he reaches for the doorknob, and something very dark in the way he looks at the Silver Fang. On the other hand, he doesn't say anything further as his fingers tighten around the knob.

There's a knock at the front door, shave-and-a-haircut style, and Tim appears in the camera. He wiggles his fingers and gives a coy smile.

Flint steps forward to next to Alexandra. "This is, however, my house," he states. "So until one of my Elders states otherwise," and the glare for Thomas is ice cold, "leave, and ask their permission to come back." A glance to the camera. "And let Tim-rhya in on your way out."

Thomas yanks the door open without looking away from Flint. "Why the fuck?" he asks, tone casual, but with a decidedly cold bite, "would I ever ask to come back to a place where I've been repeatedly threatened and treated like tracked in shit on your shoes. You can keep your house. Have a little whitey party with your new friend their too, he can tell you all about the last Injun woman he raped and murdered. Maybe show you the purse he made from her breasts. It'll be great." He does, in fact, attempt to beat a sharp retreat about Tim at the end of this, but whether that succeeds or not is questionable.

As the door opens, those inside can see Tim ending a phonecall, saying something in a Subcontinental language that sounds like a farewell just before sliding a slim black smartphone (a well-loved Droid to those who would know it) into his jacket. Any greeting he had for Thomas dies unsaid, and he watches the other man leave somewhat agog. "What the…" he looks torn between going inside and following the Kinsman, but after a glance over his shoulder, he ducks in and shuts the door. "What the fuck was all of that?" He takes in Dirk with a longer look. "I uh…didn't know you guys were into the Ren Faire." He directs that at Flint with a tilt of his head.

Until the last tirade, Alexandra was managing to keep herself in check, if only because of the Fostern's admonition and Flint's presence. She only rageshifts as far as glabro, at least, but she starts for the door after Thomas and the aura of violence about her is palpable. Fortunately, Tim gets inside and shuts the door, first, and she's not quite so far gone as to try and shove her way past an Adren.

Dirk's brows furrow, but thankfully the semi-language/history barrier prevents him from catching all of the references. "A' dinnae kin—why would ye—" but then Thomas is speeding off! So instead, he turns to Flint, dead serious. "Ne'er have I raped or murdered a soul. 'Tis ungodly, unjust. Does 'e think I be someone else?" Any further thoughts of his are interrupted by Various Promises of Violence.

Flint matches Alexandra's shift as he moves to put a hand on her shoulder. "Not. Worth. It," he grunts, though he doesn't seem to entirely believe his own words, and the young Galliard is bleeding rage as well. "Don't let the door hit you on your way out, Thomas," he snaps, and then, a look at Tim, and Flint gets at least a little more subdued. "We're not, Tim-rhya," is stated, as Flint backs down into homid and moves further into the lobby. "He," and Flint gestures to Dirk, "claims to be from the 1700s, or something? I'm not quite sure, but he showed up in Harbor Park out of thin air, so here was closest." Another deep breath to steady himself, and Flint admits, "And it's galliard moon and I am this close to losing it, if the bullshit Thomas was starting didn't stop, Tim-rhya."

On the cameras, if anyone were actually watching them, Thomas can be seen stalking off into the night, teeth clenched, pulling his coat more tightly about him.

The sudden presence of a Shadow Lord inTim's face is a surprise, and Dirk and Flint are forgotten for the moment. He has not failed to notice her intended target, and nothing Flint says seems to make things better. Rage flickers about him in subtle ways: one hand curls into a fist, his eyes narrow, and his teeth set. Each word he says is carefully measured out. "If either of you lay so much as a finger on any Kin while I'm around, there won't be enough of you left to fill a bucket."

Alexandra doesn't try to speak, not to Flint and certainly not to Tim. While a lack of response might not be ideal, it's certainly preferable to an angry response, and so she settles for getting her temper under control before she does anything further.

Dirk's jaw sets, the Fang familiar well enough with Rage of this magnitude. So he slips back into silence, and unties more of his armor. Time for questions later, though he's obviously not thrilled.

Flint tips his head in submission to Tim. "Yes, Tim-rhya," he states, clearly only a little more in control of himself than the other cliath. Or perhaps less, the young galliard still bleeds Rage in every aspect of his posture, and in the way that the words are snapped out. "I would not harm Kin. But I can, and I. I will, ask them to leave if they cannot show basic manners, basic respect for other tribes, in the ONLY home that I have. That I have EVER known. And I asked him to leave, and then that. He got on his high horse and." The Glass Walker shoves his hands into his pockets, heels attempting to dig into the floor.

Tim's voice ticks up a notch, and he takes his eyes off Alexandra and sets them on Flint. "So you kicked him out and he said something nasty on the way out the door. Did his words cut you like silver or something? Because if not it sounds like you 'won'." He casts another withering glance at Alexandra. "So before we get into some he said she said, how about something more immediate." He looks at Dirk. "Kin? Garou?" he asks after waiting a second.

Alexandra remains angry, certainly, but she finally manages to draw back from the edge of frenzy, resuming her birth form. She steps back to stand next to Flint, a respectful nod to Tim, finally acknowledging his presence, words, or both. For her part, she also seems perfectly content to let the conversation turn back toward Dirk.

There's a long glance offered to both Flint and Alexandra, towards both of whom the Fang seems to offer some sympathies, but it's obvious he's loathe to get involved. For Tim's benefit, he reiterates himself in a nearly identical fashion before, and slowly, apparently aware that his accent is challenging. "I am Garou. Theodoric of Clan Duncan, son of Mary the even-handed, grandson of Glynn the first-wielder." This seems almost rote; it's clear to him that these other people have no idea who he is referencing. "I am known as he who cries glory above the din of battle, named of the second rank, of Falcon, born beneath the moon of war-callers in the year of our Lord sixteen and seventy. I have sworn my allegiance to the Kings of Scotland and the Sept of the Thistle an' Spear." He tips his head forward, respectfully. "I have been told that this is the Hidden Walk. And somewhere in the New World, but I don't kin any of your houses, the spirits that power the fires above your streets." He gestures quickly, broadly, grasping at things he has no words for, and his frustration is becoming swiftly evident, if his own Rage was not an obvious indicator.

"…right. Falcon. I guess that explains the armor." Tim doesn't bother to hide that he's not really sold on anything Dirk's just said, though there's a strong current of benefit-of-the-doubt. He gestures at himself with a jerk of his thumb. "Tim. Golden for politer forms. New Moon from Owl's Tribe. Adren." It is the polar opposite of Dirk's introduction, dressed in not a single full title or proper name of any kind, and gone begging for even a family name. He rubs at his eyes. "Okay so Dirk here…showed up in the middle of the Park. Did anyone not you guys and Thomas see him?"

Flint seems to settle, a little, when Lex stands next to him, and he sets one hand on her elbow, the usual contact. "Unfortunately," Flint states, tension still seeping into his voice, "everyone. Val and Nick were there, and. She made sure the cops didn't come out. And Thomas made some noise, so it at. Least seemed, like he," a jerk of his head to Dirk, "was some Rennie. And we brought him back here with— without much fuss." The earlier confidence and fluency of words is gone, replaced by the normal hesitation, and clear signs that Flint's feeling the moon rather strongly, and low on willpower.

Alexandra finally seems to trust herself to speak, as she adds to Flint's telling with, "He appeared with two claps of thunder and a weird swirl of light as he came through the Gauntlet. So people noticed, yes. There weren't very many people in the park, but there were some."

Flint adds, after Alexandra speaks, with tone verging on snappish, "He speaks Shakespeare, pretty much. Don't. I think he don't so much speak nowadays English."

Dirk adds, tiredly. "'twas the Wyld. I was with my pack-brothers, deep in the Shadow-world. We were attacked, and," he stops, closing his eyes hard, pressing fingers against his forehead. At least the gauntlets are off now. It's almost as if the memory is painful. So he moves on, vaguely. "An eddy, the stories say. I saw many places, then here. I thought I was still in the Shadow." But obviously, he doesn't any longer. His hand remains against his head. "I don't feel my pack-brothers," he says, quietly.

Tim has one hand over his chin and mouth now. He nods at Flint and Alexandra as they talk, but his eyes stay on Dirk, taking in various details as the man talks. He's quiet for a minute, then says, "So this is either total bullshit, and you're just Fang crazy—wouldn't be the first time—or it's a spirit and Umbra thing, and you really are from sixteen hundred whatever. Which also wouldn't be the first time." He signs and whispers something under his breath about being thankful Dirk's not a Strider. "Truth of Gaia's not going to help if he really believes it, so I guess you need to talk to some Theurges."

Alexandra gestures to the sword, asking Dirk, "Is that a klaive? I've never actually seen one." Both because it might help take his mind off his packmates, at least for a moment, and because she's genuinely curious. To Tim, she asks, "Do you think you could ask a Galliard or one of the other Silver Fangs about it, since they're often very well-known weapons, themselves?"

Flint grimaces, a bit. "He can stay in. In the basement, tonight," Flint says, pointing at the door he'd earlier disappeared to. "Mind the cockroaches, if you would please," he says to Dirk. "I will come down and keep you company soon." Then, Flint squeezes Lex's arm gently, and looks to Tim. "I do need, to. Excuse myself, I think, Tim-rhya. I'm too angry to think well. And I don't want to. To snap. I'm too close to that right now." After a moment, Flint steps off, not towards the stairwell or elevator, but towards the office, and the door slams shut behind him with a lot too much force.

Inhaling slowly, and sharply, through his nose, Dirk pushes back whatever was bothering him. For now. "Tim… Tim of…? Tim-rhya." He gives up. "Why would I be dishonest about this? What have I to gain?" That said, he gathers up the sword in the scabbard, standing, holding it as if it's not his, like it's something he's borrowing. "It was… my brother's. But aye, it is a klaive. A grand klaive. The Aegis Radiant." He looks up. "Those who know of Clan Duncan would know of this. Mayhap that will be of some aid?" But his grasp on this whole situation flounders. "By your leave, Tim-rhya, I need rest."

"Night Flint," Tim calls after the Walker. He nods at Alexandra's idea, and says to Dirk, "I didn't say dishonest, I said crazy. There's no dishonesty involved when someone's just lost their mind. At any rate, your in luck, ah, Theodric. My packsister is a Silver Fang, and in real good with the local Elder, even." His teeth flash when he says that; it might be a joke. At least something about it is funny to him. "I'll let her know you're here and need fetching. She can get you to your Tribe's territory safely. Get some rest, in the mean time." He turns towards the door, either having forgotten or maybe just given up on why he'd come to the Tenement in the first place, then pauses and half-turns. He says to Alexandra, "About Thomas. It's as much on us to watch our Rage around them as it is for them to watch their mouths around us. If a Kin starts to fly off the handle, don't let shit escalate. No last word, no parting shot, no counter-argument, no proving them wrong. Don't engage. Don't acknowledge anything they say. Just tell them to leave." He gestures at the office. "That goes for him too."

Alexandra clasps her hand over Flint's as the Walker galliard squeezes her arm, offering him a faint smile before he makes his exit. She's calm enough now that she just answers, "Yes, Tim-rhya." Any further thoughts on the matter she keeps to herself. "I'm going to return to the Vault now, unless you need anything else?"

From the office, there's the vague sounds of something being hit. But on the other hand, it sounds like just the wall, with perhaps a little more force than necessary as Flint blows off steam. Nonetheless, he's not breaking anything.

Dirk meanwhile nods to Tim and briefly expressions appreciation, though he adds, perhaps with some dour thought, "I feel as if I'm mad. If I wake up in the morn' and this was all a dream, much the better. Good e'enin' t'ye both." Gathering his things, the clothes, and so on, the Fang heads to the basement, as directed.

Tim shakes his head at Alexandra and waves a last farewell to the room at large, then disappears back out into the night.