After offering Erich what intelligence she had - precious little, in the end. Nothing that could prepare them for what was actually beneath the graves in Cold Crescent - Éva asked him, quite simply, to let her know how it went. That was, quite nearly, her exactly.
"Let me know how it goes."
In a cool, slightly distant voice, leavened with a mild, rather bleak, rather cryptic smile. Cold Crescent was already being stripped down to its fastenings, and then the fastenings themselves would be undone, and how could she miss those signs. The shrines taken down; the furnishings trundled out through the freight elevators. On and on.
The graves are still below. They have not been moved. She has been to visit them but does not linger. No one consults her about the deep question of What to Do with the bones of the dead.
Some of whom are her own.
As much as anyone ever is.
--
Let me know how it goes.
Éva gave Erich her home address in passing; of necessity. She did not intend to remain at her office or even in the city while the young Garou plumbed the depths of the levels below 1999 Broadway. But, something about way she gave him the address ("I do have children,") made clear that this was no standing invitation for a social visit.
Not a strange Ahroun.Not around her children.
--
Roxborough Park, late. Some hour that hardly matters. The house is newer, moderately grand in fine suburban style, surrounded by a rather high wall with a wrought iron gate barring the way to the drive. Spanish style, the terra cotta rooftiles visible from the street. The pool secured and covered for the winter. Fenced for the protection of the youngest children, though the fence is low and custom, iron-and-glass. Absolutely tasteful.
When Erich rings the bell from the front gate he can sense more than see the whir of the camera from the security system focusing on him where he stands. Which seems like such a flimsy defense given what he is, and what he - and all the rest like him - are capable of doing.
And yet.
Layers of precautions.
There were other warning systems here, once.
Over time, they have eroded to little more than semi-sentient memories.
--
The gate opens for him, quite silently. Those are well-oiled hinges and well-tended technology. Movement barely visible in the curtains of some upstairs room as he walks up the drive. Before he has quite gained the two steps leading to the small front portico, the front door - painted a deep burgundy - is opening. Éva slips out. Wearing yoga pants and running shoes and a slightly oversized shearling coat, ebon-black, trimmed in equally dark fur.
Both hands in her pockets.
If he assumes she's armed, well -
- he is correct. She is always armed.
Dark eyes flicker over him; head to toe and right back again, measuring, examining him both for injuries and hidden threats. There is a twinge of something in the surface of her dark eyes, too hard to read, because Jesus,
he is so very young.
They all are. "How did it go?"
Erich ReinhardtIn truth, Erich was a little unsure what to do when Eva gave him her address. After all, she was a widowed kinswoman of his tribe, i.e. single, and she was rather attractive, and she also seemed capable of somehow making his life a living hell with a snap of those fine fingers of hers, so he was wondering if maybe this was some sort of odd come-on and if it was then what the hell should he do, he doesn't want to die.
So he was more relieved than anything else when she informs him, in a way not so subtle that he misses it entirely, that she has kids. I.e. you are not welcome to drop by anytime. Or ever, really. Unless it's a goddamn emergency and the sky is falling.
--
The sky did not fall, the night they descended into the depths beneath 1999 Broadway. The sky didn't fall, but the earth very nearly caved away. Death, death, and still more death, and the whole of the Beloved Horror rampant over the twelve of them, laughing, jeering, until Erich could stomach it no more and --
Eva will be disappointed, perhaps, to hear what he has to tell. It is so little, in the end. He was quite literally out of his mind, and all he has to tell is what others told him bookended by what little he saw himself.
Still. It has been a little less than twenty-four hours since the calamity. And he bounds up the steps to Eva's home, coming to a stop as she steps out to meet him on the porch. His mother would have Something To Say about that, about a woman -- a kinswoman at that! -- who greets a visitor on her porch without inviting him in for a seat and a nice warm mug of spiced apple cider. But his mother is not here, and his mother is not a Shadow Lord.
"Bad," he says, which is probably not what Eva wants to hear. But it's the truth as he sees it. This is the truth as he sees it, the most important parts first: "They killed Raspberry Sky. And then they almost called this god-knows-what through the portal.
"Oh -- " he realizes, belatedly, that he's making no sense, " -- there was a portal there. It was like this big glowing lake. None of us dared to touch it, who knows what would have happened. But yeah. We went down through this hatch and then down through this piece of floor that had melted away, like those pictures of Chernobyl. And then the lake-portal-thing was there.
"And the Beloved Horror showed up. All of them. And like I said: they killed Raspberry Sky. She was sitting there mourning her sister and they just butchered her. Threw her down for us to find. LAUGHED. AT. US." He's angry again. He's so angry, just thinking about it, that his fists clench, his voice trembles. "So I kinda lost my mind.
"When I woke up again one of them was dead and two of them were dying. But the rest were calling this ugly larva thing through and ... then they ran. Some of us pushed the larva back through. The rest of us chased. We couldn't find them.
"Oh yeah -- it turned out they were so strong because the Green Dragon had turned them into ... like ... shells filled with Its power. So, the Theurges called their souls back to their bodies. And then we could kill them."
He stuffs his hands into his pockets. Shrugs. "That's kinda all I know. Sorry, I sorta didn't see most of it."
A beat.
"How're you?" That's sort of belated, too. "How're your kids? I feel like I'm a really bad tribesman."
Éva IllésházyÉva listens steadily, quietly, seriously to Erich's recounting of his story. There is no sign of disappointment on her sharply defined features, and for all that her mien is cool, there is a quiet note of - something rather more intense in her dark eyes. The kinswoman's arms are crossed low over her torso and her breath mists in chilly air. When his anger rises, her shoulders stiffen perceptibly, a certain bracing air about her that comes from long familiarity with their kind -
- and only modest familiarity with him. It cannot be helped; she weathers it, aware of what he is and what he can do, always, absolutely always.
By the time he finishes his story, she has glanced away, over his right shoulder at some point in the middle distance. Her arched brows are drawn down over her dark eyes, and her mouth is quiet, settled, set. In that beat between the end of his story and the belated question about how she is and how the kids are, she seems so very far away.
Then her eyes slide back to him, coming to rest on his eyes as he finishes telling her that he feels like a bad tribesman. There is nothing challenging about the glance, just a sort of quiet nuance contained in its framing surety.
"I'm well, as are they. You have a war to fight," a slow smile curves across her mouth. It feels mild, and distant, and also: kind. " - and needn't worry about the trials and tribulations of the potty training set." A gleam of humor woven into that remove.
"I'm sorry about Raspberry Sky." She is not at all shy about returning the conversation to its former topic. "Truly. You said three were killed, correct? So three escaped.
"The alpha?"
Éva IllésházyIntelligence (analytical) + Investigation
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 5 )
Erich Reinhardt"Yeah well, I fight the war for the potty training set." Erich gives Eva a look, surprisingly astute. "Just like you do, am I right?"
She redirects. He scowls, his hands coming back out of his pockets, his arms folding across his meaty chest. "He got away, because of course he did. Sneaky bastard. We got Jeremiah, or whatever his Wyrm name was. And the older female. And one more, I forget who. But the Alpha's still on the loose, and as long as he's around I'm not counting them down and out. Or even down, really.
"So you should probably keep being careful," he adds, and then nods at the house behind her. "You pretty safe in there?"
Éva IllésházyIntelligence + Investigation (AGAIN)
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )
Éva IllésházyInt + Investigation again!
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
Éva IllésházyIntelligence + Investigation
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 6 ) Re-rolls: 2
Éva Illésházy"Not merely the potty training set."
Éva returns that look, her own surprisingly direct, her chin lifted and that aura of calm reserve threaded neatly through her.
"They were broken once before. Lost half their number then, but came back. And came back stronger. Now once more, they have lost half their number.
"They will come back.
"And they will be stronger. Though I understand that I'm not telling you anything you don't already know."
Then she turns, following his line of sight to the house behind them. Her profile a slip of pale shadow against the bulk of the hand. The long fingers of her fine hands tighten on her forearms and her mouth tucks into a fine, narrow frown.
"Safe as anyone." A mirthless sort of laugh. "The children do not share my name; and the house is deeded to my mate's mother. So I cannot be tracked here by mortal means, at the least. We are armed. The security system is the best money can buy.
"Which is not enough against a particular sort of threat, but nothing is or would or will be."
Erich ReinhardtAll of which really just says to Erich: no. No, she is not 'pretty safe' in there. The young Ahroun is frowning again. He is frowning over her shoulder at her door, at the lights through the windows. Then he's frowning at her.
"You're right. They are going to come back, and if we wait long enough they'll come back stronger. So hopefully we won't wait very long.
"But -- you might need to take some steps to protect yourself all the same. 'Cause they might be at half strength, but the elders at Forgotten Questions are basically responding to this shit by shutting Cold Crescent down entirely. Which is totally stupid if you ask me, but no one really asks me.
"Anyway, my point is: if they really do pull everyone out of Cold Crescent -- I mean, not even thinking about the portal under the Sept for a minute, just the fact that we're all bugging out of the city means the city is gonna get a lot rougher. So I don't know. I think you should be careful. You know you can come live with my pack if you need to, right? Well, maybe you can't really live with us, there isn't enough room. I live in a tinyhouse." He says it like he expects her to know what the hell a tinyhouse is. Like he expects her to understand why he tells her the current location of a tinyhouse: "It's up in Evergreen these days. But you look like you could afford to rent a vacation cabin for a week or a month. So if shit gets heavy down here, you should just rent a cabin up in Evergreen. Okay?"
Éva Illésházy"My Firm's primary offices are in that building," returns Éva, low-voiced and dark-eyed and watchful. "We'll be moving as soon as the lease can be broken." If Erich hears a note of agreement in her voice at the total stupidity of shutting down Cold Crescent, well.
He is not hearing things.
There are other reasons, too many to count, why she disagrees with the decision of the elders of Forgotten Questions.
Some of them are buried among the graves.
Still, her eyes cut back to him, thoughtful and she admirably conceals her reaction when he assures her that she can come live with my pack, and though she does not know what a tinyhouse might be, she hides that just as well.
"Thank you," when he is finished. Her voice is serious, as are her eyes. There are layers to her expression, though the surface is a direct sort of sincerity. "A cabin in Evergreen, okay." Perhaps she is merely humoring him, though the fullness of that cannot be read, precisely, in her skin. "I will remember.
"I suppose I should ask you as well: whether you require any assistance." Financial, she means. "Or your pack."
Erich Reinhardt"I mean it," Erich stresses, precisely because he can't quite read her expression; can't tell if she's just humoring him. "If things get rough down here: cabin. in. Evergreen."
As for whether he needs help:
"We do okay for ourselves. But -- well. Maybe your firm shouldn't move out just yet. I'm not ready to give up on Cold Crescent entirely. And I've been thinking about ... I dunno. I'm thinking about trying to stay on there. Seeing if other Garou are willing to join me. It might help if we had someone there, like an insider. Especially since I don't even know who legally owns the building or any of that."
Éva IllésházyI mean it. Erich stresses, and the kinswoman graces him with the edge of a small smile. The curve of her mouth is fine and narrow, and her expression remains as contained as ever, but: she tips her head forward, acknowledging the stressed point with a mild upward lilt of her arched brows.
"I see that you do." Her nostrils flatten as she inhales, considering her words rather carefully. At last, " - and I appreciate knowing that the option exists. Thank you, Erich."
Then, her head cuts aslant, something precise and coiled behind her eyes. "The building is owned by a - well, kin. Kinfolk-owned corporation, perhaps. So I have always understood, but my assumptions about the nature of the site itself were all wrong and it may be best to dispense with them.
"I will find out who owns the building. We have another six months on our lease, so - if you manage to make a stand in that time, I will see that the lease is renewed. If you like, I can put you in touch with Richard York, the head of security for 1999 Broadway. One of the Warder's brothers. He provided the blueprints."
Erich ReinhardtErich looks wary. "Um. If it's okay with you, I think maybe it's best if you stay in touch with Mr. York. I can just talk to you if there's anything he needs to know." Beat. "I've been having some, uh. Conversation malfunctions lately."
Éva Illésházy"It is wise to know your strengths." A quiet twist of her mouth.
"And to be aware of your weaknesses. Keep me apprised and I'll stay in touch with Mr. York. And Erich - "
Already, she is holding out her hand. To shake. It is a remarkably human gesture.
Erich ReinhardtThe offered hand: Erich peers at it. One corner of his mouth hooks upward, amused or charmed or surprised or all of the above. Then he grabs it and gives it a solid squeeze.
"Miz Elly-shahzee," he butchers.
Éva Illésházy"Thank you." If she is charmed, she does not show it. The supple edge of her mouth twitches in a manner that does not detract from the discrete sincerity of her thanks.
"I'm glad to know what happens, and glad that you survived. Good night."
She does not invite him in: not for cider, nor for a beer. As she told him when she gave him the address: she has children. They are young. They may not be able to bear him; and in any case: this is her home.
The kinswoman turns, opens the door and slips inside. It closes behind her, a quiet snick. If he lingers, he will hear her at the panel, rearming, reassuring the security system of her safety and her presence, and driving home a half-dozen pointless locks (perhaps not quite so many) on the door.
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