DATE: November 9, 2010

PCs: David and Jocelyn

Grey Incorporated - Roof(#187RJh) The roof of Grey Incorporated looks out over Bridgetown with a fairly spectacular view. The cliffs are visible in the near distance, as well as the vast forest atop them, while the bustle of the city goes on below. However, the most remarkable thing is in the corner of the roof, a juvenile oak tree has sprouted in the cement. Now old enough to grant shade and shelter, it sits pleasantly absorbing the atmosphere around it. The rest of the roof has been converted to your typical rooftop garden, with vegetables and herbs on one side and flowers on the other. At one end of the roof, facing the city, is a nice wooden bench, weather worn but comfy.

At the rear of the roof is a sheltered stairwell, leading back into the building.

It’s definitely starting to feel more and more like winter. The weather is still warm enough that it’s not snowing, but it’s definitely coat-warranting temperature. This particular day has presented a break from the recent rains, and Jocelyn is taking the opportunity to enjoy the outdoors while the moment lasts. She’s sitting on the bench near the tree on top of Grey Inc, leaning back as she gazes out at the cloudy view of the city. She is, of course, bundled in a warm black coat and a lavender scarf, although it’s apparently not cold enough for her to wear gloves. There’s a book resting in her lap, ‘Women of the Silk’, and her finger is slipped between the pages, marking her spot.

Querca provides protection even in the harshest of conditions, her branches seeming to dip around the seated kin, shield her from the wind. The branches sway and her leaves litter the rooftop, rustling as they tumble along in auburn waves. Just as the door to the stairway starts to open, an especially strong gust of wind blows in, slamming the door against the person just beyond with a SLAM! "Ow!" comes the cry, and David forcibly shoulders the door open just enough to slip out into the wind, head down and his black scarf billowing in the wind. He has to wrap it around his arm to keep from shutting it in the door as he smiles/grimaces to Jocelyn, waving to her with his free hand.

Jocelyn hunches her shoulders against that gust of wind, shivering as it brushes past her. She has her hair pulled back, but the wind's still managed to loosen several strands, teasing them about her face. The kin winces as the door slams, and then offers David a welcoming smile and a wave of her own. "It's too nice of a place to neglect, even with the weather," she says, raising her voice above the wind.

The wind starts to die down, and David lets his scarf blow free of his hand as he comes over to sit by the Fang with a smile on his face. "Certainly. I still come up here to enjoy a scotch every now and again, though my cigarbox has fallen into disuse. On days like this, it's just a little too difficult to light one."

Jocelyn reaches out for his hand as he sits, which is bound to be warmer than her own, and she moves a bit closer. "The scotch actually sounds good on a day like this. Or most the winter, really..." She chuckles about the cigar. "You could get a cigar like the one Dead uses around non-smoking areas. Not sure it's quite the same as the real thing, though."

David's patent leather gloves are soft, smooth and still warm from the indoors. He wraps her hand in his, chuckling. "Scotch certainly makes you think you're warm. For a frail little thing like you, my dear? I worry you might swoon in the cold." He frowns a little in thought. "What cigar is that, exactly?"

"I'll keep my drinking to indoors," promises Jocelyn with a light laugh. "I'm not sure what it's called. He used it at the Halloween party, the Alt.Coffee one, because Lena's /terrified/ of fire. It had an LED light to simulate the burning."

David chuckles and hmmms, rubbing slowly at his chin, looking out over the city. "I did not know this about our Miss Doyle. Interesting. And ah yes, similar to an e-cigarette, is my guess? I approve of the taste of the cigar more than anything, so perhaps that isn't for me." David turns his gaze to the book in Jocelyn's lap, leaning over. "So how is your reading?"

"Sad!" responds Jocelyn, lifting the book a little with her free hand. "I've only just started, but the poor little girls only have /two/ outfits, one for summer and the other for winter. And their parents don't really talk much at all. Pei's so curious, but her mother keeps discouraging her questions, so that she's not disappointed by a woman's role later. Makes you wish you could hug her, take her away from that life." She shakes her head, then tilts her head to peer at him with a curious expression. "'Our' Miss Doyle?"

"Hmmm, a classic indeed. I daresay, I'm curious how it ends. It's unforunate that so many young women in that age, coming from poor families, were sold into prostitution." David brightens at Jocelyn's curious expression. "Oh, indeed. Have you not heard the news of Miss Doyle's heritage?"

"Bits and pieces," says Jocelyn. "I saw a note in the Safehouse signed by a 'Lena', and I've been hearing mentions of her. I've been so busy with the play and auction that I keep forgetting to ask. This is the same Lena at Alt.Coffee, then? Is she... kin? She doesn’t strike me as a Garou. She doesn’t quite have the same feel or mannerisms.”

“She’s kin, indeed. And yes, that is her. It was quite the surprise to find out her Aunt in Paris was both family and an old flame.” David smiles over at Jocelyn. “You’ll never guess which tribe, either.”

Jocelyn blinks at that. “Oh, really? I didn’t know you’d spent time in France. I can’t say that surprises me. As for the tribe...” She tilts her head, considering. “It’s easier to say which she does /not/ belong to. Silver Fang, the native tribes... Fianna, perhaps? Glass Walker? Or Gaian, she seems kind-hearted.” She smiles at him. “How far off am I?”

“Business for Grey Inc takes me all over the world, lately. This was before I’d met you, however. Any excuse to get out of the state.” Jocelyn’s guesses have him chuckling, and smiling like a cat that’s caught a mouse. “That depends on your personal opinion of Shadow Lords.”

Jocelyn gives him another curious look. “Do you not care for Colorado? ...Although, I admit I wouldn’t be here if it were not for the ties I now have to the Sept and city.” Her brows lift at that last revelation, and she chuckles. “I would not have guessed her to be one, but I have noticed that Shadow Lords tend towards the unexpected. ...I think you may have the most kin in this city now. Or you’re at least rivaling the Glass Walkers.”

“It carries a few bad memories. Though recently...” David squeezes Jocelyn’s hand. “The good memories have begun to outweigh the bad.” He chuckles. “I would have been the last to suspect her being of Storm Crow’s family. Perhaps a Fianna or a Gaian, as you said. Ah well, maybe there’s more to her than we see, hmm?”

“I’ve found a similar phenomenon with my own memories,” says Jocelyn, her hand tightening around his in response. “There usually is more to someone than appears on the surface. It’s a little shocking that we didn’t know about her before this, though. She seems fairly settled here.”

“Her lovely aunt explained that Lena had been kept in the dark, for her own sake. It seems she was yanked into the knowledge when Mr. Nichols and her were set upon by a Dancer. Unfortunate, but we’re lucky he didn’t have to kill Miss Doyle on the spot, to protect the Veil.” David’s expression tightens when he says this, like he’d just taken a bite of something gross.

“Poor thing,” says Jocelyn, shuddering at the tale. “That’s a terrible way to find out about our Family. I’m not sure I agree with keeping others from knowing their heritage, simply because it can create situations like this. ...And I’m /glad/ he’s not the type to make such rash decisions. If Louise was given a chance, afterall... This Sept does not seem the kind to kill lightly, which I /like/ about it.”

“No, they do not, which is a point in their favor, to be sure. We are lucky, however, that it has not caused us many problems, as of yet.” David sounds like he has something on his mind.

Jocelyn frowns. “That’s true. The Sept chooses a trickier path, but often doing what’s right is that way. That’s one way that I think the Children of Gaia are ahead of most from the other tribes. They’re more often willing to give the unlikely a chance, where others generally would not.” She tilts her head, peering at David. “Are you concerned about something?”

“We are not winning the War if we always follow the path of the Wyrm,” David says, nodding in agreement. He looks over at her at her question, and his face gets smoothed out into a smile. “Not at all.”

“Well, if you don’t wish to share what’s on your mind...” Jocelyn leans her head against his shoulder, partially to shield her face from the cold wind. “I’ll have to go check on Lena soon. I imagine she could use another kin’s guidance right now. How is she handling all of this?”

“Do you dare delve into the mind of David Green?” David asks, his arm sliding around her shoulder. The smooth softness of his leather glove rubs over the far side of her neck, and his lips turn to press into the shelter of her hair. “Mmmm, as well as can be expected. She’s a delicate type, it seems. Not rugged like many kin, so she was left pretty shaken. I believe she’s learning to adapt. I’ve sent Mr. Bard to watch over her...” He smiles. “What he lacks in tact and caution, the boy can make up for in charisma and lifting others’ spirits. From what I hear, he is alternately a good distraction and a horrible reminder about Garou.”

“Dare, dare,” says Jocelyn with a teasing laugh. She leans further into him as he slides his arm around her. “I wouldn’t think her rugged, no. I’d be interested in how this change to her world will affect her painting. With her a kin now, my auction really /is/ turning into a Family affair...” She tilts her head to peer at him, lifting a brow. “Jason? Well. He definitely has charisma. A Fianna usually is a good choice for lifting another’s spirits.”

“I’m not sure you know what you’re getting into,” David teases with a chuckle. “Hopefully it won’t affect her painting too obviously. If she starts painting giant werewolves, I believe we may have trouble. Mmm, indeed they are. Though perhaps not always the best with being discreet.”

“Not knowing might be part of the allure. You’re a man of mystery.” Jocelyn chuckles, too, and then shakes her head. “I doubt it would be anything like that. But something like this tends to change one’s perspective. And art seems like something that leans on perspective, how the world is viewed. …I had a thought the other day,” she adds. “About when we are able to go to my former Sept.”

“Like James Bond, perhaps?” David adjusts his necktie, a bold smirk on his face. At her thought, he raises his eyebrow...and blinks. “What brought about this line of thought?”

“Perhaps. Do you like martinis?” asks Jocelyn. At his question, she says, a hint of fondness in her tone, “A memory. Remember when we first met, and we tangoed down the main street? /That/ is the dance we should learn for whatever occasion is going on when we visit. I think it’d be a great deal more fun than the waltz.”

“I’ve been known to take them shaken, not stirred.” David aims a fingergun at Jocelyn’s heart and pulls the trigger, before blowing away imaginary smoke. “I do remember, in fact. It’s one of my favorite memories. Hmmm, I admit I was faking most of it, however. Certainly, dance lessons sound fabulous!”

Jocelyn places a hand over her heart as she’s ‘shot’ and feigns a swoon before giving him a grin. “Quite like James Bond, then. And yet very Green. David Green.” Her smile softens as she continues, “One of my favorites as well. And I was /also/ faking it. We’ll be learning together.” She tilts her head back, so that she can kiss his cheek. “My hands are freezing. Shall we go inside? Find a way to warm up.”

David’s arm around Jocelyn’s back tightens...but he can’t hold her all the way up, and his eyes widen in surprise. So a moment later, Jocelyn is being lifted by a Glabro in a nice suit, as she’s dipped slowly sideways off the bench. “Well, we don’t need lesson if we can fake it so well, can we?” David rumbles. At her request, he smiles and lifts her up, reaching out with huge hands to wrap around hers. They feel like he’d just pulled them out of an oven. “Of course, if you like.”

Jocelyn blinks in surprise as he shifts, but her smile widens as she’s dipped back. “Except we’re going to a Sept of Silver Fangs! I mostly just want to see their faces when we manage a Tango. Do you think we could set up some cameras? And then review it later? I would cherish that footage.” She smiles as she’s lifted back up, and when he takes her hands, she tucks her fingers into his palms. “Yours are warm! You Garou have some unfair advantages.”

“I’m certain we could manage something. Perhaps a cameraman planted in the audience?” David suggests, his eyes glinting. Uh oh, she’s giving him ideas. As Jocelyn slips her hands between his, his underbitten smile softens and he lays a heavy hand on her shoulder, guiding her in. “It is a gift, not so much for us, but for those we are with.” As she gets closer, even through his suit, she can feel the heat starting to pour off his body.

Jocelyn chuckles. “I’ve no doubt we could find someone here willing to be the cameraman.” Her gaze lifts to his face, curious as ever about the forms he’s less frequently in, and she does move closer to him as she feels that warmth. “The gift is much appreciated,” she murmurs happily.

This close, it’s clear that even David’s obsessive grooming habits aren’t enough to keep the scruff off his near-man form. At least he looks relatively well-groomed, for a huge beastman. His lips part in a brief flash of fanged teeth down at her, though his eyes under his thick brows are still warm. “Perhaps we need another sneaky type, hmm? One who can go unnoticed?” In a quieter voice, he murmurs as he leans in, coarse lips pressing to her forehead. “It’s all for you, now.”

“Luckily, we have a very sneaky Sept,” says Jocelyn, giving him a warm smile, which deepens as he leans towards her. She takes in a soft breath at his words, and she slides her hands up to cup his face, not bothered by the scruff. “Thank you.” She tilts her head back, standing on her toes a little as she moves to kiss him, her softer lips brushing against his own.

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