12-10-2013, 10:02 PM
The bone is scarcely returned to the Truthcatcher's hands before a slender, lithe figure emerges from an edge of the gathering. Dances With the Hurricane seems truly a Lord of the Shadows; they come to her and cling to her, linger in her hair and seem to drape from her limbs like they're a part of her. Shadows and secrets, that's what she is.
Shadows, secrets, and tonight something like annoyance, maybe the leading edge of anger? It's hard to tell what this one feels. But as she passes the Fianna girl her dark eyes slant sideways and fix on her a moment. The Ragabash continues forward, toward the new guy, the Cliath, the Forseti. Eyes cast down, she lowers into a respectful bow, hands held out and up for the bone and when it is hers she turns. She looks to the left. Looks to the right.
She looks for Tamsin. And she stalks because she can't help it. Ingrid's carriage is that of graceful dancer, or feral predator. Despite the expensive fabrics she drapes over her human-skin, she gives off the latter aura far stronger than the former. Ingrid stalks to the edge of the circle, stops a few feet away, tips her chin in an effort to help her voice carry, and asks the Galliard,
"Would you draw them toward the Caern's heart for a trap?" Her tone is not derogatory, her carriage is not angry, neither is it defensive. She is making a point. She is making these Garou think.
Looks for Hector because Hector is Tamsin's packmate, her Alpha. "Would you lead them to your kinswoman's house for a trap?"
She looks for others, asks the same. Would you...for a trap? Those she hasn't seen on patrols around the city building. Those she has. She's been with them, see, with Javed and the others, not always in secret, not always in the shadows. She's patrolled with them and fought with them and defended them. She asks a few more, would you would you? before she returns to something like a central location.
"This is what you ask of him," she says, hefting the bone in one arm and pointing out with the other to Javed, who only a few minutes ago called the building home. "This is what you ask of those who follow him."
She returns the bone with another bow, and then she goes off to wherever. Bound to no one, Ingrid goes where she pleases.
Shadows, secrets, and tonight something like annoyance, maybe the leading edge of anger? It's hard to tell what this one feels. But as she passes the Fianna girl her dark eyes slant sideways and fix on her a moment. The Ragabash continues forward, toward the new guy, the Cliath, the Forseti. Eyes cast down, she lowers into a respectful bow, hands held out and up for the bone and when it is hers she turns. She looks to the left. Looks to the right.
She looks for Tamsin. And she stalks because she can't help it. Ingrid's carriage is that of graceful dancer, or feral predator. Despite the expensive fabrics she drapes over her human-skin, she gives off the latter aura far stronger than the former. Ingrid stalks to the edge of the circle, stops a few feet away, tips her chin in an effort to help her voice carry, and asks the Galliard,
"Would you draw them toward the Caern's heart for a trap?" Her tone is not derogatory, her carriage is not angry, neither is it defensive. She is making a point. She is making these Garou think.
Looks for Hector because Hector is Tamsin's packmate, her Alpha. "Would you lead them to your kinswoman's house for a trap?"
She looks for others, asks the same. Would you...for a trap? Those she hasn't seen on patrols around the city building. Those she has. She's been with them, see, with Javed and the others, not always in secret, not always in the shadows. She's patrolled with them and fought with them and defended them. She asks a few more, would you would you? before she returns to something like a central location.
"This is what you ask of him," she says, hefting the bone in one arm and pointing out with the other to Javed, who only a few minutes ago called the building home. "This is what you ask of those who follow him."
She returns the bone with another bow, and then she goes off to wherever. Bound to no one, Ingrid goes where she pleases.