i belong to the hurricane [ingrid moods]
#1
Little roots, Erich had said. They hoped to meet up with their friend, the Black Fury they ran to inside the Broadway building apparently, and when they did they might put down roots. Little ones. That's what he said when he told her she could totally come with if she wanted. And she wanted. I missed this, she said the night of their reunion. I missed you too, he replied, because they sort of understand each other. They are light and shadowed aspects of the same creature, or at least they were. Time would tell if they still were.

Anyway, Erich had said they might put down little roots, he and Charlotte and Melantha, but when he introduced Charlotte and Ingrid as his packmates-without-totem, and when he challenged and won a position for the next moot, Ingrid realized his idea of little roots and hers weren't the same thing at all.

So, after the Revel she staggered back to the tinyhouse! with them. She doesn't like it there. Not because it's small or quaint and those things seem anathema to everything the Shadow Lord Ragabash appears to be (although her words and actions will suggest this is the case), but because it feels like Erich and it feels like Charlotte. It feels like their territory, and rightly so. They built the thing. They poured their sweat and love and maybe a little blood into making a tiny little portable home for themselves. It does not feel like Ingrid.

She rested for a little bit on Erich's spare couch, and then she slipped away. She lef behind no belongings, nothing to tie her to this place concretely, not even a lingering scent in the couch cushions. The only sign she was ever there was a note affixed to the fridge that reads in sharp, clear script:

My number hasn't changed. - Ingrid

Ingrid doesn't put down roots, not little ones, not big ones, not even ones that are just right. What she does is throw out tethers, things to draw her back from time to time. One of them is of course attached to Storm's Teeth. The other is to Cold Crescent. She made her introductions properly to the Warder that first day they rolled into town, let him know that she was at his disposal should he need a particularly stealthy Cliath, left him her number just in case.

She set herself up in a suite at the Hotel Teatro downtown, though it hasn't gotten much use. It's home base, that's all, a nice place for her to rest her head in luxury and comfort in between bouts of drifting here and there. It's only been a week since the moot, but already she's climbed to the top of Castle Rock and surveyed the land from beneath the gentle glow of its giant star light. She's prowled through that city and across the mesas. She's been to Colorado Springs and Garden of the Gods. She's run along the slopes of the Foothills. She's drifted and wandered, making sure to stay on the alert for The Beloved Horror. She doesn't find them, and they don't find her.

As much as she wanders, Ingrid doesn't spread as far out as she did on the east coast. It's only been a week or so, but it's more than a mere lack of time. Something keeps her from getting more than an hour, an hour and a half out from the city before she turns around and heads back. Something tall and broad and blue-eyed, perhaps. A Fenrir born son of Thunder who is the closest she's ever had to a true and proper friend.

But just try to get her to admit it.
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#2
It's been one year nearly to the day since Ingrid Kim's last pack dissolved somewhere on the east coast, and in that time she has never settled in one place for long. Even these last few months she hasn't been within the city of Denver, not for longer than a week, maybe a week and a half at a time. Then she would disappear for days and days, only to reappear as though she had never left.

Then the terrible events in 1999 Broadway happened.

Ingrid does what she can to follow through on her promise to the sept, that she would do whatever it took to make amends for her part in it. She has a hotel room set up for her downtown - and she has actually been using it these past few weeks, returning to it to clean up and rest after patrolling and scouting as needed by the sept of the Cold Crescent. But, finally, she comes to the decision that it's time to end her wandering days. It's time to sink her claws in to Denver's soil and make a stand.

It's time to throw her lot in with other wolves, to try and belong even though she will always be strange. She will always be weird. She will always exist on the outside.

So, arrangements. Calls are made to the sept in New York. Ingrid has accounts that need looking after because let's be honest, the young wolf cannot be bothered with such things. She has few requirements. Must be of the tribe. Must an excellent reputation for the work needed. Must have trustworthy references. And one other thing. Someone is found. They'll be along soon.

Labor Day comes and goes. Tuesday, Benedict Starek gets off a plane into DIA. He rides the underground trains. He gets in the car that has been provided for him. He is sent to the Ritz-Carlton downtown. Even if he hadn't been given her description, he would know who he had been sent to see. She is sitting at a table near one of the wide windows overlooking the city, dressed in a dark plum, sleeveless dress, and she is beautiful. She stands out because of this, and she stands out because of something inherently primal about her, and she stands out because he recognizes a Garou when he sees one.

Ingrid looks up when she notices someone walking toward her. Ben is tall and slim, dressed in a well-tailored charcoal grey suit, his chocolate brown hair perfectly styled, his expressive face breaking out into a smile as he nears. Holds out his hand to her. Takes a seat across from her. They make small talk over appetizers, a thing that Ingrid is making herself be better at tonight. This man is going to be working for her and with her. They talk business over the main course. He is going to be overseeing her not-inconsiderable estate. He will hopefully be expanding it so that she will have something to leave her parents on that inevitable day when she doesn't return from battle.

Ben is polite and charismatic, open about his business experience and closed about a private life Ingrid barely taps at because she doesn't care. In short, he is exactly what she hoped to find. A Kinfolk who will stay out of trouble and in general leave her alone unless it's absolutely necessary.

Perfect.
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