"Oh, now you've overstepped the mark, Emma. This is personal. Name a time and place. Or just come at me, whichever."

Brownstone -- Basement Apt.(#3328RJ)
The basement of the brownstone has been split into two sections. The stairwell leads down into the northwest corner section, which contains the boiler room, furnace, and the elevator shaft. The rest has been converted into another apartment, and Signe's made it into a rather fortified one at that. The only entrance is through a re-enforced steel door with no less than three dead-bolts. There are absolutely no windows at all in any of the four concrete and brick walls. It's a rather stark but functional space. Overhead, the air ducts and plumbing pipes are exposed, while the cement floor is covered by a ragged dark wine and gold Oriental throw rug. A makeshift shelving unit of two-by-fours and cinder block has been erected along the length of the wall with the door, and it houses a stereo, tv and old vcr. Directly opposite this is a beat-up leather couch and two mismatched recliners. The kitchen is small but functional, with a round wooden table and four chairs. Half of the back end of the building has been walled off for a private bedroom, while the rest is open to the living area. This space has been converted into a home gym--complete with wrestling mats, weights, and a full weight boxing bag.

Someone leans on the doorbell to Emma's apartment with a heavy touch. Bzzzzzz.

The Get moves to the door with a little less attitude than yesterday, and upon seeing who is there, opens it wide. "Morning-" she pauses, looks outside to the stairwell, "Rather, afternoon Cedric, c'mon in."

Cedric too seems a little less twitchy. Even one day can make a big difference when the moon is on her way down from full. "Good afternoon, Emma," he chirps. "I hope I see you well?"

Emma nods her head, "Yeah, well enough." The Get makes way for the others entrance, and today the apartment is in much better repair. "Things going alright for you?"

"Just dandy," Cedric confirms. "I hope I didn't scare your friend Scott too far out of his army-surplus boots yesterday? He was boiling those eggs like they were the most fascinatin' thing on the planet, and it doesn't take a nobel prize winner to know he was focusin' on them to avoid havin' to confront scary ol' me."

"I wouldn't worry about it- I think he was likely more concerned with my mood. Anyway, did your chat with Osric go well?" Emma moves in and sits down on the couch.

Cedric takes a decorous seat at the other end of the couch. "Osric isn't at all keen on me playing second fiddle, even to one of Fenris's worthy warriors," he begins. "But as I pointed out, until I'm accepted as a sept member, I can scarcely set up my own pack and start recruiting local garou into it. Vera-rhya would take a truly dim view of that, see it as stealing... So the upshot is, if you still wish, I'm happy to serve as a kind of semi-detached add-on to Havoc pro tem."

Emma hmms at this. "So, you'll not join us up straight away, but you'll tag along side us, rack up the honor and glory from our success, until you've got your chiminage settled and can break off and gather your own pack? Or have I left something out?"

The tension which had seemingly departed from Cedric flows back into him. He turns and gives Emma a long look. "If my terms are unacceptable to you," he responds with a coolness at odds with his tautening body language, "simply say so and we'll call it a day here and now."

"You were the one that came in here and fancied a string of pretty words to say it in the first place. But bluntly speaking. No, those terms are bullshit. You don't tag along with Wolverine's kids. And you certainly don't use them as a stepping stone for your plans of grandeur. You are all or nothing." Emma rises now, a hint of rage in her features.

Cedric's lips narrow to bloodless lines. "Pardon me, but I think it was you who was rollin' out the red carpet to invite me in, and you who spoke of doing so on a trial basis. if Wolverine isn't keen on that, perhaps you should have spoken to Wolverine before shooting off your mouth and inviting me." He stays put on the couch, eyes fixed upon Emma.

"And should this," and here the fingered quotes rise up, "semi-detached add-on find the arrangement to be working out, then what? Seeing someone through a trial basis that *wants* to be part of the pack, is entirely different than someone doing it because they got nothing better to do at the moment."

And now Cedric jumps to his feet. "Fine," he breathes, and takes one step towards Emma, just one. "Think upon this, Emma. Think upon this hard. If I join your pack on a permanent basis... you'd better be ready for me to challenge for alpha of it just as soon as my chimmy's accepted. Are you big enough to cope with that? Are you Garou enough to face a challenge from me, which you will more than likely lose, and set yourself up for it anyway because to do so will serve Gaia best? Are you?"

"More than likely lose?" Emma has to rise on her tip-toes, or nearly so, to get in a position of being in the others face. "Well ain't that a trip on the old red carpet you arrogant ass. I am going to assume that comment comes from thinking so highly of yourself, and not that you think so little of me. You have no idea what I am made of. I am Fenris daughter. I am a child of Wolverine. And I am a mighty and deadly foe to the Wyrm. If you sought to challenge me, then I would more than welcome it, and I guarantee you - that pretty little face of yours would come out worse for the wear." A snarl crosses her lips as that red hue flushes more over her cheeks. "The point is simple. This pack is balls to the walls. It's not a stepping stone. It's not something to do in your downtime. I want commitment, loyalty and fearlessness. If you can't provide all three - whether or not there is a trial period, then you are not fit for it."

Cedric actually bends his neck forward a little, bringing his head down and closer to Emma's both vertically and horizontally. "I am second to no man," he pronounces in slow, clear, angry tones, "and to no wolf, not even to Fenris's daughter. I am the Chosen of Falcon. I wield the klaive ceded to me by Grandfather Thunder's tribe with the sacred words Odredeni clan Srebro Zub jesti govno pa svi onaj drug pleme jebati njima unutra odredeni clan zadnjca svaki noc." He allows himself a slow smile. "And somehow I'm not surprised to learn you have balls, Emma. All you Get girls do. But --" and he steps back, not without evident effort. "I am not here to fight you. Not today at least. In Gaia's name, let us both take some deep breaths and consider without hot, hasty words which may be hard to take back once spoken."

Emma's hands remain balled into fists, her jaw clenching fiercly enough to be heard once the words quiet between the two heated Garou. Tension ripples through the smaller form of the Get, until finally she takes a step back as well. "Our conversation is over then."

"If you are incapable of conquering your temper," Cedric comments in a forced neutral tone, "and discussing this matter in a rational way, then you're not the garou I took you for."

"More. Insults?" Emma growls at the other. "We just had our discussion. We are at an impasse, unless you have had a sudden change of mind. Second to no man or wolf. Those were your terms." The fingers remain clenched, the glare from one Fostern to the other, heated and testing.

"Are you forgetting what I also said?" Cedric asks, still tense, still icily neutral. "That as a non-member of this sept, I cannot lead a pack? Cannot challenge you for leadership? Course," he adds, "if you just want a fight, Madame Get, for heavens' sake say so and I'll give you one. For its own sake."

"Right. You cannot lead a pack because you are no member. So your royal plan is to manipulate and use the packs that might have sought your membership in the meantime. And then once you're cleared to do what you want again, snatch them out from under their alphas, or vanish to form your own pack. Mighty Shadow Lord of you." Emma snarls again, grinning wickedly at the promise of a fight. "Anytime, anyplace pal."

"Manipulate?" Cedric seems to choke on that word. "Shadow Lord? Oh, now you've overstepped the mark, Emma. This is personal. Name a time and place. Or just come at me, whichever."

Emma grins, seeming pleased the taunt had an affect on the other. "Tell me how else you would see it? 'No, I wouldn't really like to fight under you, but since I've no other option, I will, and then when the time comes, take the pack from you.' You wanna rumble? Let's go."

"You think I want to grab leadership because I like it? Wrong, sister. Wrong." Cedric pulls of his jacket and throws it onto the couch angrily. "Lead on, Macduff."

"Oh it's your duty, and your calling?" She growls out a huff as she rises into Glabro. "Some of us have to work for their places, and their honor. And I'll be damned if some looney Fang waltzes in and tells me it his Gaia given right to take it from me." A big, claws-in fist comes swinging to the others head. "Prick."

Cedric is in Glabro too in a second, and shoulder-charging Emma, sacrificing the chance of guarding against her fist or warding it off in order to get a good run-up at her and a shot at bowling her over with his greater weight. "You Get... always swear..." he growls.

Fist meets head as shoulder meets torso. Emma does indeed get bowled over, but like the Wolverine she packs under, makes as good of use as she can with it. Hands reach out and grab fistfuls of the others clothing to bring him down with her, one leg coming up to kick out as the duo tumbles toward the floor. "Fuck you," is her answer to his comment.

"In your dreams," taunts Cedric, and as they land in a heap together with one of Emma's hands on his belt and one on his tie, he brings his head back and tries to butt her in the face.

"Ha. Nightmares maybe." The headbutt lands smack into her nose, sending a spray of blood and a sharp gasp from the Get. She's in the more disadvantaged position, but has fury on her side at this point. The knee nestles between the others legs in a flurry of shifting and then comes rushing upward, aimed for the nobles Fang's chest.

Cedric snarls a guttural snarl as Emma's knee hits him somewhere sensitive. "You puny runt," he growls. And oddly, his looming form seems to swell up, as though he were about to shift, though he remains in glabro. His coarsened features regain their handsome nobility, and a faint but clear silver light outlines his head. He speaks again, and his voice echoes far more than it has any right to. "You dare fight the Chosen of Falcon? Show throat, whelp, or I shall send you whimpering home to Fenris with your tail... between... your legs!" The last few words are punctuated with fists to Emma's face that feel like a piledriver is ramming her head into the floor.

The words, more than the fists punctuate the attack on the smaller Get. Puny. Runt. Whelp. There are few things in life that throw Emma so easily into the brink of madness, and the Fang has unknowingly stepped across them like steamrolling a land mine field. Just as things could get almost no worse, a sudden look crosses over the Ahroun. The look is clear, it's a recognition of superiority, and all at once the raging rebellion against it. Eyes widen, nostrils flare and then the Get is suddenly in Crinos, thrashing and flailing and bucking wildly.

Cedric finds himself tossed up in the air by the sudden change of form, grabbing frantically for Emma to cling on. In the split second between being thrown up and landing again, he's in crinos himself, and his huge hands are clenched round Emma's throat, choking her. ~Submit!~ he demands. ~Submit with honour!~ All his own anger is dissipated at the Get's frenzy, all his focus now on bringing her back down from it in one piece as she claws and squirms.

There is no sensible notion about the Get just now, but the Fang has managed a good enough hold around her throat that she's not likely to last much much longer under the reduced air flow. Still, in that time, claws drag across the shoulders, back and sides of the other Garou as she struggles to free herself. The huge paws at her throat start to do their job though, and within only a short minute, the blows weaken and the reddened eyes of the child of Fenris start to roll upward.

Lightning holds grimly on, the huge hands squeezing the breath out of Emma until her body stops struggling and she goes limp under him. Only as she starts to shift back to her birthform does Cedric relent, release her bruised throat, and revert to homid himself, staring gloomily at his hands as though he rather wished they didn't belong to him.

The limp form of the pale-skinned Get lies in a rather unnaturally looking peace. Her skin remains flushed in the cheeks, and the throat quickly bruising. Only her pants remain fastened to her, the shirt having been lost in flurry of shifting. Scars line her stomach, a set of old and a set of newer, still pink ones that rise and fall with each labored breath.

Cedric gently takes one of Emma's wrists in his hand, feeling it for a pulse, muttering something under his breath between panting for air.

There's a pulse there, strong and quick in effort to restock her lungs and her blood with the much needed oxygen. And then there is a more abrupt gasp, followed by a short fit of coughing as eyelids begin to blink.

Cedric releases Emma's hand, but continues to kneel by her, silent, watchful, waiting.

Emma groans as finally her eyes open all the way. She looks up immediately upon realizing she is on the ground, and then when her eyes fall on Cedric, they close again. The gesture is more of regret than anything else, as blurried thoughts and forgotten moments lapse through her mind. She remains where she lies, unmoving, bellied up to the Fang, and half naked. After a painful moment of failed pride, the Get tips her chin up respectfully to the Galliard in a show of, if still a tad late, submission.

Cedric takes a long deep breath and lets it go. "Chin down," he tells her, calmly and outwardly at least, with friendliness. "Fight the Wyrm like that and you'll claw lumps from it."

Emma lets her chin fall more into a relaxed position. Her jaw tenses and works a few grinding moments back and forth. "I'm sorry." The words do not come easily for her, but there is no question of sincerity. Outward friendliness noted, she offers a quiet, non-too-proud commentary on the matter. "I've got a thing against the word runt..."

"Then remind me never to use it again," Cedric vows. "I came here to do Falcon's will and fight the Wyrm, not to pick squabbles with those who should be my friends. Can I bring you anything, Fenris's daughter?"

"A shirt." She offers with only a faint hint of lost modesty, "Please." She sits up then, rubbing gingerly at her throat with one hand as the other offers some form of cover. "I owe you for my actions."

"This was not a challenge," Cedric states calmly but firmly as he looks around for a wardrobe or a chest of drawers in order to reclothe Emma. "It was a fight for its own sake. Should I challenge you on another occasion, it will be another fight on another day. What do you think you owe me?"

The Get narrows her eyes, "By the Alpha's rules here, she'd say contrition. This isn't the first Silver Fang tail I've tried to bite off." Emma points to the bathroom, where a sweatshirt hangs. "I frenzied when I should have submitted. There is no honor in that."

Cedric swipes the shirt from the bathroom and tosses it to Emma. "If you said that hoping I'd contradict you and tell you it didn't matter, you're wrong," he informs her. "You are right. There is no honour in an undue frenzy. But my ego is not so insecure that I need to see a proud garou grovel in contrition to me. If you truly wish to perform that Rite, I will not stop you. But I shall not demand it, either. What I ask instead," he says, "is that upon another day, either tomorrow or later when Luna is smaller, we revisit the question of you, me, and Havoc."

Emma slips into the sweatshirt, listening to the Fang speak and watching his motions. Once more she rubs at the tender muscles of her throat, before nodding. "Maybe over a pizza would be the better plan of attack." A large sigh escapes her, "You've met Grey. I'll speak with him on things as well- his loyalty is unwavering, and it's earned him mine as well." There is an unspoken statement in that simple comment, which perhaps the Galliard can pick up.

"My treat, if so," Cedric offers. "And if you want Grey or your other packmates to join us over the pizza, I'm amenable. Hell, I must run now, though. I've a house to view in Kent Crossing in an hour, and I did promise myself not to get any speeding tickets in this state."

Emma nods her head, "Friday then? A few days for me to mull things over and the moon to thin out."

Cedric counts quickly on his fingers. "Will we be at philodox moon by then? If not, won't be far off. I'll see you Friday, Emma." He takes a slightly hesitant step towards her and says, in a softer voice, "Be well." His eyes meet her for a moment, warmth in their noble hazel depths. Then he turns and scampers for the door.