"If you have a problem with my tribe, say so instead of sittin' there like a little thundercloud."

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.

Emma gives a faint nod, "Good. Now, if you want, sit down. *Anywhere*. And keep talking with us. If you'd like to add something, add it. Here, outside the line of politics, you can relax." Sitting back down herself, she reaches for the beer next to her and lands into the couch. "Now there is also Cedric, who is joining us on our routine for a while. There's a chance he may join us..." she pauses, "And that might cause a shift in ... leadership. I want to get to know him this next month, see if he even has what it takes to run with Wolverine."

Laura's eyebrows rise. "The one who carries a klaive? That Cedric?" She sits forward, picking up her forgotten water. "I look forward to seeing what he could offer to the pack, at the very least."

Abraxas sits. In fact, he sits right there on the floor, where he looks far more comfortable, even though he has to crane his neck slightly. His nose wrinkles at the mention of 'change in leadership'. "Who's Cedric?"

As if cued by an invisible film director, a bzz-bzzt sounds on the apartment's entryphone.

Emma stands up with a huff and moves to look out the peephole. "This is a Cedric. Silver Fang, and like Laura said, klaive wielding. We'll see what comes of it. Everything right now is by trial." The door opens, "It's a party in here Cedric, hope you brought another case."

"I wonder who we should talk about next, since we seem to be summoning with the power of our minds," Laura murmurs, smiling a little. She glances at Abraxas. "I'm getting the cookies. Do you want anything from the kitchen?"

Abraxas shakes his head once to Laura's question, and then twists in his seat, trying to get a glimpse of the door without actually standing up. His expression is, at best, dubious.

Cedric appears through the doorway. He is gripping in one hand, not a klaive, but a bottle of red wine. "So sorry to be late, Emma. Laura... good to see you again!" He favours Laura with one of his gleaming-toothed smiles. Then his eyes alight on Abraxas, and pause there as he takes in the Shadow Lord's appearance.

Emma looks between Cedric and Abraxas. "Cedric, this is Peter Abraxas, he's staying down here with and running some patrols with Havoc for a while. In due time, if the pieces fit, he'll have a chance to run with us." Then she looks to the metis, "This is Cedric. Now you know." A slight smile tips her features, "More wine? You trying to civilize the Get?"

Laura heads into the kitchen, offering one hand to take the wine with her as she walks past. "Nice to see you again as well, Cedric. And in your usual fine form." She refills her water glass, then unwraps the sweets she brought with her.

If Abraxas looked dubious before, well...let's just say he doesn't look at all pleased by Cedric. At all. Still, he remains where he is, and while he doesn't offer any greeting, he doesn't do anything but faintly grimace either.

Cedric looks at Abraxas for a moment longer, then seems to prefer turning back to Laura, whose compliment makes him beam. "Civilised? Surely not, surely not. Merely tryin' to be a good guest." He sets the bottle down next to Laura's sweets, then turns round, which brings Abraxas back into view. Another moment passes before he gives a slight shrug and introduces himself. "Cedric Ambermere of the Silver Fangs. Fostern and galliard. And sept member, too, within a few days," he adds brightly.

Emma grunts. "In a Get household, a good guest brings beer. Lots of it." She glances only briefly to Abraxas, wondering, and perhaps expecting him to follow up with his own introduction.

Laura chuckles. "Or, alternately, cookies." She picks up a couple and walks back to the living room with water and treats. "Or at least food." She takes her seat on the couch again, nibbling at the edge of one of the cookies.

Abraxas grimaces again. He stands, squares his shoulders, and delivers in an only slightly flat tone, "Peter Abraxas, Brings-the-Bitter-Harvest, Cliath Ahroun of the Shadow Lords. And metis." The look that crosses his face at the end of this is akin to an 'And I dare you to make something of it'.

"Charmed to meet you," murmurs Cedric. If his reaction to the metis tag is negative, he conceals it well. "I don't recall Emma mentioning you as bein' in Havoc? Are you a new recruit on probation like me, or just a friend?"

"It's the month of trial runs Cedric. Abraxas has shed more blood for this Sept than some of its members have since cubhood. He's a sound warrior to boot." Emma takes a cookie from the bag and smiles at Laura. "He's trying to civilize me, you're trying to make me fat."

"Even wolverines like sweets once in awhile," Laura replies. "Besides. They're healthy. Full of oatmeal and dates. One of these days, I'll make some creampuffs. Then I'll be trying to make you fat." She tucks her sweater around herself again.

Abraxas starts to visibly bristle, but it ceases as soon as Emma explains for him. He sits back down, eyeing Cedric warily.

"Well, Emma," Cedric says, sounding a little smug, "next time you can come and visit me, and bring beer with you. I got myself that house. Right out by the bawn. It's open to the sept, but my tribe and Havoc will have priority as far as I'm concerned." He's still looking at Abraxas from the corner of one eye, the Silver Fang and Shadow Lord seeming like two cats who don't know whether to spring at each other and fight or accept one another into their presence peacably.

Emma nods her head, "Next time we have chance of heading that way, I'll be sure to drop in. We're discussing the plan of attack on the dealers in town. Grey is getting the last bits of info before we can move on it."

Laura nods to Emma's words. "Looking forward to seeing how this works," she comments from her vantage point.

Abraxas is clearly sizing Cedric up, at least. And the news of the new house doesn't seem to do much for that. His jaw is very tight, his eyes are narrowed, and his shoulders have started to hunch forward slightly.

"Dealers, hm?" Cedric asks, still sizing Abraxas up just as much as vice versa. Metaphorical hackles are up, for sure. "Big drug problems in town?"

Emma looks between the two, and in a firm, authoritive voice calls out a simple, "Knock it off. Both of you." She waits just a pause, before she shrugs to Cedric, "They come and go. We'll stop this one before it gets big. And speaking of that, it's about time to take a stroll, anyone feels like coming, lets go. If you're staying, so help me god, the house better be exactly as I leave it, or there will be issues."

Laura chuckles. "I should go, then. I have to find one of the Guardians before it gets too late." She gets to her feet, then starts towards the door. "Enjoy the cookies." And then she too, is off.

Leaving the Shadow Lord and the Silver Fang. Err, is this a good idea? Abraxas is still eyeing Cedric carefully, and his entire body is tensed.

An uncomfortable silence reigns for several seconds, which Cedric eventually breaks. "Care for some wine, Peter?" he asks. "It's good. Vintage, even."

"I don't drink," Abraxas replies, in a brittle, thin sort of tone.

Silence again. Cedric eyes Abraxas once more. He doesn't open the bottle. "Look here," he eventually says. "If you have a problem with my tribe, say so instead of sittin' there like a little thundercloud. You wouldn't be the first and won't be the last."

Abraxas's eyes narrow further. "Not with your tribe," he replies, still thin. "Not really. But if you think you're going to just blow in here and take over when I've finally got my chance..." He trails off, as there isn't, really, any threat he can actually add on to that. He settles for glaring instead.

"Take over, hm?" Cedric arches one eyebrow. "I was under the impression that Vera-rhya was well in control here. Or do you just mean the pack of Havoc?"

"The pack," Abraxas growls. "I don't give a fuck over Vera."

Cedric looks down his nose at Abraxas. "Your own tribemate and the Sept Alpha? What has she done to get such a frightfully negative reaction?"

"That's not the point," Abraxas snaps. "I'm talking about Havoc. You and Havoc, and me and Havoc, not Vera."

"My dear fellow," Cedric replies placidly, "if you're goin' to get so steamed up at simple questions, one has to wonder how you think you'll cope with bein' in a pack at all."

Abraxas leans forward a little. "And if you're going to dodge around relevant questions rather than answering them..." There's a pause, which, in a less Rage-driven environment, might inspire the comparison of a little kid about to use a naughty word. "...Then shut up."

Cedric walks across the room and throws himself down into a chair near to Abraxas. "So you think I'm gonna, quote, 'blow in here and take over'. Because that's what my tribe does. Yes? Can you see Emma standing for that? We've already fought over the issue," he informs Abraxas in an offhand way, as though it's a mere trifle.

Abraxas doesn't get hit, which means he has a moment in which he's obviously taken aback by the novelty. Then it's right back to the thick of the matter. "Your tribe does that pretty damned often, doesn't it? Y--" He stops. "--You have?"

Cedric nods, once, slowly. "I don't like fightin' other garou," he says. "Such a waste of energy that could be better used elsewhere, don't you think?"

Abraxas merely grunts to that. You're talking to an ahroun, after all. "And she won?"

"Actually," Cedric says in an even more offhand way, "I did."

Abraxas suddenly glares. "And?"

"And we shook hands afterwards," Cedric yawns. "Metaphorically if not physically. We aren't wolves, Peter. The best fighter isn't necessarily the best suited to leadin' a pack. Emma knows this city like the back of her hand. Whilst I am a stranger, and not yet even a sept member, though I'm hopin' that will change after the moot tomorrow."

Abraxas makes a noise of sheer exasperation. "So you beat her, but you'll let her lead out of the goodness of your heart? Or you beat her, but you're not a Sept member yet and so you aren't ready to take over yet? What?"

"Really, I don't know," Cedric confesses. "Y'see, Peter, I'm not a free agent. I take my orders from Falcon, and Osric hasn't told me yet whether he wants me to lead, or follow, or form my own pack, or what. So I'm in limbo, kind of. But I'm not going to let myself sit idle."

Blink. "You take your orders from Falcon," Abraxas says, flatly. "And you don't even know if you want to be a part of the pack." He gives an exasperated sigh and sits back, eyeing Cedric darkly. "Just don't mess with my chances."

"Look here," Cedric says warmly, "it'd be a pretty bad thing if I took the pack over and Falcon then told me I needed to do something else, wouldn't it? And I'm not going to mess with your chances, as you so cutely put it. For your information, Peter, I hold your tribe in a damn' sight higher regard than most of my family, with good reason. Your people up in Canada were very good to me a couple of years ago."

That seems to snag his interest, if only reluctantly so. "In Canada," Abraxas echoes. "Where?"

"Up by Ontario," Cedric recalls. "Stayed three years in a sept up that way. It was there I got my klaive. Good people. They behaved towards me about like you are now, at first. But they came round."

Abraxas grunts. "Oh," is about the most compelling thing he seems to have to say to that, or at least at first. Then, rather sluggishly, he utters, "What were they like?"

"The same as any garou," Cedric says. "Which is the lesson I learnt and so did they. And it's why ignorance is so damn' dangerous. I was brought up to think you Shadow Lords were the next closest thing to the Wyrm after fomori... and I s'pose you thought the same about Silver Fangs. But in reality, all of us are just trying to save the world the best way we can, given our handicaps and limitations." He nods as though he's said something profound.

"No," Abraxas replies. "Not close to the Wyrm. But you don't want me saying some of the things I've thought about Silver Fangs. Or Shadow Lords. They're not polite."

"I've been alive long enough," Cedric says with a meaningful look to Peter, "that I can guarantee most of them are no more than old hat to me. My skin is thicker than many of my family's."

Abraxas seems to take this to heart. "Fine. Then I don't think your tribe is Wyrmish. I think it's full of pompous, self-glorifying, blue-blooded fools that value tribe and breeding over any kind of merit, with far less honor some times than they would ever admit. And sometimes, sometimes there's someone in there that gets over all that, and really does shine somehow, and that Garou is the one that gets killed."

A glint in Cedric's eye hints that his skin may not be as thick as he proclaims it is where such remarks are concerned. But he forces a smile. "But my dear fellow, blood and breeding aren't greater than merit, they are merit. Or at least they contribute to them. Look at racehorses or greyhounds or even show dogs. You get more out of well-bred animals than -- with all apologies to the Bone Gnawers -- you do mutts and mongrels."

"We are not racehorses and showdogs," Abraxas snaps. "And besides, the only thing you get out of those animals is better looks and a better ability to jump through some human's hoops." He lifts one finger. "But at least, at least SOME of you have some damned honor, even when it chips your precious pride. Shadow Lords are too busy playing mind games and one-up-manship to bother about that."

"I'd be interested to know," Cedric enquires with another raised eyebrow, "if you include yourself in that dismissal?"

"Sometimes," Abraxas grates. "...I'm no good at it anyway."

It was a short jaunt for Emma this afternoon, but the lock turns and the short Get returns. She is surprised to hear voices as she enters, and at first, she peeks only her head around the doorway.

"And that, if anything," Cedric fires back, "is a good thing and not a bad, surely? Ah, Emma's back. Peter and I," he explains, "are just getting to know one another."

Abraxas looks rather grateful for Emma's arrival. There's no blood on the floor though, no broken or overturned furniture. They're just sitting there, in fact. "It's not a good thing when you're a metis Shadow Lord," he replies darkly, "unless you count the fact that at least no one above you considers you a threat."

Emma steps in and shuts the door, "Talking politics are we? Abraxas is in a delicate spot here, so keep that in mind. He drew not one short straw, but two - neither of his doing." She settles her coat aside and shakes out a short shiver from the chill.

Cedric turns to face Emma. "I'd hoped you'd credit me with better breedin' and manners than to have a downer on a fellow because of his tribe or birth," he responds crisply. "Besides, as I was sayin', I have good reason to like Thunder's grandchildren. They have done me great honor. It was they who gave me my klaive."

"He talks a lot," is Abraxas's only comment. He rubs the side of his head and looks to one side. Oh, he looks sour, but at least he doesn't look like he's about to jump the Silver Fang at any moment anymore.

Emma laughs aloud at this, just shaking her head. "Well at least he's got a nice voice for it. And speaking of that little story, it's one I'd like to hear Galliard. If it's long, as I am sure it must be, we can set another night aside for it."

"It is," Cedric confesses. "And if anything it deserves a wider audience. I'd like Vera to hear it... it can do no harm to have her know that I genuinely owe her tribe a debt of gratitude. For now, though, I'd sooner relax with some drink and get to know you both better. Maybe talk about the drug issue s'more."