zosiasulkowski

The Fianna gives a chuckle. "I felt I was on safe ground, yes. But tried to keep it neutral and cheap, given the propensity for the inhabitants to redecorate it in red at the drop of a hat." A little amused shrug.

One near-white eyebrow slips upward. "Red, shading to brown at the edges?"

"Yes, quite," Greg says, with a grimace. "One tries to keep it to a reasonable level, but they do get enthusiastic from time to time." He takes a sip from his beer. "What... kind of lawyering do you do?"

A car is heard outside. Shortly afterwards, a girl opens the front door, entering the room. She immediately gives the impression of both filling the room with her presence and that she owns the place. There's a shopping bag in one of her hands.

Gudrun opens her mouth to respond, then closes it again as the door lets in a damp breeze and a...young /personage/. "I'm a defense attorney for the state," she murmurs, distractedly, attention entirely on the new arrival. "I defend people up on criminal charges who can't afford private attorneys of their own." She shifts in her chair and sets down her glass again, ready to rise.

Greg's face cracks into a broad smile. "Zosia-/rhya/," he stresses, with a pleased grin on his face, as he too stands. "May I introduce Gudrun Anderson, kin to the Get of Fenris. Gudrun, this is Zosia Sulkowski, /Fostern/ Theurge of the Silver Fangs." He pauses, raising an eyebrow. "New name?"

"Bright Falcon's Grace," the girl says, her eyes lighting up as she smiles. She isn't waddling but her movements as she crosses the living room are careful. "Pleasure to meet you, Gudrun." She has a light southern accent coloring her words. "And Greg, nice to see you outside of a work setting."

Gudrun does stand up, holding out her hand to the girl. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Sulkowski." She gets it right on the first try, too.

Greg grins. "Well, you're going to have to be getting used to it. We'll be finished this week." He reaches up a hand to rub his temple. "Though there's always just a few more things that need doing. No matter how many you've done."

"A pleasure, yes, but please call me Zosia." She returns the handshake firmly, looking like she should really still be in high school. Glancing toward Greg, she grins slyly. "I don't think Tristan will want the lot of you around for a while. Oh." She smiles sheepishly as she pulls her hand back from Gudrun's grasp. "Greg's been doing some renovation work at my home."

"We were discussing renovations," Gudrun agrees, smiling, "although not of your home. I think I met a relation of yours - Maritza de Mercado?" If her French wasn't very persuasive, her accent on the Latina name is flawless.

The Fianna takes a step back. "Can I get you a drink?" he asks Zosia, just interjecting it politely.

Zosia grunts faintly, the corner of her mouth turning up at the Silver Fang kin's name. "She's one of our bodyguard. They're really for my husband," she says quickly, "but they follow me around as well." Glancing toward Greg, she shakes her head. "No. I was popping in to deliver something to one of the new cubs. The kid's ten."

Gudrun's eyebrow slips up just a touch. "I enjoyed talking with her very much," she says pleasantly, sinking back into her chair. "You have a ten-year-old cub? Isn't that awfully young, or am I just displaying my ignorance? Or--is she not homid?"

"She's homid," Greg says. "And... yes. Amber appears to be ahead of the curve, quite noticeably." He peers at the bag. "Oh? What have you got her? Or shouldn't I ask?"

"BJ. I'm talking about BJ," Zosia says with a grimace, shaking her head. "Ten's way too young, especially for a ragabash cub. But she's showing all the signs of shifting soon." The bag is put down and she nods toward the couch. "Shall we sit?" She seems intent on sitting either way.

"Oh!" Greg says. "Sorry, Amber's older, I think. And yes, freshly changed." He looks at Gudrun. "Have you met with Viv? Because... I probably should."

"Amber's got a mouth on her." Zosia's voice is almost a grumble. "And attitude to boot. If she isn't careful, she won't last long."

A slight pause leaves space for that statement to settle. Gudrun give Zosia a vague, diffused sort of smile, picks up her glass of beer and takes another sip. Then she says to Greg, as if recollecting his presence, "Oh, yes. High on my list of priorities and a /very/ enjoyable encounter. I've promised to come 'round in the evenings with beer to collect gossip."

The Fianna abandons that thought, and looks speculatively at Zosia. "She doesn't react very well to threats, I think. They scare her and make her go very defensive. At the moment, it is, I think, best to dangle the carrot and hide the stick, until she is so... enthralled with being a Garou that she will accept the other things."

"Then -you- do it. It'll let me help August with taking care of BJ, who I think still plays with Barbies." Zosia rubs a hand over her face. "She makes me feel -old-."

Gudrun takes off her glasses, polishes them on the hem of her sweater, and replaces them with a sidelong smile at Zosia. "That does sound a bit daunting."

Greg inclines his head. "Thank you," he says, not quite able to hide the smile that quirks his lips. "I should meet her," he says. "BJ, I mean. Though... ten is very much on the young side.

"She's -young-," Zosia says, nodding to the pair of them. "But her dreams...she got herself down from Canada by herself with a little crayon-drawn map of the caern heart."

"Good grief," Gudrun says, sitting up. "That can't be usual, can it?"

The Fianna shakes his head. "No, it's not usual at all." He looks at Zosia. "Any clue as to tribe, yet? Surely it's too early?" He rubs his temple fiercely. "Spirits of those who've gone before... or something bad."

"It isn't typical. I Firsted at fifteen as a theurge. Tim said he did at seventeen." Zosia gnaws on her lower lip nervously, staring at Greg. "I'd like to think it's her ancestors--they lay heavily on her. I -hope- isn't isn't the other."

"Is this where I tactfully excuse myself?" Gudrun asks, bright-eyed and curious. "So that you can discuss your concerns without my inhibiting presence?"

Greg smiles at Gudrun. "It's not you that we're protecting," he explains. "The other options are so unpalatable and traumatic, if not actually evil, that we don't like to speculate as to what they might be and me." There's a grimness there. "But," he says. "Patience tends to solve these things better than anything else." A pause. "I'll have a chat with her?" he offers to Zosia. "See if there's any chaff to be sorted from... the wheat of what she's saying." He frowns. "That went wrong somewhere."

"August has picked her up for the Gaians." Zosia pushes to her feet again, only swaying a little bit. "I'm going to take these upstairs then head home." She eyes Gudrun for a moment. "If you were my kin, I'd not have a problem sharing. But one never knows how other tribes will react. Either way, it is a pleasure to meet you, Gudrun. Greg, I'll see you later." She heads for the stairs.

Gudrun stands up when Zosia does, smiling. "Not a problem, and nice to meet you." She sinks back into the chair as the girl exits, one eyebrow cocked at the Philodox in silent inquiry or comment.