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Someone has to guard the home front, even if it's because the players absolutely cannot handle massive scenes, so there's some sort of in character justification for it all. Sieghilde doesn't have to necessarily like being the one who has to hang back this time, even if she's aware of the reasons for it, and so the Rahu paces lazily along the line of the Foundation's bar, waiting inside and checking her phone while Sonja perches on the rooftop and keeps an eye from above. A cigarette hangs from the corner of her mouth, trailing smoke behind her as she grumpily walks back and forth.
Normally it would have been a few hours later, but honestly things had gone rather smoothly. Likely before they expected it, headlights of a rather non-descript sedan pull up to the property. Darren parks, says a few quiet words to Ludwig and then makes his way inside a separate entrance at the blessing from Altman, heading for the medical bay he'd installed a few weeks ago. He hadn't hung around much after the work was done, and this was his first time back.
The man was in a long coat, dressed for the weary winter weather. His black curls slightly oily now after the fight. He could use a shower. But right now he was most interested in washing up and wrapping his hands. They didn't have any real sort of damage to them, but given what they were fighting Darren thought it best to go for a disinfectant.
Inside, he'd make his way straight to the medical bay, not dawdling or snooping or disrespecting the property. Flicking on the lights and shedding his coat.(edited)
Anton doesn't know what the heck is going on, but he knows his mothers are stressed, and that's never a good thing. So he's there too, sitting in a chair, watching Sig walk back and forth, back and forth. He has a small ball that he's idly playing with, bouncing back and forth between his hands, and occasionally dribbling it on the ground so that it goes up and he can catch it mid air. A lot of anxious fidgeting.
Then he pauses, catching the ball and tilting his head, looking to the side, towards the hallway. "Someone's here," he says in German.(edited)
The Rahu turns her head toward some unheard thing and frowns. This isn't unusual to Anton--he's seen his mothers and uncle communicate without speaking aloud, and has more than once witnessed them just knowing something they don't otherwise have a way to know, especially when it comes to the mental state of their packmates. "Your onkle is home. There's someone with him." Some people use text messages, Sieghilde.
The door opens, admitting Darren, and Sieghilde glances at Anton, ticking her head as if to say 'follow,' loping off in the direction of the medbay. Sonja is congenial, often smiling, shorter, and generally more welcoming. The woman who moves through the side halls to meet Darren in the med bay -- coming in through another door -- is none of those things by default. Her angular face set stern, muscular shoulders squared, Austrian accent sharp. "Guten nacht," she offers, plucking her cigarette from her mouth (what, like she put it out?) and ashes it in the med bay's sink.
Darren had plucked off his sweater and was down to a black undershirt now, leaned over the sink and scrubbing hands and forearms with a thick lather of soap. He looks back to those that came in, glassy emerald green eyes that seemed to have their own light source somehow wander over them as Darren looks back over his shoulder. "Evenin', Ma'am," he said after a silent moment, "Sir," he said then to Anton, watching them a moment longer before continuing. "I'll be out of your way shortly." he promised. His Irish accent thick, though his voice was quiet. He didn't raise it to carry across the room, instead spoke clearly and let it stand.(edited)
Anton is... the opposite of that, really. Friendly faced, curious, blond hair ruffled, boyishly bright-eyed--literally, his eyes gleam with silver, not any shade of natural blue. He has quite a baby face, countered only by the thin layer of stubble on his jaws. He's wearing a soccer jersey shirt and jeans, and is still idly bouncing the ball up and down, as if he can't stand to not have something to do with his too-long hands. "Hello," he says in a chipper voice, German accent thick. Then, more concerned, "You are hurt?"
"You are not in the way. This is the purpose of the Foundation, to be a resource." Sieghilde might have said something further, but Anton, with his much more personable affect, had already chimed in, so the tall blonde instead looks aside at her kid and, when Darren is attending to washing his hands again, winks slowly at him once. She tucks her cigarette back into the corner of her mouth and leans one shoulder against the wall.
"No," Darren shook his head, rinsing the lather off in the metal sink basin and shaking his hands and arms free of water. "Actually none of us are. S'good night," he said reaching for a paper towel and wiping his forearms and hands dry. His knuckles had tiny little abrasions as one gets after hitting a few things bare knuckled, but it was no real wound. Above the damage tattoos begun, going from the backs of his hands all the way up over his shoulders. Two full sleeves heavy with Gaelic and Uratha imagery. He worked around the medical bay as if he'd been here many times before, but that couldn't be true given how new it was. "I was just coming to get cleaned up, s'all." he looked between the two of them briefly before continuing, tossing the towel aside and pulling down some anti bacterial ointments. "I'd shake your hands but.." he offered apologetically. "Darren Lynch. Mr. Altman let me in to clean up."(edited)
"Ah! This is good. I'm glad Onkel is okie dokie," he says cheerfully, tossing the ball from hand to hand a little more quickly. "I'm Anton Altman. Nice to meet you."
"Good," agrees Sieghilde when the assessment of all and sundry is given by Darren. "Herr Altman let me know that you were coming." A pause, and she takes another drag of her cigarette, puts it out in the sink. She soaks the butt with water and chucks it in the trash, blowing the smoke lazily out of her nose, which gives her a sort of draconic appearance not exactly helped by the severity of her facial structure.
"Herr Anton Altman. Frau Doktor Sieghilde Altman. It is good to meet you, and better to do so under circumstances when you are only slightly itched." A flicker of her long-fingered hands toward Darren as she leans against the wall again. "It is fine to not shake. What is status, then?"
He looked between the two and for a moment it was with recognition. Not that he'd ever met them, but heard their names before. A tiny pause as he looked over them both like trying to match them with the faces he'd created in his head at their names. "Sonja's mentioned you," he said simply, though for those with any sort of empathy, he said the name warmly. "It's nice to finally meet you," he agreed, looking back to his hands after and applying the ointments with practiced grace. He'd done this 1000 times surely. The scars already on his hands would prove it. "The status? Mm, the Magath? The lil' ones are discorporated. The bigger son of a bitch is in a bottle thanks to Mr. Altman. Likely he'll 'ave your aid in destroyin' it shortly." he glanced up at them setting the tiny bottle aside.(edited)
"Oooh, bottle! Is good trick," he says with a bob of his head, then looks eagerly, hopefully to Sig. "I watch?"
It's hard to read Sieghilde, not because of any particular subterfuge, but because her expressions are not exactly as diverse as most Americans. For those who are quite good at reading body language and expressions, though, Sieghilde's eyes crinkle up a little at the corners, her shoulders loosen just so, and the breath that she lets out at the mention of her wife's name is just that much softer than all the ones before and after it. "Ah, she would," the Austrian agrees. And indeed, the invocation of Unbekannt's second-in-command generally sort of loosens her shoulders and stance, not that she really moves.
"It is good to meet you," she reiterates, and her gaze flickers over those scarred knuckles. "The small ones will return, soon as they can, I am certain. Discorporated is a temporary relief." The corners of her mouth turn down in a frown. "Yes, my brother is a clever man." It almost sounds begrudging, that, though affection laces through those words just as certainly. "Mmm, yes. Unless your onkel thinks you can help somehow, and then you help."
Darren looked over them again, wrapping his fingers now with little bits of tape. "When others mentioned you were all family, I didn't realize it was literal." he mentions, looking down to his hands. "I can see now why Jo feels comfortable 'ere." he said, more to himself than anything. Once his fingers were wrapped he began to clean up his mess, not ignoring them, but turning to work as they talked. Sanitizing the space he'd used and refilling the supplies he'd depleted. "I've been meanin' to come back 'ere. She," he must mean Jo again, "...keeps goin' on about the place."(edited)
"Ja! We are family. Sieghilde and Sonya are my mutters," he says with obvious pride and affection. "Have raised me since I was little." He goes back to bouncing, this time against a wall, angling it so he can catch it before it can go smashing into medical equipment.
"Herr Doktor Altman is my brother." Half-brother, but who's counting? Certainly not the Altmans. If you start trying to explain how all of the various Altmans across two continents are related, you just end up with a headache. She tips her head toward Anton, offering him a lopsided and actual smile aside, breaking her usually-stern countenance for it. "And ja. Anton is our son."
"Does she, then?" Sigi asks, tipping her head in the other direction; her expression has softened somewhat now. "Am I to ask what she says? I think this is the way in America, the opening gambit of conversation, yes?"
"I don't think anyone here is American," he said, judging by the array of accents, "Does this place 'ave a bottle of whiskey in it?" he offered instead with a faint, albeit tired smirk as he grabbed his sweater and pulled it back on. "Though it's late. I only ask as yous two don't seem to be 'eaded for sleep any time soon," He'd move over to collect his coat and they could see now that he'd left his holster and guns beneath it which he moved to put back on, two of them resting beneath his arms on either side of his ribs.
"Ummm..." He looks through the doorway and down the hall, back towards the bar. "Ja! I'll get it!" And off like a light he goes, darting through the door and out of sight, like a dog eagerly chasing down a stick.
She shrugs, then, as if to say 'well, you can't expect me to know the difference.' English-speaking people, all so informal! "We have plenty to drink here. Austrians drink for many occasions. The sun is up, it is raining, you survived the day, someone else did not survive the day, and so on." This is delivered very dryly, but with a wry twist on it, like a splash of bitters in a cocktail.
"Anton and I are night owls both," she agrees, watching the youth skitter off with amusement and calling after him, "And bring for me a beer, please!" There's only one beer in the world as far as Sigi is concerned, and that's the Weihenstephaner bottles that Ludwig wisely buys in bulk.
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