[Palmer Orlov] 4:15 pm: The Gallery had received a phone call, as one might expect, from

overseas. A collector, it would appear no less. The man himself had left the name 'Chayton' and
the piece was rather pricey but rather beautiful. There had been a call for it to be reserved with
intent to buy, however, on the condition that a personal friend would come and overlook it
before
hand. The person in question would be arriving in the next week and it was rather important that
he have a private viewing - of which, time would be paid for. Of course. A date and time had
been arranged, in fact almost demanding. The day was today, the time? Now. Not a second
over and not a second prior. On time. The mans name? Palmer Orlov. Palmer was dressed in a
sharp grey suit which would have been rather dashing if it wasn't for the open collar and
oversized black rimmed glasses. The man had a messenger bag also, giving away his
not-so-quite business like demeanor. Still, at least he was prompt? Despite the evident hard
swallow, the push upwards of his glasses and awkward cough he actually managed to walk in.
Despite the beast nature he seemed rather chirpy, the smile? Warming of not anything else.

[Madison Cosima Windsor] 4:42 pm: The gallery had been accommodating to their buyer, of
course. For several days a posted sign had indicated a change in business hours. The gallery
was closed to the public for the private showing, and only the gallery owner and Madison were
on hand to oversee the viewing and transaction that would follow should things go favorably
during the meeting. The gallery is cool, with the scent of fresh flowers wafting throughout the
dimly-lit interior. Each piece was showcased by meticulously arranged lighting for the most
effective and demonstrative presentation. When Palmer arrives, the two stand together. Both,
kinfolk of the Silver Fang. The owner is a distinguished looking man of indeterminate age and a
smattering of silver hair at his temples. His suit was designer, his hands soft, his cologne
subdued. He had a regal if slightly effeminate air. His name was Grayson Orwell, and he was
also of Palmer's House.
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He towers over the pretty blonde. Her hair was upswept, and her clothing was both professional
and subdued. A pastel colored skirt was paired with a silk blouse in white softened by a ruffle
that trails along the front. Heels in a coordinating hue in keeping with the bisque pink offer the
petite kinfolk a projection of added height. Little jewelry is worn.
https://cyccustomshop.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/female-2.jpg

[Palmer Orlov] 4:55 pm: It takes one tenth of a second to form a first impression. Based on
someone’s nonverbal looks. Palmer, in all accounts, was a non threatening strength. Hidden
strength certainly peered from behind his glasses an his general stance was that of a dexterous
man who was emotionally stable. His physical stance was open, his gaze studious and rather
attentive. Upon closer inspection his lapel had a small chrome pin, a bird of some kind which
appeared well worn and perhaps something of an heirloom than decorative. It was apparent,
however, that his gaze perhaps lingered slightly more upon Madison before he looked to
Grayson with a smile and the smallest extension of his hand. His hand, however, sat firmly
between them both. It was rude to assume anything. "Palmer, Chayton sends his regards and
thanks you for the time you've graciously set aside..thank you." His tone was a lullaby and yet
rather weave rhymes of slumber in fact encouraged life and dreamlike manner. His glasses, on
the whole, certainly took a certain edge off of his gaze but it remained sat snug behind the
barrier to the outside world. His accent? Slight newfoundland. His fingers, if watched, had a
slight nervous cluth every now and again as if they were missing something he was acutely
aware of.

[Madison Cosima Windsor] 5:12 pm: Grayson smiles, his voice has a slight nasally patch that is
not unattractive. (Think Peter Baelish.) After a perfunctory shake, he steps aside. "Mr. Orlov.
We are honored to accommodate you and your employer. I hope that you convey our good
wishes and best regards. I wanted to personally greet you, welcome you, and to introduce you
to my employee, Miss Windsor. She will be with you during the viewing. I know that you are
eager to be about your business." His eyes gleam, avaricious and keen, they seem to miss little.
"I leave you in her capable hands." With a smile that is slightly too toothy, he excuses himself
and moves away. The young woman had remained where she was, a serene expression etched
upon her countenance. Slender fingers with unpolished, perfectly manicured nails were lightly
interlaced in waiting. Her gaze is on Palmer, expectant. "Mr. Orlov. I am at your disposal." She
demures. Her British accent was cool and melodic. It gave the impression of a bubbling brook of
unfathomable depth with an ever-changing current - refreshing yet unpredictable.
[Madison Cosima Windsor] 5:14 pm: (nasally pitch)

[Palmer Orlov] 5:24 pm: Palmer watched the man with a gaze which remained warming. There
was, apparently, no simple cold calculated businessman today. Only Palmer who was eager to
bow his head in thanks. "Many thanks to you and.." His head turned, his eyes able to catch the
young womans gaze with the micro expression that certainly managed to convey over an hours
worth of conversation - happiness. "...and Miss Windsor, naturally." His ears, expectant to hear
local dialect, was taken back to hear her melodious British accent. That caught him off guard a
little. "...as I am at Master Chaytons I suppose. I know very little of the piece. Only that it exists."
He seemed to try to chuckle and failed, his shoulder slouching a little at the attempt. "Please,
I'm eager to hear more...see more. I'm eager to see it." He corrected and gave a casual smile
that spoke of a more genuine man beneath the attire.
[Palmer Orlov] 5:24 pm: ((Feel free to decide a piece, it was literally just clicked on in haste...so,
could be anything. Go crazy.))

cause, Falcon. That's Why.] at 1:17 pm

[Madison Cosima Windsor] 1:25 pm: The young woman was an artist herself; however, her work
tended to dwell on the features of her subjects and the emotions
conveyed by their kinesic communications. She was well versed on all the pieces in the gallery.
For a moment, he is able to glimpse beyond the polished veneer the
kinfolk presents to see what lies beneath. Her eyes brighten considerably. "Please, Mr. Orlov.
Follow Me." Her heels echo hollowly on the highly glossed wooden
flooring. She speaks as they move. "Your employer has exceptional taste. It is one of my
favorite pieces in the gallery. Hand carved from a single block of wood." Her
hands move through the air animated as she speaks. She pauses before the sculpture,
arranged in an open space in order to be viewed from all angles. Two
wolves, poetry in motion... Their primal urge is captured in the muscled bodies springing in
motion... Their closeness emphasized by their pack bond as they tread
along a shoreline of lapping waves... "Beautiful." She breathes, her gaze softening as she looks
upon the piece with no small amount of longing. Madison was
secreted away from her family beyond the notice of House Gleaming Eye and their accusations
of Wyrm Taint.
[Palmer Orlov] 1:38 pm: He followed, with a certain alacrity, his fingers sliding down his trousers
a little to remove the slight damp before placing his hands securely
behind his lower back. She could have said anything. Really. His gaze was following her intently
as she moved. He paid attention to her poise, the way her hair
moved, how her feet fell. "A single block, you say?" He repeated, perhaps in order to ground his
thoughts and eventually come across the item in question. However,
it struck the Galliard and he slowly removed the grips of his fingers to his glasses as they were
removed and his bright eyes thoroughly able to observe. His eyes
were quickly bought to the items level, crouching if necessary. It was enough to tell a thousand
tales and enough to envoke memories of his ancestors. The man
visibly shuddered and winced a moment but it was quickly resolved. "A wolf should never run
alone." He said, softly, repeating words from his Mentor from the recent
months. "You're right, it is beautiful." He smiled and it was quite evident in his eyes that he was
considering it futher. The mans glance turned to her, peering
upwards, his stance rather submissive. "What do you feel from it? I mean, what does this
envoke in you?"
[Madison Cosima Windsor] 1:55 pm: His comment about the wolves caused her eyes to snap
into focus, the reverie of the moment lost as reality intrudes. She was
retreating again, closing her layers petal by petal like a protective shroud. "I... I suppose..." She
hesitates and then continues, "I suppose...." Her gaze casts to the
side, and her next utterance is weighted, "... freedom." The word was recondite in translation...
Full of meaning and projected with such yearning... It was gripping. It
was as if Madison had thrown a gauntlet before the universe in defiance and she waited for her
challenge to be accepted.
[Palmer Orlov] 2:06 pm: His gaze never faltered from her as his eyes explored her language,
both verbal and non. The smile waned a little, obscure in its study of
her. She certainly presented with an enigmatic concern, however, he simply spoke softly before
looking back to the piece. "I think.." He paused, his neck snaking to
peer a little more towards it. "The waves represent the yearning need to escape, to be free,
bountiful? Influenced by Luna rather than the pack. The ebb and flow like
a reminder of how close a goal, freedom, actually is. Wolfs, when in packs, allow the more
elderly and sick to walk ahead to ensure their safety. I think, perhaps, the
wolf behind is protective. A desire to guide, perhaps? To release the injured, perhaps even
overlooked or trapped wolf before it." He looked to her and gave the
lightest smile, more perhaps reassuring to himself. "However, it could be just two wolves
enjoying the moment. Either way, stunning."
[Madison Cosima Windsor] 2:37 pm: Madison's eyes lock on Palmers... the moment holds. Was
he Garou or kinfolk? She'd recognized the breeding, of course.
Realizing she'd made a terrible faux-pas her lashes lower before her measured glance could be
taken out-of-context. "That's it exactly." She agrees. "Very poetic,
Mr. Orlov." If he were a Garou, he was a danger to her imposed isolation. The tip of her tongue
touches the divot of her lip as it is pulled between her teeth and
moistened. "I hope your client is sufficiently pleased with his... acquisition." Surely he was
kinfolk. A Garou was not in this gallery to view the art. She was certain of
it. This was the work of an underling, not a Garou with duties to the Nation. Or, was it? Cold fear
grips her heart. She takes a step back, and a hand nervously pulls
at an earring. "Shall I return you to Mr. Orwell or will you be needing time to confer with your
client before a further decision regarding this piece can be made?"
[Palmer Orlov] 2:52 pm: Palmer had grown used to a certain amount of distance from others,
rather subdued by it at other times. Her change in demeanor certainly
caught his attention and his brow furrowed for a fraction of a moment whilst he considered the
consequences of his hasty pursuit of simply meeting her. The actions
were that of a woman caught off guard, her poise had misgivings and immediately alerted him to
the fight or flight she was currently experiencing. The words that
followed, however, were certainly that of truth and stood firm compared to his earlier musings.
"I'll certainly consider it. You have a wonderful gallery here and it
would be hasty of me to decide such without futher thought. I can sense that you're rather
moved so I'll take my leave. You certainly have nothing to fear." He added,
the gnosis leaving his body to reaffirm his words with nothing but truth. She had nothing to worry
about from him. "..I'm sure the piece will inspire my 'employer'." He
gave a reassuring smile before studying her face a moment. There was a moment of intrigue
before his glasses were placed back on. "I'll let you know within the
next day. Many thanks." He took his leave, quickly.