drums-on-skulls: .11.06.02. - strange meal [pack]

November 06, 2002

.11.06.02. - strange meal [pack]

[north jersey]

(rune)
Somewhere in the middle of the night, Rune fell into a drowning and .utterly. exhausted sleep. Somewhen in the middle of the afternoon (the thin fingers of pale November light spilling long across the shuttered room, banded with darker shadow, crawl slowly up the wall as the sun falls toward the horizon slow and sure and cold and silent), she crawled from bed and slipped into the shower, downing half-a-dozen aspirin and two glasses of tap water, straight up baby, straight up.

Forty minutes later - twenty in the steaming shower, twenty spent in the usual grooming rituals -having paused only to leave a little gift on the nightstand (glass of water; bottle of aspirin; powerbar) - she's headed down the stairs. Loose threads from the tattered bottom hem of jeans so old the seams are worn white skim along the plush carpet; the bottom seam of a snug white t-shirt skims the loose and low-slung waist. She turns from the stairs to the foyer, the foyer to the living room, living room to the kitchen, absently examining the polish painting her nails (time for another manicure) bright bloody red.

Innumerable little white boxes are scattered about the kitchen. Rune proceeds to poke about among them, but finds that the sauces have congealed and the rice has dried right back out. Rune sweeps the lot of them into the garbage, and turns to the fridge to forage.

(decker)
"Nn." Sort of a negating grunt, that, from the front balcony. Decker's slouched down low on her patio chair, feet up on the railing as he reads Imogen's newspaper by the light of Rune's porch lamp. "Fridge's empty. You need more food."

From where she stands, she can see his feet crossed at the ankles, his legs in their usual cargoes, hips and torso up to the diaphragm. Pooled on his lap is a scatter of newspapers and inserts, and just visible beyond the edge of the door is the trailing edge of the weather page sagging in his hand. A rustle of newspapers as that page dances in and out of her sight, and then Decker leans forward to get a look at her. Christ. She ain't no sleeping beauty tonight, that was for sure. Leaning heavily back, his weight creaking the chair, Decker opens up the newspaper again. The somewhat bored southern drawl drifts through the door.

"Shoulda gotten more beauty sleep."

(james)
time passes differently for the exhausted battered and bruised Gnawer
it's. far. sloooooower.
slower than the creeping shadows across the walls, the bed, his flesh
slower than the even breaths that gently swat waterfilled mattress beneath him
as she showers, he sleeps on
and on
and on
and on something around the fifteenth minute after the steam begins seeping back to slink through the still hot, heavy, and thick atmosphere of the room, then - and only then - does he finally stir
sloooooowly
one lid peeled from dark eyes to tentatively survey the darkness of the room

you drank how much, again, Jamey-boy?

it's another five minutes before he dares the excursion again
that much
rearranging surely dislocated limbs to navigate the rolling sea of the bed like a little lost craft somewhere in typhoon's wake
the nightstand's taunting grip on the little gift receiving a growling good morning greeting
gimme!
sudden snatch of the asprin bottle receiving a low groan when his body decides to seceed from the union of mind and matter

you did what, again, Jamey-boy?

a slow smile plasters itself across his features
... that.... and a lot of it
grabbing the powerbar and stumbling towards the humid misty jungle of the bathroom

(dire)
*He walks though the area. looking about casually and pauses across the way from the Packs home.*

(rune)
Shoulder leaning heavily against the frame of the fridge, Rune studies what little remains: half-empty bottle of beer, half-eaten cup of moldy yogurt, half-empty jar of mustard, one jar of pickles empty (!) except for the sick green swirl of pickling vinager and spices. Who puts an empty jar of pickles back in the refridgerator?

The crisper doors slam hard open, and harder shut; even the baby carrots and the ancient, wrinkled onions are gone.

"What the hell did you do with the food, Decker?" her voice drifts from the kitchen, thick and somewhat hoarse. From sleep, most likely. Or cigarettes, doubtless. It couldn't be anything else. "Christ."

Dragging her languid body reluctantly away from the soothing perch against the nice strong refridgerator, Rune peer around and down the hall at the lounging Get. Shaking her slim white hand through dark wet strands of inky hair, she snorts softly and continues, "Would it have fuckin' killed you to pick up some milk and eggs or something? And - yeah, you're no Miss America yourself, so shut up."

No food. Jesus. Maybe her cigarettes are around here somewhere. She remembers coming down here last night, even remembers refueling with the remains of the pizza and calling out for Chinese. She remembers where that lead, too, and a slow smile crawls across her red mouth in spite of itself, siphoning away some of her irritation.

"Seen my cigarettes?" Pause. "Fuck, my car." Pause. Her stomach growls a distinct protest against its clear mistreatment. "...fuck. I'm hungry. Pizza or Thai?"

(decker)
"Me? Nothin'."

Silence. He keeps her in suspense about the fate of her food. Newspaper rustles. Turn a page. Overcast, 60% chance of rain. Comics are black-and-white today, colorless, gloomy. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of comics?

Finally, Decker clears his throat quietly. Folds the newspaper over, tosses it aside. Breathing out, almost a sigh, he levers himself up, planting his feet back on the ground and getting to his feet.

"Livingston," comes the single-word answer that explains eeeeverything.

Dire coming up the path and then up the stairs gets Decker's iron-grey attention for a long, quiet, half-lidded moment. Those imposing eyes flicker between the Skald and the box, reading the words on the side, and then the Modi nods up - slight, slow. "Dire." A curl of one corner of his mouth, a smirk, likewise slight, likewise slow. "Looks like you saved the day." Over the white cotton and muscle of his shoulder, "Rune."

(dire)
*He nods. Looks at the box and then at them* I don't have a freezer. We eat or it goes bad.

(james)
another ten minutes spreads itself across the passage of time
without the segment needed for primping as she required
he emerges from the bathroom in a far thicker cloud of steam
crisscrossing the room like the obedient retriever
once black now graying BDUs
once grey now fading shirt
on...... hm.... one. sock.
hell if he knows where the other ran away to
maybe it's hiding with his boots
wherever they are

the lone, rogue sock discarded back to the floor
far be it from him to interrupt it's slink to sockly freedom
there you go, little buddy, off with you now
he has another pair in his pack below

descent down the stairs sorta.... slow

"Thai."

and greeting for Decker interrupted by the CLANG of the pack making itself at home on their porch
near the stairs between Rune and the open door of the patio
even beneath soggy dreads and wetly clinging shirt
she can see the bristles begin to rise along his spine

(decker)
"Fuck," slurs Decker, bending down to paw the soggy box up from the ground, "pity to let it go bad." Up on one shoulder goes the box, stabilized by one hand spread-fingered against the side as he heads for the barbecue grill on the pack porch. "Wipe yer feet."

The inside of the condo is, in a word, slick. Spacious living room, high ceilings, carpet thick enough to be a mattress, and an entertainment center worth more than money than Decker's seen in his life. Given his feet a token wipe on the plain black mat (did you really think it'd say "WELCOME"?), Decker heads for the sliding back door out to the rear balcony, where a grill sprawls black and oily, big enough to make Sunday cooks' knees weak.

Setting the box down beside the grill, Decker crouches down to twist various gas valves open.

(dire)
*He sniffs a few times and walks to the door and pauses cocking his head to the side he seems to look to Rune for a nod before walking in. Seems he has a touch of respect for territory. At times.*

(rune)
"...the hell are my fuckin' cigarettes." Cupboards clatter open, then closed, only to be opened again - and slow this time - as if she might surprise them.

No dice.

Wha-huh-yeah? Bare feet squeak against the (mostly) clean linoleum as Rune pivots about from the empty cabinets to reply to Decker's call or James' vote for dinner or both, most likely. Dark eyes skimming over James, body stiffening in instinctual reaction to the bristles crawling up his spine, she crosses the kitchen and peers around and out the front door. Her hip brushes briefly against James' thigh in the close quarters, and she steps a half-step back as Dire walks in at Decker's invitation.

When Dire looks to her, she responds with a faint, wary shrug; the hem of her white tee-shirt to reveal a quarter-inch of her midsection with the movement. Her pale hand slides (almost of its own volition) to James' shoulder: restraining, perhaps, and dark eyes track Dire's progress through front hall.

(decker)
One of the valves seem to be caught. Decker grimaces, fastening his hand around it and twisting - hard - until suddenly it comes loose. Somewhere a joint or screw catches his knuckles when the valve finally slips. With a curse, Decker gets back to his feet, sucking on the cut as the gas starts to hiss. With his free hand, he raises the hood of the grill, douses the charcoal lumps liberally with starter fluid, and then strikes a match. Drops it in.

Whoomp.

Fuck, no tongs. Grabbers. Whatever they're called. "Guess we just toss 'em on," he says to Dire, ripping the box open, and starts doing just that. Orange flames lick out well above the level of the grille, singeing hairs on the backs of his hands. After a moment, he shoots Dire an irritated glance, "Well, you gonna help me or jus' stand there?"

Then, to James and Rune, "Y'all eatin'?"

(james)
no greeting
no movement
no sound

the brush of hip against thigh even does little to distract the Ahroun's attention
but he obeys the Beta's restraining hand
she can feel the energy twitching through aching muscle
even if his eyes never leave Dire

not until he passes
the Gnawer simply moves to his pack, retreives socks, and sinks onto the couch to drag them on

"Sure"

grunted
must be too much time around the Fenrir

(llyod twin)
You can't stay in the apartment all day, VAL.

Her reflection.
Her Torment.

A bundle of mail in one arm she sighs peering down the hallway or doors, it was all the spider webs that bothered her. (not COB weds, spider webs.) And digging into the pockets of her bathrobe, she pads down the hallway. Tiny bunnies of fuzz on her feet striking a PINK contrast to pale ankles and thin legs. Its almost as if she were being swallowed slowly (but surely..) by some nefarious commercialist cute demon.

Through my eyes it's all so clear.

Holding her keys up she jingles them against the dim-cast hall light, whispered words uttered with a tone that dared disobesiance.

~Open door.~

(dire)
*He nods to the other too and walks though and looks at Decker and the grill and srugs* Just toss them on. We are garou. We can take a few singed paws.

(lloyd twin)
A lock clicked to her left.

And settling her keys back into the pocket of the robe she opened the door.

Too bad its the WRONG door.

(decker)
The tension of his packmates doesn't escape him. Attention mostly on the burgers, breath hissing out in pain as he flips the burgers by hand, he still manages to cast a glance or two over his shoulder. James and Rune, sullen as he usually is. Dire, uncharacteristically quiet. Eagle's voice in the two Urrah's minds: Hell's eatin' yer asses?

And then: click. All by itself, Rune's door unlocks again. Opens. Enter...one silvery-blonde waif. Inside: a shaggy Bone Gnawer. A sleek Glass Walker. A crunchy Get of Fenris. And a silent one.

Star.ing.

(rune)
"I'm in," Rune comments, as if it were a fight and not a feast. She pads through the living room - carpet sinking luxuriantly beneath her grateful feet - and half-way down the hall to the back balcony, arms crossed defensive against the chill November air spilling back into the snug warm condo. "You seen my cigarettes, Decker?"

Back slung against the painted wall, feet planted firmly before her, Rune falls into her usual slouch as the front door snicks open.

"...the hell?" she spares a glance for the woman in the bathrobe and is hit by the pure breed just pulsing beneath her skin. Rune sends a sharp, puzzled glance back to Dire.

Decker speaks in her mind, and Rune is uncharacteristically silent in return. Too much is happening all at once, her mind is three steps behind her senses, and she doesn't quite know what to say.

(dire)
*He sniffs some more showing no reconition*

(lloyd twin)
It doesn't register to her that she's in the wrong apartment. She just waltzes in settling the mail on a nearby table and with a soft sigh (Only dream that is--her shivers are too fleeting to define.) Right beside James, as if she weren't quite aware he was there slender fingers tremulously exploring the weave of the couch fabric.

This fabric feels so forign.

--fleeting thoughts before her unmarred feet ( blood so blue it aches. Dreams so pure..) slip from those 'fuzzed slippers to tuck underneath her form. Ita the impression of folding, like a piece of paper that reducises in size but never in scope. (--so pure that they might weep blood. Silver blood.)Long unbrushed mane of hair hangs about her nigh halo-seeming.

It takes her a minute.
(...vacant eyes flicker into focus.)

"..when did you all arrive?"

(james)
dark eyes flick upwards at the silent invitation
both socks on, but he hasn't moved from the couch
that asshole standing next to you
Rune allowed him entrance
he doesn't add the 'not welcome' part he wants to
a tight grin beginning to spread
just beginning

keys jangle
lock throws
the Gnawer scowls
so much for that grin

he knows the keys didn't slide into the lock

and he knows that that means
low growl swallowed back in his throat
grabbing the pinkly robed girl's wrist as she sits down next to him

"How'd you do that."

(nova)
She hobbles along, stopping by a tree nearby to gaze up at the lighted windows of the condo, the open door with an unrecognized figure in it. They've got visitors. Not that she was going to go there anyway. There's only one person that goes there that she knows, and he probably wouldn't be happy to see her. Still, she stays by the tree, staring at the condo.

(dire)
*He doesn't know who all lives there. he turns back to the grill and licks his lips. hand darting out to take only a slightly gray quarter pounder. he winces a bit at the heat but seems to just suck it up as he bites into it. red blood dribbling down his chin. He sniffs some more and tilts and sees Short stuff. He raises his brows and nods to her*

(decker)
The hell? says Rune, and Decker slowly lowers his burnt hand to his side. Behind him, burger patties sizzle and burn on a fire turned up entirely too high. Dire sniffs, and Decker starts forward, slowly at first, then faster. The hall is narrow; the sway of his thuggish walk nearly brushes shoulders against the walls.

The stranger (oh-so-familiar) sinks down.
A burger patty catches on fire.

Decker shoves beside Rune, knocking James' hand aside in a thoughtless (.bristling.) gesture. Don't you touch her.

Crouches. Stares, intently, grey eyes flickering between the girl's vacant ones. "Yer that girl's family."

As soon as he says it, Rune and James see it. No question about it there. The same pure blood that had sung in the dead girl's veins, clear enough to sing out of a shard of bone, a photocopied photograph - sings in this one's.

(lloyd twin)
It might break.
(..is there SUDDENLY a draft?)
That ivory wrist.

The wrist he grabs feels so fragile. The wrist he grabs (..when everything screams she is not be touched.)her breath catches and the room itself (..does it stir to life?) takes a differnt quality, a pre-audial howling as head turns to to face the dreaded man in utter shock. Her eyes decidedly fixing on his burning fingers.

(james)
his hand moves back with an inaudible snarl
hackles raising further shoved. back. down.
Silver tarnished by alleymutt's touch
and right now that's her only redeeming quality - they hate Lords just as much
but she's still invading the territory of a Gnawer already on edge
and he doesn't give two bits for royalty

who'd going to waltz in next to make his day?
Lazarus?

(rune)
"Fuckin' Christ."

Rune slumps further against the wall, head spilling into her hands, hands spreading to cradle her face and slip-slide through her still-wet hair.

It's just a fuckin' dream.
It's just a fuckin' strange-ass dream.
It's just a strange-ass dream bordering on weird nightmare (who is that bathrobe'd woman sitting on her couch?).

"Stop it, Decker." Bristling right back at him from behind her shading hands. "Christ."

It's a trip gone terribly wrong.

"That girl's family?" - dully, now, even if she CAN see it. She's certain now that she's on something, something mind-altering, something bad. "...the hell did she find us? And why the fuck did she waltz right in?"

Eventually, Rune pushes herself up and away from the wall - back through the living room, back into the kitchen to rummage in the cabinet above the damn sink for her damn Xanax.

It'll all be better soon.

(lloyd twin)
Aberration.

It feels as if time has slowed considerably, that the sandstorm of seconds has died down, melted down, and dribbles like honey across the senses. You can see the slw recoil of muscles away from the OTHER who sits on the couch, like a sea plant twisting away with a tide of anger.

"I.. WE're here to find maddie but who?"

The question remains.

"--are you all. And what are you doing here?"

(dire)
*He growls and steps back as another burger catches on fire and grunts. looking around he starts swatting at the pair of them harder. Lips peeling back* STOP! * he grumbels and swats a few more times. Grunting he grabs one burger not on fire and slings it8 Decker. Food. * Damn steraight. Heading right for his head too. * Swatting another* James, food... * A third is slung* Rune.... food....

(decker)
The burger patty flying at his head snaps him out of it. Thoughtlessly, casually, almost lazily, his hand comes up and simply...pulls the patty out of the air.

Then the temperature registers on him. Decker almost drops the patty on the carpet, tossing it between his two hands as he gets to his feet. "Hell if I know," to Rune's question, apparently. But the instinctive shying away from his rage is noted, and it draws a scowl across his face. No matter how many times he got that selfsame reaction, from how many different creatures - humans, Garou, kinfolk, animals - the sting never seemed to fade. Gaia weighs him down with the anger; he bears the burden. Morning to night. Night to morning. Every breath, every second.

Muttered, and only God knew whom to, "I ain't dealin' with this." The Modi pushes his way back out to the kitchen, where he wraps his patty in a paper towel, which it soaks through almost immediately. Deliberately absorbed in his food, Decker eats.

(nova)
Pain-numbed nerves irritate her survival instinct. She's virtually invisible, as usual. So she sends her mind out to that other place, where the colors are brighter, swirlier, and just watches the movements of the spirits. It's like a drug for her, getting her away from the world that carries so much pain.

(james)
ooooh, not only is she a pretty purebred little invader
she's an oblivious one, too
how....delightful

he should have just stayed in bed

the Ahroun scowls again
twisting to lift from the couch
twisting to snatch the flying saucer of a burger out of the air
twisting to.....
well, Decker took that spot
so he stays standing just there
mindless of just how hot that burger is
some things roil hotter

easy now James
ease on up
calm yourself
return to that little pleasent epicenter you woke up with
just enjoy your burger

it's only after a bite that he speaks

"We live here, in case you didn't notice. I ask you again, HOW did you open that door."

the queen sits
the pauper stands
how. apro. pos.

(rune)
The bottle in her hands (dull amber, shining where it catches the light), pills shaken out into her hand, the burger flying at her head (wha-HUH?) ducked to splat and fall against the wall opposite and -

- "what the fucking hell did you just say?" - her fist curls hard around the lovely, lovely, soothing little pills that will make her slooooooooow and sweet and more or less happy for another few hours tonight and the hard little seeds of destruction dig deeply into her flesh, so hard is she grasping them. Crossing two quick steps toward the living room and the couch, but holding herself back from the third stride - "...jesus. fuckin'. christ. You walk into my fucking house without bothering to fucking knock and have the nerve to ask me who the hell I am?"

There's a pause, then. There's a long slow deep-breathing I will not go crazy pause. There's an inhale a fistful of pills pause and a toss one more back for good measure pause before she straightens and runs a despairing hand over her face and just waits to the answer to James' question.

(dire)
*He leaves the other two to burn and chews on his mostly raw one. There was still a half a box of quarter pounders there. He turns and tries to peek though the others and see Nova. An inquizitive grunt?*

(LT)
Confusion reigns.

her head twists a bit to regard the angry man, blue-black eyes gazing at him (past him through him.) and she yawns briefly shrugging off the gesture.

"You do? --with Bast? Uhm.. I unlocked it."
(LT)
The charging woman.
The charging woman.
(...are you looking at the charging woman?)
The charging Woman.

Back straightens a bit as she gazes at her a silvery brow raising as lips twitch.

"I assure you the key KNEW which lock to unlock."

(james)
snarled

"How."

dark eyes narrow

"Cause you sure didn't slide something into the lock."

low class, yes
deaf? no.

(dire)
*Finishing his burger he slaps another two on and manages to swat the two now charboiled hockey pucks from the grill and stomps on them just to be sure.* Grozzit....

(decker)
A loud snort from behind the breakfast bar, where Decker leans with his elbows on the counter, eating without tasting, watching with eyes the color of raw steel. "Christ," condescendingly, impatiently, "she's a fuckin' kook. Just tell 'er what happened to the girl 'n show 'er out."

(LT)
"I didn't unlock it--the key did."

She sighs shaking her head at them.

(dire)
*Waiting for those two to cook he grabs them up and bounces them a few times on his hands. Not that they don't heal the burns almost as fast as they are made. He steps in from the back porch. Looks around to them all and takes a bite out of one of the ones in his hand. Walks though the group silent. Pauses to Sniff at Lloyd and sneezes. Snorts and walks on out the otherside and over to Nova. He grunts and nudges her with a toe* Nova. Food. * he offers her the other burger*

(james)
"Cute toy. Perhaps one day you should be a little more careful in using it. Because you know what happens to your Family when they walk into the wrong apartment?"

amazing
how one normally so mellow
so warm
so generous
can become. so. merciless.
the Modi tells him to? he does

"Their blood paints the walls. Their bodies are found out in the middle of a field in more pieces that can ever be accounted for. Their Family puts up missing posters all over the state looking for someone they'll never. ever. find. You know why? Because something far more unwelcoming, far darker, far more dangerous than some people trying to have dinner ends up finding them in that apartment. So, if all that blood in you hasn't addled your brain, perhaps you should considering using it next time you let keys make decisions for you. I think you know where the door is. Excuse us, but we weren't prepared to grant audience tonight."

(nova)
Dire's nudge moves her a little, but she doesn't respond. She's got the look of someone peeking, being oblivious to everything happening around her. That look is so similar to the look of someone strung out on drugs, it's scary.

(LT)
The howling.

The air feel alive, twisting livid. As if all the color is slowly being sucked out of the room--even as a continuous gust of wind begins to pour from the balcony. A few scattered pieces of paper flutter about the living room--and her head snaps toward James--eyes steely cold.

"Would you please repeat that, I don't think I understood you."

If yuo listened really closely, perhaps you heard the opening chord of a horror movie. Shrieking voilins and icy blue potency.

Her gaze--does not flicker.

(dire)
*He grunts. looks at her and turns her hand so it's palm up. Slaps the meat in her hand. wipes his other hand on the grass and walks back up to watch them pick on the pure bred one. Re-entering he again pauses by Lloyd. Sniffs her a few more times. Licks his lips. He walks over and leans on the bar beside Decker. Looks at the woman. To Decker. To the Woman. Srugs and grunts a lower tone and finishes his second pattie and licks his hand clean*

(decker)
Decker's grey eyes sleet to Nova briefly, then return to James. The line appears between his eyebrows, but the Modi keeps his silence. Absently tonguing the outside edge of his lower teeth, sucking the burger-juice off his fingers, he watches: eyes dark.

His tribesmate joins him and he barely flickers an eyelid, but the set of his shoulders tells enough. He's aware of the Metis' presence, accepts it, and that's that.

(rune)
"Thank fuckin' god for my craptastic breeding," muttered through slim white fingers, "...could've ended up like that."

Swallow hard, and swallow again, harder against the bitter gorge rising at the back of her throat. The sensation of a pill stuck at the back of her throat nags at her, like a bit of sand in an oyster's shell.

Her sliding foot comes in contact with the burger oozing grease onto the carpet (cleaning ladies will be so happy with scrubbing that out of the carpet). She's hungry though, so she swipes the still hot burger off the floor and is just about to take a bite when - jesus fuckin' christ - she slings the burger onto the breakfast bar and circles the couch to flank the pure bred Fang.

(james)
of course not, it's all that blood addling your brain
it's clogged your ears, too

"Do you need me to use smaller words?"

the easy smile replaced by a hard sneer
definitenly. too much time. around the Fenrir.
look at what's happening to you James
the hangover isn't helping, either

eyes dark as the earth's rich soil they tread upon locking on steely blue

"Like you? The girl you're looking for? She walked into the wrong apartment. But instead of finding us settling down to a nice meal? She walked in on a Dancer. The Dancer is dead now, but that should explain why you'll never find her. Was that easier to understand, Princess?"

(nova)
So precise. She carefully eats all the parts of the burger that did not touch the ground, tossing whatever did out into the grass away from her. Then she spends some time glaring at her weakened legs, gathering anger to heal them more.

(dire)
*he grunts and nods to her* Goblins got her brain. * As if it was the most logical thing you ever heard*

(rune)
There's a sidelong (familiar) and a brief glance toward Dire, sardonic dark eyes lingering there briefly before turning back to the Silver Fang.

Blood-red nails tap tap tap on the arm of the leather couch, a staccato, impatient rhythm counterpointed by the slow pull of her (attempts at) calming breaths.

The Xanax is beginning to work, to slipslide through her system familiar and hazy and warm, and the drugs take the hardest edge off her irritation even if the bulk of it remains raw as an onion.

(LT)
Doesn't it feel wrong?

Speaking down to someone like her, doesn't it grate against the cellular structure in lycanthrpoic DNA coils? There is a quiet pause.

"I see."

And even as he speaks he feel a faint stirring in the air, is it getting drier, thinner? (What if all the air around you decided to leave?) Don't weeze full-moon's is unbecoming. She never looks at Rune as her eyes remain looked with James, own. ( As if the very your very presence casused AIR ITSELF to flee?) And yet they both begin to suffer this strange malady.

"I thank you for the explanation, do not expend yourself further."

Time slows.

(What then?)

Would you even realize it before it was too late?

"I apologize, it was my mistake, not the keys." Some strange need to protect the key? " I am Victoria Anne Lloyd, (fostern?) tHeurge of the Silver fang, house of The Austere howl, Former title holder of many things--"

A fuckin, theurge--and perhaps he put it together as she wals past, the brittle air, the growing vaccum of light and life as she moves past picking up the mail and opening door.

"I apologize for my mistake."

And exits, pulling the door closed gently behind her.

--click.
(BLAM!)

Every single mirrored or glass surface cracks. The sliding doors reign down, a small waterfall of irrident glass shards, and air comes rushing back into the two pockets of nigh airlessness that the cliath and fosterm modi occupied.

Fuck--what was that?

(dire)
*He grunts. Looks at Decker, Then to Rune and then to the shattered Plazma TV and then to James and stands up to peek out of the window at Nova and then slumps again and grunts.* Yup.. Goblins.

(nova)
Sitting outside by the tree still, she jumps as the door slams and glass shatters.

Poor glass.

She watches the woman, as if she won't be noticed, as if she's still invisble with her bright blue hair against the trunk of the tree. But who notices street kids these days?

(LT)
The woman in question takes out her kets again and decides to hold a small confersation with it--before shoving it onto her pocket, knocking and carefully opening ANOTHER door--and heading inside.

(nova)
Timidly, she calls out at the Silver Fangs back, not really wanting to attract attention, but needing to say something.

"I was going to look for you!"

(rune)
Great way to introduce yourself.

Rune does not stand bemused amidst the destruction wrought - uninvited - upon her home. She stands up sharp and tall and follows the crazed woman. Long strides carry her through the living room, and the shattered glass - everything she owns - lacerates the soles of her feet.

Behind her is a bloody trail. It mirrors her vision: blood and blood.

Two seconds after the door has slammed shut, it slams open again and Rune is raging hot on Victoria Anne's heels. Her hand lashes out to stop the second door (how the hell did she manage to move into this neighborhood?) from slamming shut in her face. Her hand clamps down on the woman's shoulder and spins her around to face her.

That wasn't very nice of you.

(james)
feel wrong? you've gotta be kidding him
if the situation were different
he may have respected her
may have...
..... well.....

he noticed her entering, but didn't her leaving
he didn't notice the air leaving, but damn well noticed it returning

reactions quick as the lightning that seems to have struck the room
the Ahroun ducking the sudden glass rain
son! of! a....!
glancing around at the crystaline reflections now all over the floor
no wonder the key picked the wrong door, she keeps breaking mirrors like that her luck will NEVER get any better

burger grease in the carpet is one thing
all the glass in the condo cracked or on the carpet is another
his eyes lift to seek out the pack's Beta
then drop
sighing
there's...... not much question that this is his fault

"I'm sorry Rune."

already turning to find.... something.... to clean all this up with
then he hears the crunch of glass as she stalks out after the Fang
.... oh .....shit
following Dire out after them

(decker)
From behind the breakfast bar, Decker levers himself upright in an effortless, taut flex of muscles. Broken glass from the burst bulbs overhead rain down from the plane of his back, some catching in his flesh. A single dark glance at James, unreadable; all too readable.

If James hadn't been his packmate. If he had been sitting where Victoria had. Listening to what she had heard. About his family. A little broken glass would be the least of the concerns. But they were pack...and that puts a different spin on things.

Rolling one shoulder in its socket, cradled in its crisscrossing belts of solid muscle, the Modi follows the Ahroun. She feels it - all of Eagle's children feel it - Decker, taking the Totem's strength before anyone else can.

Rune catches up to Victoria. From ten, twenty feet away, the Modi drops to a crouch and watches.

(LT)
Touch.

Her shoulder (Glass might break--wait you KNOW that already, don't you.) Flows gently to twist the female form like water around. Here we go round the mulberry bush--the Mulberry bush.. But it isn't a smiling creature she face, the silvery haired moonchild the press of lips together.

There was precious little rage in this creature--precious little.

"Do not."

If listen hard enough it feels like something AWFUL is about to happen.

(nova)
She shakes her head, still looking at the confrontation, but addressing Dire.

"Maddie Lloyd. A man asked... begged me to look for her. But Decker said he'd already found her. Dead."

(dire)
*He looks at her and shakes his head* Smelled her twice. Not dead. * He drops his pack resulting in a different pitched clang and a rough hand slips inside and Babe is retreived. Yes... Babe the big blue crow bar*

(james)
a brow lifts at the dark glance
well he did say to tell her what happened then show her out
and he told her
perhaps more mercilessly than he should have
but he did exactly as he was told, and it was more than obvious the Ahroun was already on edge
but then again.... who in their right mind puts a haughty Fang Princess in the same room with a hungover Gnawer rag and expects things not to get..... explosive?
maybe the Fostern should have handled it

his journey stops behind the Modi's crouch
silent
watching
waiting

(nova)
She gives a lop-sided shrug.

"He's not one to lie. But he could have been wrong... He did say the body was horribly mangled. Probably impossible to get a positive I.D. on it..."

(nova)
*He srugs a bit. The woman was standing right there. Kinda hard for Dire to think she was dead. he wasn't craz..... ok.. bad analogy. He watches and lays Babe across his lap and looks to Nova* Eat? * he gently pokes her ribs* More if you need.

(rune)
Something very awful is about to happen.

Dark eyes (smoldering) narrow in the pale framing face and tendrils of inky black hair dance down across her cheeks, half-obscuring the cruel twist of red her red mouth. The bird-boned shoulder, the tender wrist, they will break as easily as the shattered glass.

The twisted set of Rune's shoulders and the taut, lean length of her spine and the way her painted toenails - her bloodied feet - dig - into the carpet are testament to the effort it takes her to keep from wiping the thin-lipped smile (she's seeing red) clean off the goddamned Fang's face.

"Clean. It. Up. Now." The low snarl carries little further than the Theurge's ear.

(nova)
It's almost like space is warping, how this already small Bone Gnawer can get even smaller in the presence of such... is it the Silver Fang, or the confrontation? But she's stood up to confrontations before...

"Can't... This isn't right... We shouldn't be fighting each other..."

Her lips, pale in the cold, disappear.

"It's not my business... And people wonder why I'm alone so much..."

She braces her hands against the tree, hauling herself up to her feet.

(dire)
*He looks up at her as she stands and stands himself. The crowbar being held gently in one hand. Almost an extention of himself* She did walk into house and break everything. She kinda bringing it on herself.
* he nods to Nova and looks her over* Almost better?

(LT)
Its some foreign language.

The sound--of children babbling, watter rushing--wolves howling--angels conversing(..the devil has a tongue of his own.)

She whispers softly boths hands holding each other as she remains unmoving from where where she is. Do you wonder what she is saying in this strange language (..the oldest part of you knows.) Can feel the tension building as her long whisper which ends in a word that though UNhuman sounds almost commanding.

(Psst. Its "Now.")

Szzt. ( Ladies and gentle please adjust your chairs to their full and upright position.)You know it before you Percieve it. Like a dam (..could it be a Theurges patuience too does crumble?) shattering cracks taht marr the whole until--

Trickle.
Trickle.
Trickle.
(.......whoooooosh.....)

A wind rolls by like a hurricane, lights flicker and fade as it passes ( Thunder.) To por past the not-so-young Shaman and into the Modi ( When. Will. You. Rage.) with acertain amount of force--

Gravity today, its air based and moving northward.

"No. Please leave now."

(dire)
*He growls a little at that and tightens his grip on babe. The dark get tattoo standing out above his left brow like a sign. a warning in inherant danger to trifle with him. Still he waits. What's a little wind in the grand scheem of things*

(decker)
Life is not a spectator sport.

Life is not a spectator sport, but sometimes you had to pretend. Decker just watches. As the wind rises, the Modi leans into it, one hand bracing against the ground, shifting his center of balance forward. The other remains resting, wrist on knee. Crouched slightly forward now, there is something sharp about him, alert and poised, coiled. Like a wolf, three paws on the ground, one raised in indecision, anticipation.

Ball's in Rune's court.
The Modi - gamma-wolf of the pack - watches.

(nova)
"Great. Now she's bringing the spirits into the arguement. They shouldn't be involved in personal squabbles... I'm useless here. These people wouldn't know wisdom if it stabbed them in the foot."

If they want a Theurge to help fight against the Theurge, they'd have to give her a damn good reason. She turns and begins hobbling away, as fast as her atrofied leg muscles can take her.

(dire)
*He sniffs the wind and listens to Nova and nods to her. looking back he watches and keeps his eyes peeled for Goblins*

(james)
sometimes.... all you can do is watch
it's Rune's argument now
even if he started it
even if he's still there to back her up
weight shifting against the wind
oh what now...
is it any wonder his opinion of Fangs

(dire)
*He turns and sees a mailbox and crouches growling.

There one is. A goblin.. peeking out of the mailbox. He skitters behind the tree and all but drops to all 4s. Peeking around the tree he readjusts the grip on his crowbar and eyes the mailbox something aweful*

(rune)
There's a point at which generosity ends: of spirit, of mind, of body, of will.

Rune moves faster than the eye can quite see, or the mind can quite comprehend, hands sliding about the wasp-thin waist and tightening like a vise until she lifts her and flings her bodily against the far wall.

The sick crack of contact, the thud as Victoria Ann falls the floor are sheer music to her ears. Her hands tighten into fists, and she takes two lunging steps toward her fallen prey, then spins in a sure, certain arc.

And walks. Away.

Past Decker, crouched on the sidewalk, past James behind him. Past the goblins at the mailbox, down the short flight of stairs and out and away: the sidewalk, the street, the nightfalling dark and cold around her.

Away.

(nova)
Not bothering to look toward the crashing sound, she keeps her concentration on every step, mumbling to herself, as she heads back to the forest.

(dire)
*He DIVES to the left doing a shoulder roll and hides behind a bush and then peeking over the top. He looks both ways and eyes the mailbox. The little green fucker must have ducked inside. Well. That means he can't see Dire now. Dire smiles evily and shifts his grip on the long blue crowbar. He holds it by the pry end and uses the hook end for the weapon. Standing he dives over the bush, another roll and he comes up on all 4s and skitters twords the mailbox. clear intent all over his face*

(imogen)
Ten minutes to one in the morning. Nighttime, when all good and sane people are asleep, the prowlers are out, and apparently, the good doctor works. The SUV has been parked in the parking lot for all of fifteen minutes, the engine still warm, the interior still comfortable from a blasting heater.

She'd been working on answering machine message number 99 when the crack of glass breaking had shattered the night. Some cynical part of her mind can't help but note that she is not quite surprised that this sound happened, only concerned that it did. Time was spent listening to the suddenly odd silence, head canted while her messages droned on (99 deleted, 98 played unheard, 97 a hang up....), before a hand absently stops the playback, abandoning the effort once more. She steps across the living room, barefoot, reaching the door, scooping up her jacket from where it was balanced against the doorhandle, sliding her hands and arms inside. It's as her fingers reach out to touch the door knob it idly occurs to her that perhaps she should simply stay inside. Particularly as the muted sound of a thud next door heralds... something.

The doorknob twists and she steps outside in time to watch Rune explode out of the condo, watching the sinuous stalk of the female, as hands shove into jean pockets.

(LT)
What is in the theurges hand?

It falls bauble and rolls down the walk to diappear on the grass below. Perhaps she never expected a glasswalker to attack her, perhaps Rune simply moved too fast, regardless as that frail body is slammed against the wall her head tips back, skull cracking wide open and blood (among other things) pour out.

You imagine it must have been instantaneous. Funny how fragile things are--no wonder they're a dying nation.

(james)
he cannot stop the flinch that runs up his spine on contact
even if the sickening thud has that pleasurable sound of hitting the sweet spot on a drum's head

it's a moment of indecision
instead of crouching with one handpaw raised
weight shifts on socked feet

but the Ahroun pivots
trotting to catch up with Rune as sidewalk bleeds to parking lot
long stride matching angry stalk
looking at the asphalt - not her
he's got a good guess at what is going to happen
he's got a good guess at what the worst will be
but that doesn't mean he doesn't hope for something a little better

(dire)
*He turns seeing the dead fang and that it dropped someting. Goblin forgotten he skitters that way and peers into the house. blinks and eyes the dead thing that claimed to be garou. He sniffs and then looks into the grass and with the tip of the Crowbar he nudges the thing that was dropped getting a better look at it*

(rune)
The pace continues, and the long, angry strides do not waver, or falter, or break.

James looks at the sidewalk; Rune looks straight ahead, her breath frosting in the chill November air. Bare feet slap against asphalt and wet hair clings to pale skin, but the heat of her anger keeps her goosebumps from breaking out on her bare arms.

She doesn't acknowledge his presence. She just. keeps. walking.

(decker)
And the wind dies.

There's no discussion. No eye contact. Nothing. It's simply...decided. You go; I stay. James goes after Rune. Decker stays, looking at the fallen Theurge for a moment before rising: smooth, easy. One imagines well-oiled machines of war.

His head tilts slightly at the door opening behind him, but the Modi does not turn. Dire begins to nudge the Lloyd girl, and Decker? "Don't."

He turns and walks into the condo. Shattered glass crunches under his feet. He finds a pad of paper, shakes the glass off, and sketches out three quick maps.

One: the field. Large black X over the burial spot.
Two: the apartment.
Three: Mick's bar.

Folding the paper over once, he walks out, drops to a crouch beside the Theurge, and slides it into her slack hand. Other than that - he leaves her as she is. Rises. Looks off after the distant figures of Rune and James; at Dire; then, last, at Imogen.

(james)
even though dark eyes look to the ground
he can still see her
(just as he had the night before)
and it is the lack of acknowledgement that gets to him

he knows there isn't a drop of her shoulders
there isn't a flick of her eyes
there isn't a sneer on her red red lips
there isn't even a snap to tell him to leave
there's just.... nothing

he gets the hint
pace slowing to fall a step or three behind her

(dire)
*Just like that Dire launches into the air like a riseing rocket. Cutting a flip over the mailbox he comes down with Babe bering hiss full forced swing.

CLANG!!!

THe hook of the crowbar is burried into the poor innocent mailbox.

Dire snarls and ynaks back, the thin alunimum tearing free of it's mount and sticking to the end of the crowbar.

This startels Dire a bit* IT'S TRYING TO EAT BABE! * He really has a shit fit then . slaming the mailbox into the earth over and over again untill on a back swing it flips end over end, what ever was left of it that is to land in a bush. Dire nods and spits*

(imogen)
Dark eyes had followed Rune and James for several moments before her attention had shifted to the suspicious and sniffing Dire, smelling at the mail box, an eyebrow twitching ever so slightly, as she stands beneath the shelter of the neighbouring balcony. Finally, Decker, from where he stands, sliding thumbs through her belt loops.

An abrupt step back, hands leaving the protection of her pockets, freeing up as Dire leaps forward, attacking the mailbox with a crowbar.

Stare. Eyes moving toward the rather decimated mailbox in something akin to shock.

(dire)
*He revertantly strokes Babe, the big blue crow bar and holds it close to his chest as he eyes the now horriably mutilated mailbox in the bush. Nodding firmly once more he stalks over to his bag on the lawn and slips babe into it*

(rune)
He falls behind - one step, or three - and it's impossible to tell if she even notices. She just continues to walk - to stride - long and lean and bitterly angry, or perhaps just bitter by now. The tranquilizers swallowed ten minutes before take the angry edge off her mindless rage, and leave behind the mindlessness.

She doesn't know where she's going - away - but she knows why she wants to go. She walks off the parking lot, into the rainwet grass and then veers sharply back onto the pavement.

There. The road. It'll do.

(decker)
At the Babefit, Decker turns sharply and then...watches, like he's been doing most the night. Rather impassively at that, either unamused or unimpressed or simply uncaring. Finally, a snort. He'd tell Imogen she was crazy, but that much was, well, obvious.

He picks a speck of glass out of his skin and flicks it aside. Glass would be dripping off of him like rain for hours, and the inside of the condo was such a mess he didn't want to think about it.

In the distance, Rune and James. Wonder where they're going. Wonder wtf is up with them. Wonder if...?

Nahh.

(dire)
*Dire walks over to Decker as he shoulders his bag and looks after those that depart. He shakes his head a bit.* I hope they don't stray again....

(james)
that's when he just.... stops
one thing a Gnawer will always know
it's when he's not wanted
for whatever reason that drives her powerful strides
for whatever reason that chokes and drains his to a stop
he can dig it

once more he pivots
rather than reflecting
tonight? we turn
round and round and round and round until things just get so damned confused

hands slink into the pockets of baggy BDUs
retracing his steps back to the shattered condo
still on James' time
slooooowly
he's not looking forward to cleaning up the mess
but he will

(imogen)
She's realized Dire's insanity. No need for the news flash. As the violence subsides, hands slip back into her pocket, drawing her elbows close to her body to try and retain some semblance of warmth.

She watches Dire walk toward Decker, shouldering the bag, an eyebrow twitching as he speaks of they again. Watching.

(decker)
Decker's frowning into the distance, his eyes narrowed a notch. As Dire speaks to him the focus of those eyes shift, peeling away from Rune and James (the latter turning back, something of defeat in his shoulders' set), coming to a blistering stop on Dire. The silence goes on and on. The Modi apparently didn't feel like saying shit just now. Another shard of glass is pulled out of his arm, rolled thoughtfully between his fingers until he rolls it wrong somehow, and it slices deep into his thumb. Decker's eyes flash down to his hand, breath hissing at the sudden pain. Carelessly, he tosses the shard aside.

Finally, "Eh?"

(dire)
*He sees James heading back their way and shakes his head, grunts. Seeming to drop it*

(decker)
Decker hates it when people do that. They did it a lot around him. He looks at them and they clam up. Just look at the good doctor.

(Then again, that woman...)

The Modi compresses his lips. James was taking a while to get back. Lowering his eyes to Dire again, " 'Stray'?" Stubborn. Dog on a bone.

(dire)
*He nods* Caught um about to fuck on the steps here the other night. Talked um out of it. * he snorts* Didn't you feel their pistivity when I came in tonight? * It's amazing... this is the same guy that about 5 minutes ago was attacking a mailbox like it was wyrm spawn and now he seems totally lucid*

(imogen)
She would have perhaps prodded Dire herself, considering his odd words, and what's more the fact he simply stopped talking. Perhaps she felt it wasn't her place.

Perhaps she knew to count on Decker to press it.

Hands roaming her pockets in search of a rumpled pack of cigarettes, she starts to walk half backward toward the lounge chair sitting on the edge. Half way toward lighting the cigarette, her eyes jerk toward Dire as he speaks, features expressionless.

(dire)
* he snorts to Imo's look* Yeah, well... I wasn't all together pleasent about it.

(decker)
The Modi's eyebrows rise a notch, lower. Impossibly, he snorts - half-amused, half-annoyed. "Uh." While Imogen's feeling around for cigarettes, he's feeling around for a joint. "Yeah, okay."

Ever heard of subtlety, you little shits? Strange thought for him to have, of all people. The Modi clamps the joint between his teeth and leans forward to strike a match on the balustrade. Cupping the flame to the joint, he sucks in until it lights.

The flickering flame dances prettily back at him, reflected from a million bits of glass, everywhere. Fuckin' Theurge really did a number on the condo, that was for sure. Blowing the flame out with a puff of smoke, Decker tosses the dead match over the edge of the railing.

(james)
it's about this his socks find the step from the asphalt onto the sidewalk
weaving around the perfectly manicured plants
the snaking path through the lawn
a brow.... lifts....
..... no. there was a mailbox there.
dreads dance as head shakes

it's been a long night James
first the sock wanders to its sockly freedom
and now? the mailbox has joined it

no..... there it is in the bushes
dark eyes glance towards the two Fenrir, Imogen
but he just keeps his path set to Rune's door

(decker)
This is when you'd expect a dry stare, a drier comment. Decker, however, offers something a little different. An irritated frown tightens his brow. Nineteen (...well. Almost...) years of kicking ass have taught the Modi a good deal about arrogance and condescension, and it's ever-inherent in the angle of his jaw, the way his grey eyes blaze down his nose at anyone, everyone, everything.

"It's a sulfur fuckin' match." Lazily aggressive. You wouldn't think such a thing possible until you've met Decker. His gunmetal eyes slide over James as the Ahroun makes his way back, crunching his way through broken glass. The Modi neither blocks his path, nor speaks to him, but his gaze is sharp, perceptive. Then, when James is four, five steps past, the mindlink comes alive.

Been a long night - eh, James?
A hit sucked off the joint, as the relentless grey eyes stare into the distance, after Rune.

(dire)
*He srugs gently and turns to walk inside the appartment Boots crunching

He looks lfet then right and casucally bends to look around at ankel level. Srugging he looks around and stands straight again.

Sniffs, And turns down the hall to the bathroom. Entering he looks around and gently closes the door. Apperently modesty isn't totally lost on those not of human birth.

As he's in there he's gently talking to babe*

Did you see it?

Yeah I saw it too.

*Nodding he shakes and then zips up. Checking the bowl he nods and flushes. Steping over he opens the medicine cabinate and looks though there*

(imogen)
On the neighbouring balcony, Imogen tucks one bare foot beneath her, as she reaches out, plucking the ashtray from it's customary perch on the balcony railing. Placed at by her feet on the balcony floor, she taps ash from the fag, before resettling it between her lips, the cherry of the cigarette flaring as she inhales on the filter, drawing poison into her lungs.

(james)
socks, broken glass, dejected walk seeming to throw more weight on each step
we'll definitely be looking for those boots before doing much else inside the condo
muscle rippling beneath his shirt, beneath his dreads, through his shoulders and arms as the mindlink crackles to life
jaw flexing to half look back at the Modi

Yeh, Decker, long night.

quiet, to the point, he won't go into it anymore unless asked
back through the still open door
stopping with a sigh to plot the course of least resistance and discomfort in order to attempt finding wherever his boots where..... left behind..... the previous night
a brow lifts at the flush
hearing the cabinet open
bristling once again

but it's a rather polite knock on the bathroom door, really

(dire)
socks, broken glass, dejected walk seeming to throw more weight on each step
we'll definitely be looking for those boots before doing much else inside the condo
muscle rippling beneath his shirt, beneath his dreads, through his shoulders and arms as the mindlink crackles to life
jaw flexing to half look back at the Modi

Yeh, Decker, long night.

but it's a rather polite knock on the bathroom door, really

(dire)
*Finding the tooth paste he puts some on his finger and puts the tube back. The fucker squeess from the middle too. He closes the cabinate and opens the bathroom door.

Walks back down the hall jamming his finger in his mouth at his teeth, working up a good lather. he nods to James and seems to stand in the middle of the destruction. When ever he gets a mouth full of liquid he doesn't spit. He simply swallows.

Brush brush brush*

(james)
arms fold, slowly, across his chest
he's making sure to keep his cool this time
... barely
words carefully chosen

"Dire? I know I was drunk the other night. But I seem to recall Rune saying that you weren't welcome here. At any time. While she may have allowed you in earlier because you brought us food? Which don't get me wrong, I appreciate.... she's not here to revoke her decision now. So... if you don't mind. Please leave."

(decker)
Decker doesn't look after James, though his eyes slide briefly sideways as Dire goes in uninvited. One eyebrow rises for a second, then knits with the other as he draws another lungful down.

Hold.
Keep it quiet. Erik finds out, he'll skin both yer asses.
Release.

Seems like the third degree is over (for now). Taking the joint out from between his lips, the Modi strolls forward a step or two, ashing over the balustrade even as he peers over it, noting that Rune had yet to return, and the Silver Fang had yet to wake up.

Joint goes back into his mouth. He turns toward Imogen, though his eyes linger in the direction his packmate had gone off in. Three or four slow steps to the edge of his balcony closest to Imogen's, and then he leans his elbows on the top of the stone railing. A puff of smoke, politely away. Then his eyes are on her, the same grey as diffusing smoke.

"Gonna ask me what happened?"

(dire)
*He looks over at James, finger still in his mouth. Brushes his teeth some more as the gnawer goes off on his little thing. Listens and pulls his finger out. Sucking it clean and swishing the spit and toothpaste around his mouth and swallowing. Sucks a tooth and listens to him. Arks a brow.*

Yeah. You were Drunk. Stumbeling around. Falling down. All but mounting packmates on the front steps.

* he nods*

I don't remember her sayin' "At any time" It was more of a drunken stupor "Oh fuck we just got busted about to break the litiny on the front porch. Lets get up and act all offended and try and throw accusations at the one that caught us to divert blame and save our own asses." sort of deal.

Now don't get me wrong. She might have said it.

I pointed out that I was stopping you from doing something that would being more dishonor on yourself and I left.

*he nods*

but yeah you were drunk so it could have been blurry.

*He smacks his lips. The fool Gnawer wanted to go there, he'd go there.*

I'll leave if I'm not welcome though. Enjoy the meat.

(imogen)
The silver fang has yet to wake up, and the good doctor has yet to stand up to try and help her. No wonder she works with dead people. The cigarette is quickly and effeciently smoked, half way to the filter as Decker moves toward the balcony railing.

She leans forward, ashing the cigarette as her head tilted to watch Decker as he leans forward. It's quiet enough to hear the brush of his flesh against the stone. Dark eyes like the night, they drift away for a moment, toward the chaos that is what is Rune's condo. "Do I want to know?" she inquires, eyes turning back to him.

(decker)
Decker makes some sound in the back of his throat - heh, eh - something like one or the other. He takes another hit and then holds the joint away from himself, watching the tip smoulder away, tracing the mobile flecks of orange-red around and around, spiralling ever so gradually down the length of the joint.

Ash joint. Speak, off the cuff, casual. "Dead girl's cousin stopped by 'n threw a fit." That wasn't quite right, but it was close enough. Decker: the ultimate Cliff Notes.

(james)
deeeeeeep breath, James
and again.

"You know what, Dire. All you saw was a kiss. That's it. And from any interpretation, a kiss does not constinute mating, mounting, fucking, screwing or any derivative thereof which would, then, constitute breaking the Litany. Your actions, however, could still be seen as doing so, but unlike you, I'm not pressing the issue. I'm not that much of an asshole. But I am tired. I have a mess to clean up and I do not feel like wasting my breath arguing with you. To rest your mind? We discussed it. We came to the conclusion we were not going to break the Litany. We were not going to risk anything. So yes, Skald, you did your duty that night."

the Gnawer takes a step or two foreward
closing the distance between them
his voice lowering
calm, not confrontational, just to the point

"But you are not my Alpha. You are not my Pack. You are not my Tribe. And you, most defininitely, are not welcome here."

(imogen)
Dead girl. There aren't too many dead girls that Decker knows, so that narrows things down, some. A faint duck of her head in a nod, hair spilling forward to fall over her eyes. She pulls the cigarette from her mouth before speaking, her free hand sliding into the pocket of the jacket she wears.

"She did all o' that?" a faint gesture with the cigarette indicating the carnage. A half nod toward Decker, after a moment, eyes flickering toward his thumb, "You're bleeding."

(dire)
*He smiles a bit looking into the lesser (( in his eyes)) mans eyes.* Well that could be argued as you were locked in an passionate imbrace ontop of here while she was on hwe back in a dress and you were on top of her hands all interlaced planting a soul kiss on her. So my words "All but mounting" Would be pretty accurate. You forget I'd been stalking you for a while unseen. You wern't exactly in the way of knowing what I saw or heard.

I'm glad you've discussed it and chosen not to break Gaia's law. Means less trouble in making up an entertaining spin of your disgrace to tell around a fire. * He advances the rest fo the way. his face milimetersaway from the gnawer* I'm not your alpha. If he wan'ts to spank your ass for your shit that's his business.
I'm not in your pack. The one you were on top of swapping spit is, So while your claiming such a close familiar allegance you might want to check in with your totem to see how that spiorit might see what ya were doing and talk to a theurge to see if you need pay chrimiage before tyour totem abondons your ass.
I'm not in your Tribe I'm a Get. And for every second of every day I thank Gaia and the spirits of that. * his gaze hardening* I may be born of a sin that I had nothing to do with Gnawer. But don't you ever assume that the mightiest of your blood equal the lowliest of ours. * The woices of ansestors uncounted howl in his mind and his eyes flash with rage. He is a Skald. People all think they are harp playing poets or something. Their rage was close to that of the Ahrouns and the Get especially. THE Skalds of Fenris dont lead by stories. THey lead the charges into battle and sing their anthems of war by being the first and formost to rip the intrals of the wyrm out for all to see. They Rally the troops by example.*

(decker)
An upwards motion of his chin, presumably a nod. A pause, then he flicks a glance up at the crescent moon overhead, pointing with a look.

"She's of that moon." He replaces the joint slowly, and the tip flares red between his fingers. Smoke leaks slowly out the corner of his mouth, and then he clarifies. "Spirit voodoo-hoodoo."

He glances down at the cut, lowers the other hand (joint caught between middle and index finger), and squeezes just below the last joint of the thumb. "Yeah." Something like bemusement. Joint goes back in his mouth, interrupting a smirk, and he straightens up. Shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the cut hand closing into a loose fist against the balustrade. "Guess that's it fer me. Mortal wound, gonna die. Make sure them necro-types don't fuck me none in yer morgue, huh?"

(imogen)
Her eyes drift upward, head moving so that she can catch sight of the moon. Aware of the changes of the moon, if only vaguely (it's only important when the moon is full), she is not surprised to see the crescent moon hanging in the sky. She turns her head back to look at him, and his 'mortal wound', chuckling.

The quip, however, was unexpected, so it's a few moments before she answers, as she takes another drag, the smoke trickling from her lips as she speaks, "I will do my most earnest best to keep you from having your sensibilities violated," she replies solemnly, raising her hand, cigarette between two fingers, in a mock salute.

"I'll even try not ta laugh."

(james)
and even infront of all that
the Gnawer
that lowly, worthless, lesser Gnawer
doesn't. back. down.

"I wouldn't want my blood to be yours, Get, I'd've died from despair long ago. Now get out."

it's unspoken
somewhere, deep in eyes the color of Gaia's earth it's obvious
but he never says it
not outloud
even if it's deafening
even if it rolls in Rage thick as a shockwave
Mule.

Decker can feel a desperate tug at the back of his mind
this isn't going to go well if it goes any further
and enough of Rune's condo has been destroyed tonight

(dire)
*he shakes his head*

Naa. You'd never have lived. Weakness isn't allowed in our tribe.

* he looks into the Gnawers eyes. Seeing what he's seen so many times before. DARING the man to say it. All but pleading with him.

His first night in jersey he'd told an Althro that if he used that word again they'd be trading scars. Some pathetic little drunkard Gnawer would sure as fuck not forget the lesson if he did.

He nods the fine hairs on his forhead brushing the dreads on James' He's that close*

Just remember who you are. What you are. I see in your eyes what your thinking. Before you ever ever give voice to those thoughts... ask yourself if I'm stalking behind you again. Ask yourself

"He tracked me once totaly unaware. Could he be there again?"

Ask yourself if those thoughts your just diing to voice are worth what you will pay to voice them.

* He snorts and half turns* You can keep the meat. You look as if you need it.

* He heads on out of the appartment then closing the front door gently*

*He looks at Decker and Imo* That dude seriously needs to lighten up.

*he rotates his shoulders much as decker does all the time working the tension out of them and pops his knuckels and lets out a breth*

(decker)
"Hah--" and Decker stops mid-sentence, half-turning as though he had heard something. A breath out, harsh. Irritation comes off of him in waves, replacing whatever short-circuit had resulted in one of his rare quips.

The fuck was he, the babysitter, chasing after the sloppy Urrah who can't fuck without getting caught? As Dire emerges, Decker glances over his shoulder at the Metis. Says nothing. Head down, he brushes at the specks of ash on the balustrade. Imogen, facing him, can see the line knitting his brow that tightens into a full frown by the time he turns around to face his tribesmate.

"James's my packmate. He ain't broken no law yet. You told me what I need to know and now he ain't yer concern no more." Replacing the joint, the Modi leans back against the sandstone, waggles the tip of the bomber at Dire. "Thanks fer th' meat."

It's a dismissal, all right - and more polite than most would get out of Decker.

(dire)
*he nods* I know. He thinks I'm pure asshole right nowe but hopefully in a time of need or right before he dies he can look back and honestly say that's one law he didn't break. * he srugs gently* I am an asshole. But I have reason to be. I know the results. * he looks up at the moon* She's pretty tonight eh?

(decker)
Gunmetal grey to the white arc of a moon overhead. A silence, and then a grunt. "Prettier when I was born." Fuckin' Modi. A blank pause, then a nod up. "There a reason yer still on my porch, Dire?"

Like we said: fuckin' Modi.

(imogen)
Amusement fades easily, rapidly, as her eyes twitch toward the door, straining to catch a sound she couldn't possibly hear. As Dire appears, she leans down, stabbing the cigarette out into the ashtray, leaving the filter to lie cooling among the soot.

Decker hints, and Dire ignores it. The red haired woman's attention with all of it's direct and pure bred weight of it rests on Dire. The houselight for her condo is on, though she sits just beyond it's reach, casting her slender frame in shadow sporadically broken by a suggestion of light.

(dire)
*He nods* I was debating my chances of stealing a shoe. Probly not too good right now. SO I'll be mosying on along. Take it easy. * he nods and looks down from the moon and he smiles that weird little smile to Imo. as he heads down the steps. He walks by the bush and growls at the remnants of the mailbox as he passes it*

(james)
there's a slowly growing smile
chuckling softly as his head shakes
and the door closes

What is it, Dire, that you have to prove.... what is it that makes you choose a little ol' Gnawer to pick on because you're unable to throat anyone else..... I've known Gnawer Metis that are bigger wolves than you will ever be.....

some days it really pays to be what it is
because it makes the weaknesses of others so very obvious
he also knows the parts of the night the Skald has chosen to leave out of the story
just to make himself look better
just to prove he's something
and this? amuses the Ahroun greatly....

but he's got a condo to clean up.....

Posted by james at November 06, 2002 12:00 AM