December 31, 2003
.12.31.03. - catching up [dustin-tristan] *me

[pack warehouse]

(james)
twenty minutes later
as a change of pace from previous weeks - the warehouse door is unlocked
the inside of the place is slowly but surely warming up
the Ahroun's little trick changing the temperature from what's on par with the night
to something a lot more comfortable when combined with the jumpstarted generator humming in the background

James has settled within domesticity's island, back facing the door
legs swirling the pattern of BDU's into an indian-style criss-cross
his jacket and shirt(s) shrugged off onto the long abandoned mattress
dreads are tied back into some festive assortment beneath the faded bandana
smoke rising lazily from the Camel clamped between his teeth
long lines of his back are marred by the latticework of ashed scars
the savagery of which could have only been caused by chrinos claws
something filleted him open from shoulders to tailbone

but that's not what he's concentrating on
instead, some music plays softly from the boombox
and his head's bent to read the insert pulled from jewelcase
that, however, is carefully cradled in a rather bloody towel
more crimson dripping and drying from the lacerations covering his arms
at least with Rage blown - he's a far more inviting than imposing Garou

(tristan)
Kemp stays back to talk to Danah, and will catch up. Smokes were bought, and with the last he had in his pocket he made sure they had at least a 6pack, unable to remember how much beer was at the warehouse anymore. It’s been a couple days since he’s made it inside after all. He’s been relatively quiet, but the calm that comes with knowing family’s home as brought that playful glint back to his gaze.

Reaching the door, he grabs and pushes, and grins to find it open, bowing a little to Dustin. “After you.” Before he heads inside and toward the island of domesticity in the center of the mostly empty warehouse. The music playing widen’s that grin, and he even manages (in the face of blow Rage) a soft. “Hi honey, I’m home.” While setting down the beer, the pack of smokes, and moving instantly over toward his out of the way shelf to pull down his violin case. Over his shoulder. “Dustin, Gnawer kin - James, BeeGee Full moon and m’bro.” In introduction even as he’s opening the case and making sure his baby is in one piece.


(dustin)
Ok.
No problem- right? He enters the wherehouse. A quick glance around- yup this was the same place he had ran into when the --Quentin Tarantino- esque scene was taking place- the strider beaten to a pule- the piss stained handede theurge healing him- the chaos of that night--same place.
Different faces, but same place.
So that was James- heard bout him- not too much he was sure- but he had heard enough to know business was business-
Not a time for fun and games - nor jokes- he saw that with the reaction to the smartass kid on the street.
Glance to the bloody towel - good maybe his spleen would remain in his body another night. Garou made him nervous anyways.
The smile still spreads across his lips and he does make eye contact with the beast. "Hey" he does get one word out.
"Nicetameetcha" - look another word.

(james)
dark eyes swing over his shoulder, holding Dustin for a few moments
battlescared Fostern sizing up the kin previously ignored
jaw drops a bit as cheeks collapse in inhale
soon enough a plume of smoke putting a hazy curtain between them
that's when the Ahroun twists to rise from the ground
case set carefully pack on top of the 'box
steps forming a far milder approach this time around

"You been takin' care a m' boy?"

chin lifts up in a nod towards Tristan checking on his violin

(dustin)
Ok that was a question to him- first he had to shake the heebie jeebies from the stare he had received.
Clearing his throat - finding the vocal cords and summoning them to speak once more. "Tryin to" he nods. That was a fair enough answer. In fact he had tried - like- hell. Even got them a place to hide out at while --maneaters-- feasted on whatever was out there screamin bloody murder that night.

Tristan in fact had taken care of him as well- funny how that was.
Shifting his weight a bit from foot to foot. eyes move to Tristan hoping for some help here.

(tristan)
All in one piece. There’s no disguising the relief in his sigh as he runs fingers over gleaming wood, noting carefully the temperature and deciding to let it warm slowly along with the rest of the warehouse. And you can be damn sure that he’s not going to leave the warehouse without it again. His lively hood, the case at times his only protection, and well, his baby. He feels naked without it.

He replaces it back on its shelf, all tucked away with care before he turns to join the other two in the ‘main’ area. Or so it would seem. He chuckles at that and sticks his tongue out at Dustin behind James’ back. “We been taking care of each other.” No need to say he put him up and spent his last dollar to make sure he had a place to sleep off his fever. “though he seems hard pressed to keep me out of trouble completely...” Oh there’s pure evil in that grin that is still behind James’ back, though voice remains even and easy.

(james)
the lanky Full Moon walks right on up to Dustin
still holding that, admittedly, unnerving gaze
if he can look Blood Eagle in the eye without turning away, sizing up a kin really isn't an issue
there's a bit of a grin that quirks lopsided at Tristan's explanation
then, with a final wipe of towel across bloody, swollen, and somewhat bruising hand
(what DID he beat the shit out of before heading back here??)
he holds it out to shake

"Then pleas're's mine." spoken with that mangled-jaw induced slur "'n I owe ya one."

(dustin)
He - is- coming- towards- me.
Eyes watching the dreaded (literally) beast and he almost takes a step back - but he doesnt.
Pleasure?
he actually breathes a sigh of relief -oops-
and smirks a bit in embarrasment before offering a hand of his own.
"Must say, it was kinda a full time job" he chuckles - trying like -HELL - to relax a bit.
"Seems Tris here has been finding trouble even when he isnt lookin for it" he nods.
"But was no problem- actually kept me on my toes"

(tristan)
He Chuckles, and swipes a clean towel to offer to his bro as he shakes his head., muttering.... “Not my fault I seem to be as tasty as I am pretty. Between Kemp and his girl and all the other shit, I’ve been hard pressed to breathe....”

Grins as he winks at Dustin, before falling to sit on the couch, sprawled comfortably, near instantly. As hard as Dustin is trying to relax, it seems Tristan is completely at home in a way he hasn’t seen before.... even with worried family (both ways, thank you), he feels much better now that he’s home.

(james)
the Ahroun actually laughs at that
which may continue the unnerving motif because it's fairly obvious - not even counting the ability to see the wirey muscle flexing over forarm in the shake - that he could obliterate the boy without really thinking twice
and he's.... laughing

"Foun' thatou' too, huh?" a strafing glance towards the prettyboi "Funny tha'..."

Tristan doesn't seem the only one that's completely changed
James also seems an utterly different being than Dustin previously witnessed
blowing off some steam definitely contributes to this switch in mood
but it seems he, too, prospers in the company of beloved family
even if there is still the underlying tension (heartbreak?) that's itching beneath his skin

"Kemp'..... g'rl?"

deep umber eyes switchstance to the sprawled kinsman in something between curiosity and shock
there's a part of him - the manly man - that would begin to cheer the boy finally got laid
there's a part of him - the prudent Garou - that would begin to realize nothing is as simple as that around this pack
and by the time he's at the coffeetable and pulling out a longneck from the sixpack
one finger's held up for Tristan to just hold. that. thought.
first things first: one beer tossed to each of the kin
his own cracked open and over half drained
and then he? is taking his bloody self to the shower

he reeks of New York, subways, busses and whatever else he finagled to get back to Chicago
he is stressed out, pissed off, and far more grimey and worse for wear than anything
and now it seems like the night is going to involve one hellishly long series of explanations
so shower. now.

(dustin)
"Shit, Kemps got girl problems i would wish on my worst enemy"
He takes the beer- and finds a spot next to Tristan on the couch. Eyes move to Tris then to James.
Ok so what up with going from raging bull to playful dog. Garou Mood swings were incredible.Not even explainable.
As soon as he opens the beer he is watching the Ahroun get up and head to --somewhere back there- which he can only assume is to the shower--or bed--or to go play more with whatever he could have back there beaten to a pulp.
Regardless-- he wasnt gonna inquire, he was just glad his organs were all still in tact.

(tritan)
He chuckles and nods to the question. “Yeah...” and he starts to continue, but instead holds that thought. They have a lot to catch up on, and he grabs the beer, pops the top and toasts his boy. “Welcome home, pa...” with a wink.

He takes his bloodied self to the shower, the water heater should be well and heated up now thanks to gift and generator, leaving the Ahroun to fully enjoy a really long hot shower to wash it all from his skin (if not from his mind) before the long explanations and stories begin.

The Kin obviously would have been a Galliard if things were different. And for the first time – he wishes they were. He wants that one eyed fucker pretty bad.

But it’s shrugged off and he grins at Dustin and arches a brow. “Told you my bro was the shit....”

(dustin)
He nods.
"frankly im glad he didnt rip any vital organs otu of me before he left--but it seems something else-" he nods to the bloody towel- "got the rage first"
He leans back and lets out a sigh of relief. "can see why you were wantin him back though- seems hes gotcher back for sure-" he noticed the relief int he Garou when he saw the pretty boy was ok on the street.
Drinking from the beer and pulling out a smoke- offering one to Tristan first. Smiling at him.
"You look much happier to be back in here, i was wonderin when yer smile was gonna come back"

-----later: .12.31.03.-----

(tristan)
The shower, stops, and somewhere in the pleasant fog that he’s found himself in since it started, the distinct lack of sound is recognized and it’s with no lack of laughter and “oh shit!” type comments that they untangle themselves from each other on the couch. Hissed “Shh!” followed by “you shh!” and murmured conversation sees Dustin sneaking off to the sleeping area and burrowing under the covers on an unused mattress, shoulders shaking with the “thought YOU were mom here...” laughter before quieting down.

So what if it’s Tristan’s mattress.
So what if that’s a shit-eating grin on Tristan’s face?

He rearranges the fit of his jeans, and yes, boys and girls he’s still dressed, though stripped down to his tanktop with the steadily increasing temperature that’s not entirely due to the handy dandy Gnawer rite. He lights a cigarette, and resumes his comfortable sprawl on the couch, fingers running through his hair as he stretches languidly, grabs his forgotten beer and tips it back to drain all but the last swallow and waits for the soggy (And much pruned, he’s sure) full-moon to step out of the bathroom.

(james)
the shower stops - but James isn't exactly jumping out for bounding return to the warehouse
after using every drop of hot water, he's continuing to soak in the steam
take just these few minutes of quiet to find some way to realign things. to center things.

feeling the long-dulled sting of soap on the metal born lacerations
feeling the otherwise freshly scrubbed of New York flesh karma that's covering the rest of him
feeling the weight of soaked dreads plastering over shoulders and back
feeling the dark moistness of the steam fill his lungs on every breath
simply lingering in the silence

there's probably a thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, that the selfishly wasted time works something as the garage opening and keys jangling when the parents come home
he knows his brother well

"Dog."

chuckled softly at the shit-eating grin caught when the soppy Ahroun passes back by the couch
torso stretches and those (clean!) BDUs drop a bit lower on his hips when another beer's cracked and half-drained
brow lifting over the glance that passes the bottle and lands on the kin

"Should I a use' all th' col' water, too?"

pretty sure Dustin isn't asleep quite yet

(tristan)
That grin just widens as he looks over his brother, and he means looks. over. every inch from soggy drippy dreads to the slide of bare feet, lingering where BDU’s hang a bit lower over lean frame before finally meeting amused glance again. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” The reply to the often heard name...

He pats the couch though and just chuckles, and shakes his head, a glance towards the mattress he won’t be sharing tonight. (Well, maybe) and lean shoulders shrug as he leans forward to grab himself a second beer, the yellowish remains of a bruise seen peeking from under the right side of his tank top with the movement. Top popped, bottle tipped, and leans back and grins. “We was just keeping it warm for ya.... and nah, wouldn’t want you to prune up too much.”

The smile remains, but slides fond, worried, as he looks over James again, and head tilts, slightly, and finally voices the soft question he’s wanted too since seeing him on the street. “Y’alright?” even with everything that’s happened to him in the past two weeks, the first thoughts are for James, and making sure he’s hanging in there (..centered..) well enough.


(james)
the amusement is brief
any relief is, in all honesty

"Defi'e.... allrigh'."

given the extended explanation offered on the street earlier
it's a question appropriate enough
and for now - James remains standing
lest the agitation build again when body's quietly seated

(tristan)
A bit of a snort of amusement. “For you or me?” Though he knows the meaning of the question inherent there. Dark gaze falls to the bottle in hand, braced against leanly muscled belly, Fingers pick at the label a few moments. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

Lips curl into something almost amused, before fading again, and he lifts his eyes to his brothers, and starts at the beginning. “I guess you heard that the Maneaters graduated to Kin for their favorite meal. They attacked Roxanne down Skid Row way, she took one of their eyes out, got fucked up pretty bad, Mark came to her call and killed the other one. That started it, I guess, the hardon they had for her. And as she hangs with me...” Shrug. Pause. Drink.

“Couple nights later The one eyed fucker came after me. I’d run into another kin, Juliet, and he cornered us both – went umbral, cut off our escape. She hit him with perfume in the eyes, I swung with the only thing I had on me, a blade, and got her out of the way of his swing.” Right arm rolls palm upward, and he flexes the hand slowly, thoughtfully. “He shredded my arm.” Moving on. “Isa showed up – he’s a bastet – helped get us out of there and patched me up. That was the first time.” Pause. “Of three.”


(james)
brooding, the Ahroun doesn't clarify and just allows Tristan to continue
if he doesn't have to explain himself just yet - he's not about to do so
who wants to rub salt into their own wounds anyway
instead: he nods, continues to drain his beer, and feels the tension winding back into his shoulders

"Go 'n."

(tristan)
He knows there are things that James never clarifies. He knows there are things he just can’t talk about, and he is giving him this out to not do so. For now. The tides will be reversed soon enough.

“Second time, I was with Roxanne. Had been playing, we were to go shopping afterwards. Got flanked – one fucker right behind us, checking her tatt, and blocking retreat. The other two flanking. Soon as she spun away from the one behind us, the other kid attacked. Where I got this.” Points over his shoulder to the fading bruise. “From his brass knuckles. Had my case with me that time, fucked him up bad in return, the Knights came to our defense and cleaned up. Captured one, killed the kid, the other was killed by the Talon one eyed fucker for fucking up Roxy’s capture I guess.”

And last, but not least.

“Last time, they wanted to use me as a message board. One eyed fucker True Feared Kemp and me – had taken him shopping for his girl – and told me they were going to kill Roxanne before new years. We weren’t hurt – cept for Kemp’s pride at pissing his pants in front of his girl, and I didn’t smell none to pretty either. Got the warning through to the Knights. Fuckers didn’t take it serious enough. Landed her in the hospital, and written up in the paper as a fatal killing. I...” He pauses there, fingers gripping the bottle tightly, enough to where he has to force his hold to relax before he shatters it. “lost it. Found out a while later it was typo’d. She was critical, and the knights busted her out of the hospital and patched her up. Ain’t seen her yet though. Heard some noises in the alley a couple nights back, Kemp – you’d be so proud of the kid, James – instead of rushing into trouble, made sure Dustin and I were safe first, then patrolled and kept watch to insure we stayed that way.”

He shrugs, slight, then lifts his gaze again. “So I’m alright. Alive. In one piece. Bruised and bitter and wanting a bite out of that one eyed fucker pretty bad – Erik said he was calling a hunt. I know it probably won’t be accepted. But I want in. Somehow. I want in.”

Pause, and then. “So. now. Your turn...”

(james)
luckily, the beer was drained quite awhile ago
because that bottle's under enough pressure to crack in the Fostern's hand
Tristan may have the control to back down from it
but James is back to wanting something to crush yet again - and right now it's the bottle's fault
it takes him a long time to begin speaking
so very clear he's dealing with something that.... last time all but broke him completely
body folds to finally sit on the makeshift coffeetable
fingers idly picking at the label on the bottle

"I know..... 'm back 'cause he call'it. 'n you know I wou'n't stop yeh if'e accept..... but..." he knows the prettyboi's thirst for revenge, he's slaked it before himself, which is what makes it so very hard to continue "I'd be th' firs' askin' you t' sit this'n out."

(tristan)
Silence lingers for a long moment after James sits down, and picks at his bottle while the kin fights something inside. For the first time ever he wants to be more then he is. He wants there to be no reason to be left behind. Not even the wishes of the one man who could get him to stay back, and wait. While someone else fights his battles for him, again.

Jaw clenches, tight, muscle bunching flexing, and forcibly relaxed again...gaze locked on the bottle in his lap. He wants to throw a fit of Kemp proportions, proclaiming how fucking unfair it is to even ask such a thing. But he’s not a fifteen year old kid. And of course, he’s not garou.

Finally, a soft growl escapes... and he manages to meet James’ gaze again, the pain and fury open and naked and so easily read words ground out in a fury completely unlike his natural demeanor “Then you best make sure you make that mother fucker pay.” He doesn’t want him dead. He wants him destroyed.

(james)
James doesn't need to look up to know Tristan's pain
he doesn't look up at all
he doesn't want to see those feelings in his kinsman's eyes
especially when he's the one that put them there
and shoulders strung tight with tension actually sag
dropping in a defeatist sigh

"Tris.... I....." another, longer, pause, hating himself for remotely treating his brother as a kinfolk instead of an equal "'m'only askin'. I won' stop whatev'r you choose. I jus'... aft'r th' pas' few week'.... I can' stan' th' thought a chance a losin' you. Not..." whatever explanation waited on the muscles of his tongue defaults to a singular "... now." as the bottle breaks beneath the pressure of his thumb

(tristan)
Bottle breaks, and glass rains to the cement floor, and silence follows. He’s at war with himself, with the things he wants, feels, needs – and the ever present desire for his brother’s happiness, however small measure he can give it. Breath explodes in a sigh of resignation, of... just pent up feeling, and that’s all there is for a long moment.

Finally, belly crunches, lean form rearranges, and pulls him to a sitting position before the raggedy man on the coffee table. His own bottle is placed on the floor between them, and emptied hands fill themselves again with his brothers, sliding against skin to cup them between his. Breath is hitched into a sigh again.. “I..” before he pauses, and the lean forward is completed with his forehead resting against defeatedly sagging shoulder. “ok.”


(james)
the shoulder - still vaguely damp and smelling of soap - trembles beneath resting forhead
perhaps it is now for something far more than the growing agitation in the full-moon
something that can affect him so deeply it drains the endless fount of strength
leaving him to lean for as much as he desperately tries to lend support
lips resting agaisnt his brother's temple

"I do not wan' to mourn you'n Jenna th' same week."

(tristan)
Vaguely damp and smelling of soap and strength and under it all, the unique scent that is the ahroun, of battles and scars and emotions and strength and spice.... of him. He inhales, slow, and the kiss against his temple is leaned into, slightly, as his hand slides up and round the back of James’ neck, sliding under damp dreads, resting warmly there for a long moment in understanding, in support, in love.

Finally, a slight grin... “This doesn’t mean your going to lock me up in the warehouse and throw away the key does it....”


(james)
"Giv'n y'r track rec'rd the las' two week'." the light quip keeping up to counter the slight grin "I should."

a hand - broad, calloused, strong enough to crush a skull and completely ignorant of the sting induced by the slide of hair through still-healing wounds - ruffles Tristan's curls
remaining in the close (loving) contact for just a moment longer
before he's pulling back with a raising brow

"Though I think you' like't too much."

(tristan)
There’s a soft chuckle, and he pulls back and fingers cup James’ jaw. He’ll stay behind – not because he wants to, not because he thinks he will get hurt, but only – only because he loves his brother. Far deeper then anyone probably realizes.

A slight grin as he pulls back a little, and reaches by James’ hip for his cigarettes and lighter, though he doesn’t quite light up just yet, smirking slightly, “S’not the locked in I mind. It’s the locking out. That I’m right fucking sick of.” Snort, of amusement, almost. “Erik jumped me for blocking the door for a trip to the dumpster. Thus? The fact I’ve not made any money for 3 days because my baby was in here and I been sleepin where I could, and on a cement floor in Dustin’s garage.”

Arched brow as he looks up, and classic eagle nod up. “Get me a key. I’ll stay home and do your laundry and your dishes and even have a hot meal waiting when my strong man returns from battle.” Even manages to pull off the tease.

Then softly, as he leans forward, and brushes his lips across the corner of James, chaste the kiss, but filled with the emotion garnered. “and I promise – I’ll do my best to see any mourning for me is a long way off.”

(james)
the answering chuckle is sardonic

"S'pose a be a safehouse, not halfway house.... dun' surprise me you got jump'."

whatever else he was going to say seems to just... wander off
there's no more clarification on what he's going to try to do
there's no more clarification on what he hopes will never come
forget about post new year plans of moving the sleeping quarters to a lesser-known place
there is only the spanning silence of deep umber eyes meeting another pair just as dark
an ultimate living predator momentarily locked on what could very well be prey
he knows how much truth lays behind the stoic tease
the kiss that answers the promise is, perhaps, one not so wholly chaste
it lingers as nails that could be talons scrape molten trails along the roots of the prettyboi's curls

"Happy New Year, Tris...."

the elder Gnawer pulls away after murmured words
retreating to gather his winter warms, and spend the change of season with Chicago's blistering cold

(tristan - after, in AIM)
he chuckles, a little, but arches a brow. "Someone has to feed kemp." And then that trails off into the silence where whatever was going to be said fades into nothing, into the shared breath of closely shared space, where the heat of the Rage under his brothers skin tugs and pulls at his senses.

He knows how much truth is behind the tease, he has never lied to himself, though after the first night he has never attempted to reach past the boundaries again. And he won't. The easy touches they share now, the things that say more then words ever could, those mean the world and each is cherished. As is what happens next.

Nails trail burning against scalp in tease, and the kiss returned is anything but chaste... stealing what breath was held in lungs, trapping it in his throat in a soft moan, restrained delight shown in the slow tremble that slides through his frame while the gift of lingering lips is more precious then any gift he could ever ask for. Lashes close, and only part slowly again when the elder Fostern pulls away again, fingertips lingering in a retreating touch that shows the reluctance to part, yet knowing it will happen anyway.

Naked the feelings easily read in gaze, before it drops and smile tugs at the corner of his lips, almost shy as he watches the pack and remembers to pull out a cigarette this time, and a barely murmured in reply... "Happy New year, James" is returned. He watches as winter warms are gathered, and then lifts his gaze to watch again as the door is opened to spill the Ahroun into Chicago's chill night... And still, the smile lingers as the smoke is finally lit, and deep drag taken.

May the new year only bring more moments like these.

Posted by james at December 31, 2003 12:00 AM