October 20, 2002.10.20.02. - promises [salome-decker](james)
errands
those little important things, menial tasks, trivial amenities, that simply need to get done
thus, the Gnawer returns from a grande voyage of completing those exact things
errands
tasks
a lot of little things that sum to one big accomplishmentdepending on which version of the book you're reading, of course
second hand Cochrans find a satisfactory rhythm on the concrete, tattered tails of the longcoat snap around his ankles like hungry, filthy denizens of the ankle height world, hands shoved into his pockets (you know, it's starting to get chilly at night) lower lip suckled between teeth for a thoughtful nibble
strange things afoot
strange things that need thought
odd how they've brought him back hereas if he didn't get enough the first go round
(decker)
He just watches her for an interminable moment, ignoring her (too-) quick question. Without looking away, he slams her trunk shut, the car bouncing softly on its struts. A flick of a glance toward Nova; the gesture is returned. Then, quietly, He just watches her for an interminable moment, ignoring her (too-) quick question. Without looking away, he slams her trunk shut, the car bouncing softly on its struts. A flick of a glance toward Nova; the gesture is returned. Then, quietly, "The 'we don't talk none about it and it ain't happened' act."A beat. An exhale; his eyes flicker away toward an unnamed point, and back. "Gabriel Thunderoak's his name. Athro of yer tribe."
(imogen)
"fuck," she breathes, and somehow such a word is that much more vile when spoken in her lilting cornwall accent. One hand reaches up, rubbing her neck irritably, before beginning to pull the string-held medical shield from around her neck.Her eyebrow flickers up as she replies to his previous comment, pushing the thought of her tribesmates (what's more, an athro.. fuck indeed...) away for a second, "I hadn't noticed we'd had time to talk 'bout anything other than keeping another kinfolk in my condo until you got back."
(james)
the beat keeps up right on towards Area 51 before there's a sudden sound of silence
nothing left of the riot but a savage scar that nobody can see
seriously
it's the nobody's that everyone ignores which see everything
walls with ears, and all thatit's empty
well, more changed
and change is not always good
so he stands there
right in the middle of proverbial ground zerohands still in his pockets
lip still between his teeth
dreads still tangled mane across his shoulders
deep thought still in his eyeslooking for what has disappeared
(decker)
(you know, i just realized what a completely botched-up c&p my last post was *LMAO*) So much for the vacation. The Modi shrugs, unconsciously echoing her gesture as he too rubs the back of his neck, holding on to it while he tilts his head back. "Could always pack up and move again," he adds, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Gotta be somewhere you can go to be alone. For a year or two."Smirk fades. Hand drops. "There anythin' to talk about?"
(imogen)
"Antarctic? Or maybe Siberia..." She suggests with a faint tug of her lips; it fades quickly. She shakes her head slightly, "And then what'll I do when the next big-ass tribesmate finds me?" She gestures but slightly, though it indicates some measure of resignedness. "I seem to be more than a little hard to keep under the radar." She's right. Looks like that, pure breed like that? Any Garou that meets her will recognize her for what she is; no way, no how she can avoid that.She wraps the string around her medical examiner's shield depositing it in her jacket, before answering, "Must be, if you're asking."
(decker)
A snort.And, at length - a silence interrupted by one, two intakes of breath, as though he were about to speak - another. "Naw." Temporary lapse of sanity; momentary lapse of judgment.
His eyes slide past her to James. The Gnawer was unmistakeable in his easy, mellow stride that breathed confidence, that spoke of a life in the city. He was so used to this land that he moved not so much on it, as in it.
(imogen)
A slow inhalation of breath, and she nods faintly "There we are then," she replies. One hand slides into the pocket of the rain slicker (preparation for the rain that never comes) and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, carefully tapping one cancer-stick along with the lighter. The pack is half empty, and she returns it to her pocket. Sliding the cigarette between her lips, thumbing the lighter and drawing the bright orange flame to the tip, sucking on the filter to bring it to light.
(salome)They were her babies, her sweeties, her pookum-bears, her lovers, her companions, her confidantes, her backup, her soul-mates... and the bitch hadn't given them back. She probably would have let the whole thunked-on-the-head-and-handcuffed-to-a-breakfast-bar-thing slide, if they hadn't neglected this one... minor (major)... detail.She figured that if they hadn't been at 'home', them they'd be baying the fuzzy butts off in the vicinity of where the trouble had all begun.
(james)
right there
right in the middle of the sidewalk
the Ahroun folds to a crouchhands withdrawing from his pockets for hands clad in fingerless, frayed gloves to wrap around his knees
rebar sticks clanking in their sheath strung diagonal across his back
(don't leave home without 'em)
and after a few silent minutes
a hand reaches out, fingers splayed wide on the concrete infront of himstill....... thinking.....
(decker)
The pack is always half-empty for the likes of them, it seemed. Never half-full. With a breath hissed out between his teeth, he reaches forward and plucks the cigarette out of her mouth. And if the backs of his fingers should brush her lips, if the contact should spark in his eyes like lightning, it must be a trick of the light."Bummin' one." Almost growled, that, as he pushes off her trunk and stalks down the street to see what James was up to.
(salome)
When you stand daily on the edge of the abyss peering down into the inevitable void, a person becomes used to feeling nagged, preassured, hell... even pushed!... towards the darkness. It wasn't the first time she'd attracted the attention of spirits with less than amiable intentions towards her mental and physical wellbeing. That was why she was driving tonight. Since they'd unceremoniously released her 'back into the wilds', she'd been moving every hour or so. She figured that if banes had as mouths as big as wyld spirits, then who knew what knew she was around and ready for the 'taking'. That is, if she was considered worth the 'effort'.At first, she'd been more concerned with leaving the apartment 'just in case'... she didn't know too much about banes, but she was as paranoid of things she couldn't see as well as things she could. She wanted to get out dodge.
Now she wanted her babies back...
James was the first she saw, crouched down 'thinking' on the sidewalk. He'd been the one who had smacked her in the head, giving her one hell of a shiner as a result.
Perfect...
The black truck that was not the usual style for her 'family' - which tended to sport pick-up's on the verge of death - was sleek and shiny. It's engine and exhaust was well maintained, with nary a cough or wheeze of smoke in sight.
It 'slid', so to speak, to a halt along the curb of the sidewalk right next to where James had folded into a crouch, engine idleing.
The window, either our of paranoia or fashion-victim sense, were darkly tinted.
(james)
he not only looks deep in thought
but..... concerned
because from what he feels
because from what he sees
or more.... doesn't seesomething in the sag of his shoulders says this isn't going to go well
and the crazy homeless man crouching int he middle of the sidewalk unfolds again as if suddenly inspired by the army of seraphic moths in his head
maybe he's just not looking in the right places(sal)
All hail electric windows...One such darkly tinted window whirred faintly as it began to slide down... for a whole inch... then ceased in movement, allowing a haze of smoke to exit the truck cabin in a ghostly haze - just as the Bonegnawer unfolded from his crouch. My, what a coincidence, huh?
(imogen)
The lines of her body freeze and tighten as he reaches out unexpectedly, large hand drawing close to her face, but she does nothing to stop him from plucking the cigarette between her lips (and there must be a trick of the light, because she may as well have said that there was nothing to talk about, right?) her head turning to the side as Decker stalks away. "You're welcome," she mutters, running a hand over her hair, brushing strands away from her eyes, teeth setting on the inside of her mouth for a moment.She reaches into her pocket to replace the cigarette Decker'd taken, tapping another out to smoke, remaining outside of the car, leaning against the truck.
(decker)
Decker's still a block away when Salome pulls up, and when the black pickup (looks familiar...) pulls up next to his packmate, his eyes narrow. Puffing out a stream of smoke from around his - Imogen's, whomever's - cigarette, he changes his mind and throws his body into a slouch against the nearest building instead, choosing instead to watch. The boy could look after himself. Even if he couldn't, Decker was nobody's babysitter, and Decker had his own things to think about right now.Ash drifts from the cherry of the cigarette, flaring orange before fading to grey, falling between his feet.
(james)
the whir of electic windows grabs his attention
for but a glance
there's more important things on his mind(ever get that itchy feeling?)
which he puts on pause for a moment more
glancing back to the truck
cracked window unleashing the army of smokey haze to crawl towards the sky
lips pursesomething's..... not..... right....
the Gnawer moves towards the alley at the end of the building
idly readjusting the sling across his shoulders
rebar rattling
you want me? come get me.(sal)
So, the kid was going to make this more difficult than it had to be. Fine. She had dealt with difficult fuzz-balls in the past and she assumed this wasn't going to be the last time. The tinted window whirrs softly again as it slides back into place and then the engine cuts off, leaving silence where there was a persistant hum prior. The shadow of the driver disappears almost out of site in the cabin for a few scant moments... then reemerges into sight, the driver's side door opening.Yeah, it was definately her. The loon that Decker had James beam over the head. Calm, cool, collected... it was a matter of how long that calm, cool, collectedness would last. After all, they'd stolen her babies. It was enough to make any good sociopath annoyed.
She closed the door behind her, flicking an almost finished cigarette away from her before locking the truck up. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and followed James, without a trace of uneasiness, into the alleyway.
(james)
above the smoke
above the interior
above the rampant stench most Garou claim the city has
there's a scenther scent
when you crown someone, you tend to remember something like what they smelled like
for future reference, and allthat was enough to send him into the alley
and he's waiting there allright
sling at his feet
shoulders at the wall
hands clasped neatly behind his back
easy smile on his lips"Fancy meeting you here."
(salome)
She was sporting the shiner that he'd graced her with the last time they'd been in close proximity. At that time they hadn't the chance to have that 'little conversation' he'd been going on about... now they were in the 'perfect' senario to get on with it. Even though it had only been a ploy. Although, in her head, yeah... they had something to talk about now. Such as him thumping her. Hardly impressed."Yeah, fancy that..." Her 'normal' neutral voice was low and thick like molasses, but that wasn't to say her speech was slow. There was even a hint of a born-and-raised british accent beneath all the americanisms.
It was stressful times like these that you need someone to be a confidante and her only female friend was deaf, so a phone call was out of the question and because she suffered from alexia, writing an email was stupid beyond reason. So there was no therapudic 'release' of emotion in a socially acceptable at hand... which made the situation all that more volatile (at least, for her).(james)
there's a bit of a chuckle at her tone
something is seriously going to go wrong
but he doesn't move from that easy lean
brows lifting a bit through a sheepish grin"I'd like to apologize for that...."
he must be talking about the shiner, right?
"..... it wasn't exactly what I had in mind for our conversation, but things got a little crazy.... and I'll admit it was a bad choice."
thing is
that's a genuine apology
he's fully aware women are just as capable of taking a punch as any man
so he doesn't feel bad about hitting her
he feels bad about making the choice to
hindsight always provides so many other options(imogen)
She pulls the cigarette from her lips, inspecting the fag thoughtfully, rolling the cancerstick between her fingers as she leans against the trunk of the car, eyes on the alley where James and Salome had disappeared. Slowly, she taps ash to the concrete, small grey flutters that fall to be obscured and lost against the grey of the concrete.(sal)
"I figure we can come to some resolution," a predatory smile that was creepy to normal humans because it wasn't at all... humane. Her idea of resolution, by her smile and tone of voice, probably involved something painful in his area."Keeping my babies, however, wasn't a real fucking good idea though." There was an... edge... to her voice now. One that spoke volumes on exactly how much willpower she was exerting towards not attempting to gut the percieved 'perpetrator' then and there.
(james)
"Babies?"the look
is utterly
blank"Look."
something in his tone flattens
he was already on edge
and accusing a Gnawer of wrongfully stealing..... anything.... was a generally bad idea
especially when he didn't
the flat edge in his normally warm tenor spoke of cabbages and kings and a wonder why he didn't crack her skull open last night to save today's insult"Whatever your babies are, I don't have them."
(decker)
(Decker didn't smoke cigarettes until Rune got him started. Corrupting the young!)Back against the wall, Decker watches the two disappear into the alley and then watches the empty two, three blocks between here and the riot scene. It's getting late. The area has been cordoned off and high-power lamps have been brought in, washing the area in blazing light as teams of specialists continue their work into the night. Half the cigarette burns into ash before Decker remembers to pull another drag off, coughing under his breath as half of it goes down wrong somehow. The motion topples a whole column of ash to the ground. If he tried, he could hear what was being said in the alleyway...he had always been blessed with good ears. That, and a good set of fists.
He doesn't listen, though. Wasn't his conversation, and he didn't particularly care. Instead, he walks over to the block of sidewalk James had crouched over and, after a moment, does the same. He pushes his palm to the concrete and tries to concentrate, but it's no secret that his spirit was weaker than that of most of his pack, especially here in the heart of the city. Nothing.
Letting the cigarette burn down a little more before taking the final drag off the last half-centimeter, Decker drops it on the ground. Rises. Crushes it under his scuffed boot over the one block of sidewalk.
One foot in front of the other, then: walking all the way back again.
(sal)
"I don't particularly care if you have them, or one of the others of your Three Stooges trio has them... I want my weapons back. Now. Tonight."This was why Ayla, even though she was deaf and hardly anyone understood her, had been the PR voice for her. If nothing else it stopped her from invoking violence just from speaking. However, it wasn't too hard to figure out she was referring to Decker and Imogen. They were all as guilty as each other, in her eyes... even if not returning her guns and knife had merely been an oversight. Stress and all that, right?
"Unlike some I don't have the benefit of pop-clacking nine shade of furry when shit hits the fan..." Considering her demeanor and fanatastic ability to piss people off with her charming personality, the shit probably hit the fan a lot around her.
(imogen)
As Decker approaches, her eyes trail over to him, watching as him as he stalks across the street, moving with that easy loose jointed laziness. Raising the cigarette to her lips, she inhales the last gasp so there is only the filter left, tossing the smoke at the curb, the ember shattering and dying.(decker)
His foot comes down on the rolling stub of a cigarette, crushing that one out too. Look up. "You goin' home?"
(james)
"Unlike some......"the words drip from uncharacteristic sneer
"...... who rely on threats, overbearing personality, or rapier wit to get their way, I prefer the lesser known tactic of civility and manner."
brown eyes narrow
he doesn't like her attitude
and there's little stopping him from changing it
he's already on edge from the lack of findings
this is all he needs
(little stress relief, boyo?)
growling"Ask me nicely I might consider it."
(decker)
Just a nod, terse as ever, as he circles for the shotgun seat. When she unlocks it, he gets in, shutting the door of the big ugly state-issue after himself. Saying nothing, he looks out the window in the vague direction of the alley - or perhaps that block of concrete sidewalk - that by-now-familiar crease crinkling between his eyebrows.(sal)
"And here I was under the impression that threats and overbearing personalities were the main characteristic traits of the Fuzzy Nation..." She smiles and it is far to pleasent to be real, especially since it, by no means, reaches her eyes. Gold eyes. Wolf-like eyes. Predator eyes."I thought you weren't into threats, little boy, or are you growling cause you're happy?" She drawls out the 'r' in growling, making the idea of doing such a thing seem almost... obscene.
(imogen)
She slides into the driver's side, the door clicking shut behind her as she turns her head to follow the trajectory of the Fenrir's gaze. An inhalation of breath, nearly speaking, before dropping it, whatever it was, sliding her key into the ignition, turning it. The engine purrs to life, the sound of it rough around the edges. After all, it's just state issued.A creak of the gears and she starts to pull away from the curb, dark eyes flickering from one side of the street to the other. It's empty. Has been for most of the time since the riot broke up. Down the street, to cross the mouth of the alley Salome and James had entered.
(james)
"Blame it on the moon."smirked
shrugged
finally pulling away from the wallnormally he's so damned mellow
tonight he's a hair pin trigger
just one. little. push.
and he'll go careening over the edgesteps halt just infront of her
hand still clasped behind his back
expectant
by no means unnerved by her little show
he bears scars from things far more frightening than an unhinged kin(sal)
And she bears scars from things more frightening than a moon-moody Garou... blame it on the moon... blame it on the dancers... it all came down the same thing... true anger that wells up deep down in the pit of your stomach and tries to claw its way up from inside, sticking in your throat like a choaking howl. The kind of emotion that tells you that if you start screaming you know you'll never stop.While he was walking towards her, she removed her hands from the deep recesses of her pockets. Metal glinted from her hands, but she made no (immediate) quick movement at the Bonegnawer. Mmm... silver plating... doesn't it just make your skin tingle as if a hand unexpectedly reached out and into you, tickling all the right spots. Well, maybe not for a Garou... but the feeling could be akin to such.
"Or not getting laid enough."
Which probably was a reason why some Garou were such pricks - they were angry by genetics and most, she'd seen, hadn't been getting enough of the good stuff. So you end up with too much pent up heat, rage, and natural testosterone... it was an abysmal situation.
(decker)
Silence. The taut, awkward sort, all over again. Then, as they're passing the alleyway, Decker sits up a little, half-grateful for distraction, half-annoyed at its source. "Stop the car."He knew his packmate. He could read the tension in James' body as easy - easier - than he could a book. Opening the door before the car had quite stopped, he rises out of the passenger's seat, one hand absently rubbing a niggling itch on his spine.
Into the alley: slow easy swagger, shoulder to shoulder with the Bone Gnawer. Doesn't say anything, though his eyebrow quirks up at Salome's latest witticism.
(imogen)
She has good reflexes, you have to give her that. As the the words are leaving his mouth, she's put her fot on the brake, pulling the car to a jerky stop, eyes jerking away from the road to stare down the alleyway. Garou tension is something a kinfolk learns to read as a survival method. She can see it well enough, her brow knitting for a fraction of a second as she glances at the stand off beginning to happen, "sonuvabitch" she breathes, though it's hard to say who, if anyone, she means.And now she's left with the question exactly what she should do know. One hand reaches up, out of habit, to drag through her hair, half undoing the bun in the process. She'll wait. At least for a moment or two. Long enough to decide whether it was worth waiting, or let them all duke it out.
(james)
something in his shoulders tightens at the silver glint
and Decker's approach from behind makes it real apparent what that movement was
wherever that easy smile hides, it's far far away from the sneer plastered across his face"And you're probably such a charming specimen of a woman because none of us has been out of our right minds enough to choose you, Kin. Now, are you through with the petty insults and cliche digs, or do you really want to start a match of brains and brawn?"
(sal)
"You be sure to tell my mate your opinion on his choice in the afterlife." She was well aware she wasn't the most charming person in the world, but hell... she'd been enough for a revered elder Fenrir, she wasn't gonna have her... hmmm... sexuality... dissed by a Bonegnawer."You know what I really want, Boy."
(james)
"Guess you weren't enough to keep him around in this world, were you."spat
you know, he's really trying to keep a hold of himself, but it's just not working, is it
there are days a Bone Gnawer simply can't ignore the insults
today would be one of them
and he can throw them just as good as anybody"I told you I don't have your babies, in case you didn't hear me before."
but that expression
THAT is what does it
five..... four......"Accept it. And get out of my face."
three.... two....
(decker)
He might've held James back. Might have. Until -Butt out.
Decker takes another half step forward. Slow. Easy. His shoulders move with the motion, muscles rolling under skin. His voice drops ten decibels. "Asked you a question, kinwoman."
(sal)
"Or what, you'll set your attack dog on me? That's nothing new..."It was a debate as to whether she was speaking to Decker or James with the question-come-statement. It always happened this way these days, though. She couldn't put her own volatile nature around that of her cousins and not have the sparks fly.
Maybe if Siophe was here...
Maybe if Ayla was here...
But they weren't. She was alone. She was outmatched. She was outweaponed (Stubby teeth, no claws). She was outmanned (two on one)...
But fuck it was an adrenaline rush. Makes all those happy places on you go almost squishy-like even...
(james)
one...that's it.
his fist comes out from behind his back
he'll make the bruises match
sorta.... he's going for her jaw this timelast night it was uncoordinated
tonight there's Rage
tonight there's all of his strength focused, and centered
tonight.... the Eagle's might guides his fistbitch should learn to watch her mouth
and if he knocks her jaw clean back into her brain it doesn't look like he gives a damn
because he knows he has the strength to do it(decker)
Split.
Down.
The.
Middle.The urge to destroy with the urge to protect. Instinct and greatest, fatal (heroic) flaw. Balanced between the two, torn, he says nothing - does nothing -
but he feels it.
James, calling on Eagle's might.Like that, it's decided. Moving - faster than James can (I outrank you, boy), the Modi turns and, with both hands, catches the downswing of James' forearm between his.
Christ. The strength of the usually so-mellow urban musician, augmented by their totem, buckles Decker to his knees - hard - with a short grunt. Quick as that he's back on his feet, six inches taller and quite a bit larger, showing his not-quite-human teeth in a silent snarl.
"Touch her and I'll crack you in half, Gnawer. Stand down."
...that's an order.(sal)
Either she was insane (more than likely), had balls of steel (or ovaries of steel, maybe?), or was stupid (debateable). Even when his hand had been raised, fingers balled into a fist, she hadn't flinched back (she'd blinked, naturally). She hadn't pulled away or raised a hand to defned herself.She'd been expecting to be thumped. Maybe even wanted to be hit. It was the latter that was the disturbing part of the whole thing.
"Vessel-of-Gaia's-Rage, my mate and former Jarl Sept of the Bleeding Heart, Caern of the Wounded Stag, Elder Modi of the Fenrir would be honored by your actions, Modi, but if the, what I assume to be, Bonegnawer feels he needs to take a piece out of me... well... I can accomadate him."
Hmmm... this is making it a little more formal than a mere pissing contest turned full on brawl. It also shows who the bonegnawing had been dissing when he'd said she'd been unfit to be taken, so to speak.
(decker)
His eyes are fixed on James', and the Bone Gnawer can see better than anyone the streak of wild light that blazes through the grey depths. Moon's one day past full, and Decker's walking a razor's edge. The words are a whiplash, a snarl, "You shut the fuck up, woman, and get yer ass gone."Before he let James go.
Before he turned on her himself.(james)
needless to say, there's quite a bit of shock as Decker catches the swing
for a lot of reasonstaking the Fenrir to the ground with the force isn't one of them
he knows his strength
he knows what years of weilding steel bars like toys can do
he knows what years of living on the streets can do
he knows what that Rage pumping and throbbing in his veins can do
he just normally hides it welleven though all of it was aimed at knocking her jaw clear through the back of her skull
at the move
at the command
it immediately disappearstaking the symbolic step back as the Modi stands again
trembling with the effort
but he does it
he doesn't have a choiceit's crystal clear he wants to tear her to shreds and Decker's the only thing that can stop him
not her words that have empty meaning to him
not her station that's foreign to him
not her sheer luck his packmate walked in when he did
just. his. packmate.(decker)
Exhale.A hand on James' shoulder turns the Bone Gnawer around, pointing him out of the alley and nudging him forward with a light shove. Rage is an instinctual, primal thing, spurred not by reason but by the innate destructiveness at the core of every Garou. It wasn't thinking about her that'd send James over the edge...it was looking at her. Listening to her.
Get him out of sight, out of earshot of the kin and it'll be fine. Get him out of sight, and then get himself out, too.
(sal)
There is still the Fang in her, even if she'd fit in easier with the angry-thump-things-a-lot Fenrir. She was born among the leaders, it was in her genetics. Her blood and bones. Blood always rings true, sometimes at the most inconvenient times. There was logic in insanity (that only the insane can percieve) and the insanity at this point was to drop the only advantage (however paltry) that she had.Clink. Clink.
The knuckledusters hit the cracked and muddied concrete of the alleyway.
"Between the Bonegnawer and I, Modi. Disputes need to be settled, one way or another, for the good of all."
If you fight among yourselves, if you set pack against pack, then you're doomed to fail - now or in the future, it didn't matter.
And this was the only link that remained, these days, between herself and her kind. Without the link, she may as well turn to the BSD for the feel of fur... to be another one lost to the war...
(james)
there's an all-too practiced sweep that snatches the sheath sling from the ground as they pass - he's fought more than he lets on - the near three foot rebar drumstick shoved back to join it's mate before the entire pack is slung back over his shoulderodd, he didn't swing that
he could havehearing her words
high words
Fang words?
Lord words?
he should havebut it doesn't matter now
the Cliath goes where the Fostern directs(decker)
When the Bone Gnawer is out of the alley - and only then - Decker turns back to the (insane!) kin. While he shrinks back into his homid form and even after, the silence for which he is named unfolds on and on, a yawning abyss of no-sound.His eyes are the color of flint. Of an ocean before a typhoon. Of stone. Finally, he takes a few steps toward her. Two inches away, two inches taller, he looks - as he always does - down his nose at her.
Quiet as the turning of the stars, "You wanna die, Silver Fang?"
(sal)
"I've thought about it more than you could know, Modi," by naming her Silver Fang, he just verbally broke what ties by tribe they may have had. But she wouldn't insult the Fenrir, as a tribe, blatantly. To do so would be an insult to Vessel and she had enough regrets there to begin with."But I won't give the Storm Bringer the satisfaction."
Storm Bringer... Bringer of Storms. Ik'Cha. Black Spiral Dancer of no little repute. Deadly. Cunning. Sadistic little fuck. How she hated him...
The question always was... would the Garou, her Family, give Ik'Cha the satisfaction?
(james)
once outside the alley - he doesn't even see Imogen's car parked right there - the Gnawer folds into one very pissed off, trembling, seething, angry, humiliated ball of Ahroun
crouched by the wall
head falling to rest against his knees(breaaatth..... deeeeeeply...... in through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose....)
shoulders slumping
dreads spilling and splaying everywhere
this just hasn't been a good night
so he sits here, hopefully putting the night on pause, until his packmate comes out of the alley(decker)
"Then don't think to challenge a Garou on a full moon."Flat-out. Stone-cold. To be sure, he must have seen her pendant. If not that, he'd heard of it from Imogen. If not that, he'd heard Salome speak of her (dead) mate. But none of it matters, and the reasons he had - that the 'dispute' would be settled with her splattered all over the wall, that she couldn't hope to set herself as a physical equal to those she wished to - remain unspoken.
Silence holds.
A beat. Then, turning on his heel, the grey-eyed Modi follows his packmate out of the alley. Finding James just outside the mouth of the alley, he leans briefly against the wall - long enough to take his half-a-joint left over from Friday night out. Without a word, he offers it to the Gnawer.
(sal)
"I want my weapons back." Spoken to the back of the fenrir ahroun as he merely turns on his heel and walks back out of the alleyway to his companions. A truly nuetral voice in response to the none verbal slap in the face - to what little pride she had left deep down in a twisted core."I'm going hunting..."
And those three words sure sounded like she wasn't going out looking for small game fowl or chipmunks. Apparently having the Modi step in had humiliated two people tonight, although both were doing quite well to cover that fact up.
Decker would have to be a retard not to realize that Imogen probably held onto her weapons, considering it had been Imogen that had stripped her off them before cuffing her - under his orders.
(james)
it's...... several long seconds before that mop lifts from his knees
quietly reaching for the joint(which somewhere Decker sparked)
hiiiiit.
hold.
pass.(decker)
Turning, he looks the woman head to toe. A crinkle of his forehead as he looks away, narrowing his eyes to peer at the crime scene down the street. Framed by the alley, he's terribly young for a moment: a month from nineteen, and a Fostern. Already making decisions. Already responsible for the actions of others, when he couldn't even quite control his own.Better get used to it.
"You turn 'em on me or mine again," again?--he knew, "and Imogen'll be scrapin' you off the wall a week after."
He takes the joint back, sucks off a hit, holds, passes, exhales. Marijuana diffuses into the night. Turning away, he tosses the words over his shoulder. "She's got 'em. Ride with her 'n she'll give 'em back."
(imogen)
She pulls herself out of the car from the parked black behemouth, an ugly state-issued vehicle, leaning her arms on the frame of the car, the door left open.Chances are she heard what was up, and was simply waiting, dark shadowed eyes on Decker and Salome.
(sal)
"Promises, promises..."She knew he was serious, but sometimes you just have to open your stupid mouth and say... something... anything... to stop from doing something less forgiveable. Her eyes had closed down, her tone beyond nuetral... bordering on dead.
When was a person considered lost? When did you figure it was time to.... just give up?
Walking past the Fenrir, past the crouching Bonegnawer, she flicks her eyes - dead eyes, predator eyes - to Imogen.
"I'll follow you..."
She wasn't leaving her truck in this godforsaken place.
(james)
the Fostern.... month from nineteen
the Cliath..... hovering somewhere just on the other side of twentymaybe there's a reason for that
maybe it once again reared its ugly head
but it's shoved away in the organic taste smoking down his throat
silent save the inhale
the exhale
and the whisper of tattered fabric to fashion a quick roach clip from a discarded business card
and passes backSal ignored
pointedly(imogen)
A sharp nod acknowledges Salome as she speaks, remaining where she stands, while Salome walks toward the truck, only getting into the behemouth when the Fang reaches it.,(sal)
She reenters the black sleek shape that was her truck - she had some money stashed somewhere, that was for sure. The engine came to life and it rolled down the road towards Imogen's state car.(decker)
Imogen: eyes shadowed, cool and remoted. Locked down tight. Hair half-undone.
Salome: tall and predatory. Dead-eyed. Cold.A breath out when they vanish into their respective vehicles, and then he pushes away from the wall with a slight tenting of his fingers. "Fuckin' crazy bitch." A sniff, a rub of his nose, a jut of his jaw at James: the ubiquitous gesture. "You ridin' with me?"
(imogen)
As the truck rolls toward her, the state car roars to life and pulls away from the curb. Some eighteen hours after she left it, she heads toward 'home'.(james)
it's the actual words that bring his head all the way up
warm brown searching gunmetal graynodding with a stand
or
standing with a nodeither way
ready to roll
still silent
when you're put in your place, you tend to stay there for a little while(sal)
And... hell, who knew how long (she wasn't entirely sure, since she'd been unconcious some of the time) it had been since she first arrived at Imogen's house and left, she was returning there too...This time, for what they had neglected to return.
(decker)
So the two Garou pile into their truck, uglier than Imogen's, a lot less smooth-running that Salome's. After slamming the doors shut, Decker knocks it into gear and lurches away from the curb. Though the ultimate destination is more or less the same, he takes a different path, has a crappier car, runs into more red lights, and thus arrives later."So," breaking the silence of the road halfway through the drive, "hell'd she say to send you off?"
Hell didn't she say?
(james)
it's a car ride he spends most of looking out the window
not only because the fact he's in the car is still somewhat novel
it takes him a moment or two to weed through the dregs of red haze to find the answer Decker's seeking
quiet.... introspective.... familiar warmth considering returning to the tones"When a Gnawer is itchy cause all the rats are bailing ship, the last thing you do is accuse him of stealing."
especially after he makes a point to apologize to you
but he leaves that part out, it didnt matter anyway(imogen)
She pulls into the rather posh condo establishment and steps out of the state car. Without inviting the Fang/Fenrir in, she takes the stairs two at a time, unlocking the door.A few minutes pass and she returns, offering the knife and guns, complete with holsters to the Silver Fang kinfolk, silently.
(decker)
Another red light. Grinding to a stop after just missing the yellow, Decker curses under his breath, looks sideways at the Gnawer. "What'd you find under the sidewalk?"He doesn't pry about what Salome said any more than he has to. He wasn't a counselor, and James wasn't on the shrink's couch. It was over, and that was that. Taking the remnants of the joint over, he sucks off another hit and passes it back to James to polish off. The windows of the truck are rolled up; smoke recycles. They were going to be high as kites by the time they got home.
Even that only takes the slightest edge off their rage.
(james)
one Cochran braces against the dashboard
not out of disrespect, or that his bootprint would even show, he's just learned quickly
sliding to a grinding stop with the truck in that "I WILL relax" sort of slouch against the seat
moving on, now"Nothing."
the explanation pauses to polish off the roach
what's left doused in the ashtray to save for the gods, later
finally turning to look at the Modi through the slight hotbox haze in the cab"You know anything about rats, Decker?"
this.... he knows will take a little more than just nothing to make sense to the Fenrir
(imogen)
"You're welcome," courtesy returned where it's handed, she pauses for a moment to watch the silver fang kin depart. It's at that very second, as Salome starts to leave that it finally starts to rain.A drop, two, three. And then so fast you can no longer count, a deluge of cats and dogs that can soak you in seconds. And soaked she is, with a muttered eloquent course, turning and walking back toward the porch overhang of her condo; moving rather sedately. After all, there's no point in running, it won't get her any drier.
(decker)
Light goes green. Rain starts coming down, sparse drops falling from the sky to splat against the windshield. The wipers broke a long time ago, so Decker just leans forward to rub some fog off."What should I know, James?" - straight to the point, that.
(james)
he can't help the bit of a smile
he rather liked the to the pointness
when it wasn't particularly directed at him
but anyway"Rats are one of the ultimate survivors..... "
a bit of a pause, watching the rain channel down the dirty windsheild
how apropos a segue"....take for example when a ship begins sinking. They're the first to jump off and swim to shore. And one thing I didn't notice back there.... were rats. There were rats there yesterday. I couldn't find any of Mother's children when I went back tonight."
(decker)
A freeway. Eight lanes of concrete laid like a vein across the darkness. Red and white, disparities between the cars obliterated by rain, identities wiped away by darkness. Nothing but red on one side, white on the other, a hundred strangers united, if only for now, in speed and distance.Get on in Florida. Get off in Canada. Somewhere, someone's running from the cops after he killed his wife in a fit of jealousy. Get on at DC. Get off at New York. Somewhere, a mother visits her own mother. Get on at Jersey City. Get off in North Jersey. Two Garou speaking of rats and survival and wyrm and war.
Lives dovetailing, if only for a few moments. Lit by the dim glow of the dashboard and the flash of red from the car ahead, Decker wipes his windshield again as he peers through the rain. "Fuck," under his breath. "Oughta get Livin'ston or Nova to take a look. Talk to the spirits some, see what they have to say. Gabriel know 'bout this?"
(imogen)
Underneath the somewhat leaking overhang of her porch, she tilts her head upward to a stream of water. For all the fact she'd moved immediately out of the middle of the drive way, she rather enjoys the rain. She simply has the sense to do it without standing in the middle the lawn. Her neighbours alreadly have enough opinions of her, thank you very much.
(james)
there's a part of him tempted to draw glyphs in the steam of the window
just like they did when they were kids
seeking shelter from the rain in abandoned stores
the windows fogging up in New York's chilllong time ago
(fifteen years really that long?)his head shakes the thoughts away in a dance of dreads
"There's something just..... wrong..... bad mojo, something growing, something spiritually..... shifting... but I don't know what it is. We can bring Livingston back tomorrow, see if the place is still empty."
okay, dead is the word he'd perfer to use, considering such an absence, but he doesn't
"And not yet, I'll take him the information when I have something concrete."
he was already brought down here on a whim and suspicion
seems things never really change
wonder how things are back home
....backpedaling
Decker, James, Luc, Rune, Livingston, Erik
that would make one extra"Nova?"
(decker)
Nodding absently, half-lost in thought and half-lost in trying to see the road - which left little room for counting packmates - he replies, "Nova. In my last pack. Bone Gnawer Theurge."As the rain begins to come down with a vengeance, sheeting against the window and reducing the world to a blur of red and white, Decker curses and drops his speed by 20 mph and rolls down his window. Rain and wind and night lashes in. Heedless, the Modi sticks his head out to see, eyes narrowed against rain cold and sharp as needles, rain catching in incongruously long lashes.
"Crashin' in my room at Rune's," he raises his voice to be heard over the windnoise, "if you wanna meet her."
(james)
he just nods
relaxing does not include yelling over the wind and rain
so he settles in for the ride
eyes half closing
(he wouldn't relax that much with Decker driving)
just listening to the rain try to beat its way through the rusting roofnot really showing it would be an overjoying experience to find some Family in these parts
(imo)
By the time both have pulled into the parking lot (whenever that is) she's changed, and returned outside to smoke, a cigarette held between fingers as she sits on a lounge chair, watching the rain pour down in sheets, pounding against her roof overhang, spilling over the edges to drop onto her railing.(decker)
There isn't much dialogue for the rest of the drive. With Decker's nerves, with that moon, with that rain, James would have to be stupid or insane to distract the Modi. And James was obviously neither.When they peel off the highway with its thousand anonymous cars, the driver's side of the cab is soaked through. More mildew in the seats, more rust on the metal. No matter. Dashing rain out of his eyes and rolling his window back up, Decker slows to a sane 30mph as he navigates the last few roads into the condo lot.
Park the car, pull the brake, kill the engine. If James breathes a sigh of relief, Decker casts him a dark scowl. Shoving his door open, the Modi gets out, splashing into a puddle already two inches deep. When it rains, it pours: billowing curtains lashing through the air, driving into the earth. The paths were small rivers. Decker glances up at the balconies, consults with himself, and then tosses his keys to James across the hood of the old truck.
"Big brass one's the house key. Don't lose none of 'em."
(james)
if he's relieved, he doesn't show it
he doesn't need any more of that temper directed at him
course, after last night's little drive.... well....note. he has said. nothing.
a broadshouldered shove opening the passenger's door and beginning the slow to the bone soak of the Gnawer, keys caught without even really looking
the smile wry (or just stoned)
him. loose keys.
but they're pocketed
and we'll not mention he could get into any house without the proper keys
it's the gesture that counts
and he appreciates it
simply following til the appropriate turn takes him to the other condonow.... to drip on Rune's carpet and live through it.
(imogen)
She's turned off the motion detecter light, the brightness of the false orange glow irritating her after about three seconds. Sometimes, apparently, she likes the dark.The gloomy rainfilled night is broken by the orange ember of the cigarette, burning sullenly from her porch, casting orange red shadows across her face as she raises the cancer stick to her lips. Inhale, and the ember burns brighter, casting odd shadows across her face and hair, oddly near black as it hangs more than a little damp, more than a little out of control, in frustrating waves. Exhale, and the cherry softens, leaving her in near pitch all over again.
Posted by james at October 20, 2002 12:00 AM
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