November 03, 2002.11.03.02. - confessions [rune][north jersey, rune's condo]
(rune)
Slung across the black leather couch in the living room of her condo, Rune plays a half-hearted game of Counterstrike (dying. frequently.) nursing her hangover. Still sluggish from the sheer amount of tranquilizers she took last night, she reacts slowly to the game, cursing early and often.Wet black hair spills across the rolled leather arms of the couch as she shifts and fidgets, already waking up. The Garou's constitution is strong enough that such a dose will linger as little more than a headache and a brief, fleeting sluggishness. Tipping her beer back, she considers - absently - how very much she wants to kill something, wants to strike something, wants something against which she can strike.
For now, the pixels will have to do.
(james)
it's a slow progression back up from the depths of the shadowy hell he was cast into
lost somewhere among the twisting writhing blackened turns of past mixed with present
Daddy make him stop!
muscle twitching to physically dislodge him from where he sleeps, to stop the dream
shudders rippling down the Ahroun's spine
She's better off where she is, James. I can't fix the pain
a soft cry, and he finally rips from the nether regions of the dreams fetid wombchest heaving
eyes wild as they dart around
dreads heavy with sweat
room bopping and weaving like a ship
disoriented
confusedreally. really. confused.
the surrounding room finally eeks into his consciousness
the decorations
the smells
brow lifting at the slick black sheets on the waterbed beneath him
the gentle whispering slide as they pool around his waist in struggling to sit up.... the..... hell.......
(rune)
The hell indeed.Music pours through the soundsystem downstairs. He's too far away to make out the words or melody; only the low pound of bass erupts in regular rhythm against his consciousness, tidal in its slow rhythmic pull. The door to the bathroom is half-open, but the door to the hall is closed. Vapors of steam still seethe into Rune's bedroom, the subtle scent of soap riding fresh above the other scents that linger here: the salt of sweat, sandlewood, the subtle suggestions of sex and beneath it the ashen underscent of cigarettes that clings to her clothes from the night before, tossed casually into the laundry basket in a corner of the room.
Belowstairs, the game of Counterstrike continues. Rune dies, and dies, and dies again. Her fingers will not work as quickly as she demands, and after five minutes of utter frustration, she slings the controller across the lacquered coffee table and rises in a supple arc, another half-voiced curse on her lips, just below the cusp of breath.
(james)
the Gnawer just..... lets this all sink in
he doesn't remember much of last night
what the hell were you on, boy?
and..... he's not exactly sure he wants tohe can feel the bass vibrating against his skin
translated by the water contained within the bed
nails scratch against his scalp
head.... achesit's a rather nice room, to be honest, he just... has no idea what he's doing here
there was the ride with Imogen
dinner with Decker
meeting up with Rune
the kid.....but they took the kid back to the hospital
and then he woke up.....herewhat if....
did they....
....noooanother few minutes stroll slowly by
and the Ahroun finally extracts his lanky form from the clinging silky sheets
still clothed, good sign
he knows his toothbrush is in the kitchen downstairs
half tripping over his boots on the way to the door
picking them up
and half shuffling half stumbling down the stairs
socks making almost no sound
dreads all sleep tusseledit'd almost be cute if he didn't have this feeling something was still terribly wrong
(rune)
Quiet down the soft carpeted stairs, silent through the front hall, across the wide living room with all its damnable toys and gadgets: the souped up playstation, the plasma TV mounted on the wall like a Van Gogh, the tangle of computer equipment shadowed what should be the dining room. Strange, that. Rune never seemed to use it for anything more than ordering pizza online or buying custom made cosmetics.He passes through the living room to round into the kitchen, Rune is framed by the breakfast bar. Her forehead rests against the freezer, and one hand is settled casually on the open door of the fridge as she studies the contents with all the minute care of a teenaged boy. Some people never grow up. Wet black hair spills around her face, the inky strands gleam in the dim light spilling from the open fridge, just teasing the collar of her white t-shirt. She grabs a bottle of Saranac and slams the fridge door at last, spinning to lean/slouch against the cool surface of the appliance.
Dark brows lift in concert as she takes him in, and dark eyes settle on his. She's already painted - already made-up - even if her hair is not yet dry, and her red red mouth quirks into the shadow of a familiar smirk. "Feeling better, sleeping beauty?" She pauses, and twists the beer open. Release pressure hisses satisfyingly as she continues, "...you had me worried last night."
(james)
she's already all made up and perfect
he probably looks like a train wreck
at least he still smells clean
(.... like.... her....)
boots dropped just before entering the kitchen
offering a..... small.... smile
the proper drawer gliding smoothly open to reveal his toothbrush inside - he's stayed here enough times to at least leave that behind"I feel just..... peachy."
half chuckled
almost shy at the inquiry
train wreck indeed
he made a point to avoid any mirrors on the way down
smearing minty toothpaste onto the bristles"You tell me what happened last night after we took the kid to the hospital and I'll tell you if you should still be worried."
another partial grin around the toothbrush as he settles in to listen
it's damn obvious - he doesn't remember a thing(rune)
"Wanna beer?" she asks, sliding away from the fridge to slouch long and lean against the stove. Simple clothes, today: black leather pants, t-shirt sporting some unfamiliar logo, black curving script on white clinging cotton. Mmmm. Beer and toothpaste, quite the offer.After a moment, she crosses the kitchen and lifts herself easily onto the breakfast bar. Her curving spine settles against one of the supports as she falls into her customary slinking slouch, body defining a long concave interrupted only by the expected evidence of feminimity. The males are more powerful - muscled and strong - but she is more graceful, loosejointed and lean as a snake.
"As for last night - " she continues when settled, punctuating the statement with an elegant little shrug. " - I have no idea what happened. We dropped the kid off at the hospital - you were taking forever - and then as you were coming outta the double doors, the brat rocketed past you. She got cornered by an orderly in the parking lot and kicked up but hard in the fuckin' balls, then crawled under my car.
"We grabbed her, and started heading north. I know these Fury kin upstate who run a sort of underground shelter for abuse victims and was gonna drop her off with them. Except, when I pulled off the highway to make the call, she escaped. You - I mean - you didn't even react. I hit some freakish Get who seemed to know you, and you didn't even notice. You just... sat there. Searched the damn rest area, but there was no sign of the kid. I brought you back here and put you to bed. You were like... a marionette, some kinda waking coma. You'd stand when I told you to, walk where I led you, but you wouldn't say a fuckin' word."
(james)
there's a glint in his eyes
ooo.... mint and hops..... breakfast of cham.peens...
something of a smile around the brushing
cuteas she slinkslides her way onto the bartop
he turns away, leaning over to finish brushing and spit into the sink
while she's got the curvaceous tension of a lean snake
Decker the sheer brute force of a young bull
Erik the quiet power of a bear
Luc the coiled energy of an elk in rut
the Gnawer..... he's different
there's a power there, but it's supple, discreet
almost feline
hidden until greatly disturbed
the steady movement of the toothbrush gives way the corded tendons on his forarms
swell of bicep flexing beneath t-shirt sleeve
shoulders rolling steel as he leans to rinseand her last part catches him mid-rinse
there has been a correction on the answers to tonight's test
he remembers everything
she can see it in the ridges of muscle that slowly tighten beneath the thin t-shirt
all the way up curved spinehe's silent to straighten, save the whisper of dreads across his shoulders
dishtowel grabbed to wipe his mouth, soaked in the running water to wash his face
he still hasn't turned around yet
looking at the counter tiles rather than back over his shoulder at her
there's nothing save the steady drumbeat of his heart"She...... knew about my little girl."
he'll take that beer now
(rune)
Thump. ...but softly, behind him as Rune slides off the counter and slips to the floor, following by the faint slap of bare skin against the scrubbed linoleum, the soft sigh as the fridge sucks open, slams shut.She's behind him then, is Rune. Just behind him, positioned stage left. The cold amber bottle sings as it slides across the edge of the sink until she curves his fingers around the cold brown glass.
Her left hand settles on his right shoulder, rides the corded roll of muscle beneath warm flesh and cool cotton like a piece of flotsam on the apex of a wave.
"She wasn't... natural." It's the only conclusion Rune can draw, though there's cold comfort it in the rape of memories, the plundering of the mind. There's a beat - Rune, speechless. Notify the papers. - before she resumes, her voice low and clotted with supressed... what? Even Rune couldn't say. "I'm sorry, James."
(james)
movements
once more
automaticthe dishtowel is still warm from the water
but his hand as she wraps it cold
the other? gripping the edge of the sink for knuckles to turn white
if it wasn't for that, he may not still be standingit's been a long time since I've thought about this
those eyes
such warm umber, deep and rich, filled with Gaia's earthen energy itself
..... haunted, dull
hurting so very deeply
so very openly, infront of her
as if by the touch on his shoulder alone she could feel how he still bleeds"So am I."
murmured
he wants to turn, drop his head to her shoulder, let loose the body-wrenching sobs that may, possibly, cleanse him enough for a chance at redemption for what he did, for all that he's done in the name of Gaia, so that one day he may completely forgive himself for his actions - even if he knew all along they were right
guilt is the worst enemy of all
but the Gnawer stands there
something causing such a strong frame to tremble beneath the fabric, beneath her touch
his hand lifting to the counter to slide rough palm across fine knuckles
thanks(rune)
The CD ends, and the last few drops of water suspended from the fixture hesitate, stretch and fall - plink plink plink - in sudden rapid succession. This is the only sound that breaks the silence now falling over them, the silence punctuated by the slow drag of reluctant breath and the snap/crackle/pop hiss of air bubbling up through their beers, escaping its fermented prison.
There is nothing to be done, and there is nothing to be said. Sharing pain does not lessen it, airing painful (gut.wrenching.) truths does not bleed them of their power.
Her hand flexes - squeezes - his shoulder, and then Rune does what James should, and does not: her head bows, her forehead briefly pressed against her hand, curled around his shoulder.
Words? Words. She should say something. She should say anything, but she has no wisdom to offer, she has no silver tongue, no silver bullet, no magick pill to burn the pain from his eyes or devour the deadflesh from the wound in his soul, and so she straightens, lifts her head from his hand, lifts her hand from his shoulder.
Don't mention it.
There's nothing to say. There's nothing more to say.
(james)
there are many levels of silence
some are uncomfortable - the silence of avoidance
some are heavy - the silence of truth
some are empty - the silence of loss
some are..... what this is
the silence of catharsiswhen her forhead touches the back of his knuckles, fingers spread, lacing, locking
wondering if her regrets are the same
is there something a raggedy Gnawer and a sleek Walker can share so deeply it could never be justified with spoken word
clutched, hidden, and burning somewhere beneath Eagle's brand on their chests
something that marks them far more permanentlyhe doesn't linger when she pulls away
bubbles against glass hiss when the bottle is lifted to his lips
on an empty stomach
the Ahroun chugs half the beer(rune)
It's enough. It will have to be enough, for the present steamrolls over the past and continues chugging toward the future. At the least, they can ensure that they have no more regrets."Decker made it back last night," Rune begins, clearing her stuck throat and drifting away - across the kitchen, beer in hand - to fumble for a pack of cigarettes. "but left again. His truck's gone, anyway. Someone should warn Imogen about the leeches. I dunno about stakes and garlic - couldn't hurt - but they don't like fire. There's a can of hairspray - she smokes, she'll have a lighter - I was gonna take it over, but I've got some errands to run before the stores close."
Shampoo. Laundry detergent. Those sorts of things.
After crossing the kitchen to grab her keys, Rune turns back and eyes James critically, half-grunts (too much time around the Fenrir), and offers this: "You oughta eat something," (she's six years older than the rest of them. She's allowed to be mature sometimes.) "order a pizza. Some credit cards in the drawer there, just lemme know which one you use."
And then she's gone, out into the chilly November night. Shampoo, conditioner. Xanax. There were some things she needed from the store.
(james)
there are a lot of reasons he doesn't say anything
point out what shouldn't be
ruin the moment
tempt her temper
or maybe that he's to choked up himselfmostly
he just nodsrummaging through the drawer to find a card he likes the look of
hip leaning against the counter during the order
already finishing off the beer
too bad they won't deliver that, make do with what's in the fridge, Jamey-boy
empty bottle slung into the trashcan before the Cochran's are pulled on, unlaced
trudging upstairs to find the hairsprayhe's got 30 minutes or less or the pizzas are free
one mostly for him, one for the fridge for later
both extra-large with everythingmoving out the door, around to the next, knuckles lifting to rap on Imogen's
half expecting it to fall in again
at least that brings a little grin[cont'd]
Posted by james at November 03, 2002 12:00 AM
CommentsPost a comment