drums-on-skulls: .11.08.02. - pockets [lazarus-rune-pack]

November 08, 2002

.11.08.02. - pockets [lazarus-rune-pack]

[atlantic city boardwalk]

(lazarus)
::It one of the warmest nights in weeks. And it seems EVERYONE is taking advantage of it, even the local music scene.::

::Its the longest she's been in an area, and Proph hadn't said it was time to move on; so they hadn't. All day her fingers have churned over guitar strings, it wasn't really a task for her anymore--she was used to the hard feel of asphalt under her, the growing numbness of calloused fingers. Strange what you get used--and what you don't. still its been a LONG and profitable day, and a rather smug look creeds over her as she counts her earnings.::

(james)
he had needed a chance of scenery
while upstate Jersey had been profitable
he just wanted something.... new

so we find the tall Gnawer strolling down the Boardwalk
tattered tails swaying around Cochran clad ankles
hands tucked into deep pockets
rebar drumsticks clinking with each step
patchwork tophat making his height stand out further above the slow surge of crowd along the 'walk

he caught the bus this morning
rode it all the way down here
worked the sidewalks for a good majority of the day
and now he's wandering back towards the station to catch the last ride

but he's still got time

maybe he's just using this time to think
because he sure has a lot to think about, doesn't he

(laz)
Clack-boom.
Clack.
Clack.

::Drumsticks (rebar or not.) Have adistinctive noise and slidinding the wad of singles away quickly, her head twists up to the source of that--Ooo. Top hat and all, huh?You're not grandiose baby, you're a grade-A-Ass. (Gotta LOVE waning galliards.)Oh, but it serves it purpose--it catches attention, primarliy from the waifish street urchin who shuffles her guitar strap against the oversized fleece and approaches.::

"Ooo, an Eagle scout!"

::Her words are likely not the first thing that alerts him to her presence, it the laughter. The ripple of Gaia-blessed notes that cascade through air, fading into memory along with all other too-peaceful moment. Amber colored eyes round with genuine amusement, from under the delicate spectacles that slide slowly (but steadly) down nose aquiline nose bridge.::

(james)
there's a point there
he did hear the blessed-by-Gaia notes realizing it laughter
he did hear the laughter before the exclamatory observation
a brow lifts over deep umber eye

how...delightful

"Good night?"

isn't that normally a dismissal rather than a greeting?
but it isn't said snidely
or even tensely
just a street performer asking anouther about her day

(laz)
"Good evening."

::She does the mousekateer salute, clicking her heels together in one fluid motion that would be comical--if it didn't have that derisive edge. The edge of her lips quirk up in the crooked smile as she crosses (in front of) him leaning against the rail.::

(james)
ever get that itchy feeling you're about to stumble into a game of rhetoric?
but weight shifts for hip to join her lean against the rail
half-grin tilting its way in response

"Admittedly, you're one of the last people I expected to see here."

but with the luck he's been having for the past few days
is he really surprised?

(laz)
"Same here, I had to cipher a few pockets--you?"

::She watches him closely, it might be disigned as casual but NOTHING ever feels casual around a lord. (Even a charming one.) Does he chase after the direction of hers eyes, perhaps it might yeild the last threads of a plot before--fuckin' Lords::

(james)
"Emptied a few, felt like a change of scenery."

all Silver eventually tarnishes
all Lords eventually remember what they are
no matter how casual it is, and how casual he seems, he knows better

(laz)
"Nah. pockets are SUPER ripe here."

::She smiles and pats a chest pocket somewhere inside that voluminous fleece she wears. interesting, how the fleece (though old) is of marked expense, while the rest of her clothes seems hauled out of the salvation army bins. The glasses are reached for and slid into that self-same pocket as eyes narrow on him.::

"I'm not pissing you off, yet?"

(james)
he may have noticed the odd contrast of the fleece to the rest of her clothes
but it doesn't seem to impress him
he grew up on the streets, fashion is creativity and necessity
a bit of a chuckle growing as he finally focuses his attention on her

"No... were you trying to?"

obviously, she would have to try harder
there's a whole new standard to pissiness that was created in the last few days

(laz)
::Lips twist as she appears to think that one over.(Was she trying to?)The thick weight of ink stained lashes fall briefly, can you almost hear the (Whirrr..) machinery of her mind::

"Not exactly, but its rather becoming a pastime."

(james)
the easy smile spreads

"What... me getting pissed off or the fact that nobody likes you?"

(laz)
::Unlike him, she was quite easy to piss off. In that half fractal of a moment she went from easy to comraderie--to outright hostility. Though you can almost feel (her face is always calm.) the scaling back of anger even as it erupts the rusty gate of her will sliding over the beast that seethed beneath::

"Nobody ever likes me,"

::A smirk with the easiest of shrugs::

"S'not my job for you to like me--getting you pissed? Thats plain fun."

(james)
he can feel it
he can dig it
he can even, in a way, appreciate it
he probably likes it, too
driving that little thorn into her side
wiggling it around

even if it was just for a moment
and his smile never once changes

"Well damn, Lazarus, sorry to rain on your personal parade today.... I just don't think you have what it takes to piss me off anymore."

(laz)
::A brow raises. The look is (positively sinful.) nigh acidic but always (always..) served with a smile. The low thunk as the guitar smacks against the rail and reaching back she hoists herself upon it.::

"Cocky lil' house slave ainchya? The tole you to shave the dreads off or are they still pattin' you on the head, boy?"

(james)
there's that easy smile again
well, there it still is
he's rather enjoying the seabreeze as it kicks up tattered tails
ruffles through the dreads
much easier to deal with than pine-sol
there's a serenity in him

"'Least I'm allowed in the house."

burnt umber gaze shifting
sliding over her, as if called by that resonant thump
they say what he doesn't
Unlike some...

(laz)
"Baby I used to own the hose."

::Odd though the way she says it. It bothers her, it still bothers her--fuck. And Rolling her eyes she flashes him another smile::

"Whatever, you're priorities are yuor priorities, right? You wanna suck ass, and maybe get some work done between cult meetings..."

::Lean limbs, muscular legs and that break in the material where the flesh of her knee is visible. She definatly didn't live in the HOUSE anymore--and likely she never did. All of this is an istant as she slides back toward the aspalt::

"..better let you get back to your shufflin then, Massa."

(james)
"Who needs to own the house when you can reap the benefits for free?"

that's something he never understood about the Lords
they always had to own everything
they always had to control everything... and one
they always had to make the biggest deal of all that
they were always so uptight

why couldn't they just enjoy it all for not even half the work?
apparently, some old dogs definitely. do not. learn new tricks
a glance down at her, calling the slave Massa
it's amusing
twisting to lean against the railing to offer his back to he water

"Don't you worry about pretty little head about me, Lazarus, I've gotten quite a bit of work done between our little cult meetings. So I'm still a productive slave-boy. You can weave into your songs how the little pack of Urrah hasn't let your high and mighty expecations down like the good subjects they are, hm?"

(laz)
"Ain't no fuckin pack of Urrah. Don't kid yourself--Just a buncha country bumpkins that done caught themselves a pet."

::Her nose wrinkles briefly and she chuckles. her fingers crawling about the edges of her straps to readjust it thoughtfully.::

"Drop the shit James, you ain't no fuckin orator. Use your head and not your mouth--what makes a body? Birth? Demo-fuckin-graphics?"

(james)
a moment's obvervation

"You sound bitter and jealous, Lazarus. Any particular reason why?"

she still hasn't gotten to him
has she

(laz)
"Do I? Then you haven't understood at all what I'm saying. I'm not like you, I'm not like your pack--who are also likely NOT like you.."

A thoughtful pause.

"But thats a seperate issue. Start from this--everything you know about your cult buddies, everything you been taught? It doesn't apply--stop trying to make it, you'll only confuse yourself and make mistakes."

(james)
there's a blink
dreads dragging across his shoulders

"Lazarus.... what are you talking about?"

she's right
he has no clue
she jumped tracks without telling him

(laz)
And that brings laughter, unabated riotous laughter. She finally settles down and then manages to start up again, her hands moving to assauage the stitch growing in her abdomen.

"Nothin, baby. Ainchyo' Mama callin?"

(james)
"You know something? You are just as addled as that Silver I met the other day."

that oughta sit well
at first she was just annoying
now he's convinced she's nuts
should get along with Dire real well, the fateful day their paths may cross
or they'll kill each other, which would be a bonus

(laz)
"Really, then you still don't get it. Calling people crazy is nice safety mechanism ain't it? Saves on overworking that poor braincell."

::All smiles, now.::

(rune)
...aaaand up the steps, down the Boardwalk she comes, waltzing out of a ritzy little dayspa, nails and toes freshly buffed, shaped, repaired, painted and dried the color of drying heartsblood, just a shade or two darker than her painted mouth. Inky hair swings down around her pale face, ruffles back away from it when she turns to glance toward the sea, spilling across her features when she looks straight ahead and the seawind catches her sidelong.

High-heeled shoes, open-toed, clatter along the warped boards, forever faintly wet from the memory of seaspray at high tide. The shoes lift the already tall woman a few inches higher, and the many strange shadows scattered by the streetlights and shopwindows spill around her, a dozen distorted perspectives.

"Well, well, well," the flash of a grinning smirk, "the prodigal is still around. I hope y'all are makin' nice."

(james)
"I never said crazy, I said addled. There's a difference, but if you want to put yourself into the crazy category far be it from me to stop someone like you."

least he has a braincell
hers seem to be taking a vacation

but that grin slides warmer at the clatter of heels
he left a note
but he's a little surprised to see her, too
not at all complaining, though

"Of course we are, Rune."

(laz)
"Sup. Ain't seen you in a millenia--thought you booked backed to saner parts."

::Head turns and she pulls the wooly cap lower over her head, only the faitest scraps of black ink tresses slide free, but think and oil--like ebon veins that curl about the rounded features of her face.::

(rune)
"Good," the flashing smile, too, shades warmer and she offers half-a-wink. Her arms cross lightly as she leans one hip against the railing and turns sidelong to catch both within the range of her vision. "And, I've been around - little busy. Went and got myself packed up with Decker and James here, couple of others. Running up in North Jersey, just came down here to get my damn nails done."

Her chin drops in a lowering nod. "...but I didn't mean to interrupt y'all."

(laz)
"No way. Girl, you're an Eagle Scout--"

::She smack her forehead. Duh. No wonder. And shaking her head a bit she chuckles::

"That's why the country boys-been hanging around my digs?"

::More laughter, but softer now::

(james)
"Nah..."

the smile still warm as it sits on his packmate
turn of his head doesn't allow anyone to see that look other than Rune
but with a flashed grin he looks back down to Laz

"Lazarus was just explaining the finer points of her opinion to me."

but it's his turn to shut up for now
let them talk

(rune)
"I'm an Eagle Scout," she confirms, with a faint lift of her shoulders - what can you do? - and a low roll of laughter. Her mouth tightens with suppressed something in response to (yes) that look from James, but the long slow smirk crawls across her lips anyway, irrepressible. "...and we're gonna be hanging around you digs for a while. Sort of claimed it, since you can't hold all that yourself. That doesn't mean we don't want good relations with our neighbors, though, no matter how un-charming the Germans might be about such things."

There's another pause, dark brows lifting in simultaneous query. "I don't think I've ever had that conversation with chica..." she trails off, room for opening, room for response.

(laz)
::Chemistry.(Did Decker just rub-off on people, geez?)It isn't that she doesn't notice it, its that she DOES notice it and it makes her faintly uncomfortable. Not that it manages to surface in anything but a twisting glance for an exit--::

"Which conversation?"

::She feigns ignorance briefly as she glances around again--it wouldn't be anything if it were just James. But she actually had a small bit of respect for Rune--behind the cars and polish the girl seemed almost.. familiar::

(rune)
"The one about your views, chica," her voice falling, lowered, pitched to fall intimate on their ears, and little further. "why you're up here all by your lonesome. Why you left, whether you'll ever go back."

Dark dark eyes slide from James to Lazarus, the still depths belying the light note that threads through her words. "If we're going to be tip-toeing around each other, it'd be a good thing to know."

(james)
he just..... he can't help the slow smile
chewing on the inside of his lower lip to mostly.... mostly.... hide it
whether its from the little lightning bolts in the darkness
the subtle power seething in tones

he's not about to say
only expectantly looking to Lazarus

(laz)
::Isn't it nice to be cornered::

"Is this friendly conversation, or the Gaian-interrogation-gestappo?"

(rune)
"It's the former, Lazarus," Rune murmurs, gaze shading back and away, away (briefly) over James to the lights spilling from the few shops still open on the Boardwalk, and then up and across the bastardized casino-cluttered skyline of Atlantic City. "...and maybe a little of the second."

There's a pause, quiet falls, and the laughter and noise of the amusement piers (uncharacteristically busy tonight, after the uncharacteristcally lovely day) drifts over them, robbed of distinction by the distance.

"I almost left. I supposed I did leave, for a time. I returned." Her voice is low and even, and the confession (if such it is) calm but distant, without the overtones of surety and judgment that might bleed through in another's voice. In any other's voice. "We're going to be running in the same territory, too. I'd like to know whether you're going to be an asset or an enemy, or merely an acquaintance. I don't think that's too much to ask. And I'm willing to listen to your concerns."

(laz)
::She listens to to her concerns, through the filter of former justifacation. (I used to be like you--I remember the mentality too well.) And her head twists to a small coffeeshop at the corner of the block::

::She doen't look behind her to see that they are following, if they are not--all the better. The faded jeans, the shirt screaming its expense, worn and tired though it is. From her breast pocket she pulls on her spectacles, tiny piece of wire and glass slid over her features as she crosses the street, its striking the way she walks in this one isolated moment. It is as if layer flutter behind her, and left only (ex-) royalty. Strange days. She leans in the doorway talking to a man at the door of the small shop. As they approach the scent of brewing coffee assails them. He nods and she moves on towards the back of the place a rather largish table beside two bookcases. There she slips the guitar from her shoulders and settles in a seat.::

(james)
a... coffeeshop?
his brows lift a little
looking to Rune
not quite... that... look
but it's lurking somewhere close to the surface
if she goes, he'll follow

(rune)
Dark strands of hair swing across pale cheeks as Rune flickers a glance to James in response - we might as well - and offers a small shrug. Catching the light of assent lurking in the umber, she quirks half-a-smile and pushes off the railing, falling into a walk that is little more than hip-centered sway.

Even in those heels, she does not mince. Long, swinging strides carry her across the Boardwalk in Lazarus' wake. She pauses long enough to catch the door to the coffee shop as it swings closed and slips inside, bumping it wider with a glancing blow from her hip to keep it from swinging shut on her packmate. The pair then weave through the tables until they come to Lazarus' own (throne). Rune lowers herself across from Lazarus, all easy lounge, and lifts a dark brow in the other woman's direction.

"Well?"

(laz)
::In a few moments a waitress swings by with a Mocachino for Laz. The -creature- wrinkles her nose with a genuine smile and grabs the sugar jar shoveling it into the steaming drink while the waitress inquires of Rune and James. She just another fresh faced girl, and her notebad is pulled from the stained white apon with the intensity of one adept at their work. And ace of her field--though it may only be food services::

"I'm not Ronin, I'm Steppenwulf--are you (somehow the moon singer pluralizes though her eyes meets Rune's face, solely.) familiar with that term?"

(james)
the long lopey strides are followed by the ground covering walk
heels clack, Cochrans thump
a hand snaps out to grab the door before it swings closed

tophat slid off, tucked into his lap, trench sprawling on the vinyl seat
his head shakes at the waitress, something muttered about water
he wouldn't know what to order in a place like this anyway
simply... listening

(rune)
"Espresso, double." Rune murmurs, offering the waitress her credit card with a flashing glance at Lazarus. "It's on me." When the waitress trots off with their orders, Rune turns her attention back to Lazarus.

Now then.

Dark hair spills and slides across the curve espressed by high cheekbones as Rune shakes her head in negation. "Never heard of it. I'm not familiar with most of the other tribes, anyway. I've only run with other urrah before. What's it mean?"

(laz)
Safehouses.

Its a street survival tactic. Frequent certain spots, develop connections, routine stuff James probably knew. The place is lit (not brightly) but well. From the other end of the coffeehouse some girl is wailing about boys, over medicore guitar playing. Its really nothing to write home about--we all occupy our little niches.

"Actually the term orginates with the Germanic tribes, the Get.."

Her head dips as she takes a sip of her sugar (with a little mocachini mized in for flavor.) Her spectacles behinning to fog she that she pulls them off and starts to polish them on the cuff of her fleece.

"..they used it for garou who wandered the earth after thier pack was slain in combat. Refusing to socialize or to rejoin thier natural society."

She has never called herself a galliard. Her words (hushed now..) take on double their usual effect. In the smoky coffeeshop, with the medocre singer--her words pain picture, show bloody carnage--paint life.

"Literally it means 'Lone Wolf'. The Get used to walk the earth waiting to avenge thier deaths, waiting to die, I guess. Though, in this case I'm not avenging anyone in particular--or perhaps I'm avenging myself."

(james)
there was a slight smirk
he knew the term
he recognized the place
but he wasn't going to interrupt the question directed elsewhere

he'd be there
if it weren't for the ....Eagle Scouts
in a way
but that thought is interrupted with the waitress returning at an opportune pause with their drinks, then carrying on her merry way, half listening to Lazarus, half listening to the musician

(rune)
"Not Ronin, then," Rune's voice - harsh and jarring to her own ears after Lazarus' more dulcet tones - comes quiet, after a short, absorbing pause. She falls silent again as the waitress brings Rune's double espresso, James' tall glass of ice water and the receipt for Rune's signature. "we're more alike than you know.

"So," Hands spread over the tiny cup of steaming black brew, absorbing the rising heat before curling lightly around the delicate little glass. One dark brow quirks upward in query as she continues, "...avenging yourself on whom?"

(laz)
Spectacles now slide back onto her face and her eyes fix to James taking in his reaction to this. It was all something he could not, maybe ever relate to. And then fixes onto the table--how hard was it for to explain herself. To let slip all the little secrets--that being such prerserved her life for years.

Was it time that she pay for those same secrets--is the price of her life that high?

As Rune speaks she is jarred out of her reverie, a brow raises briefly as her head twists to the side, "Who am I fighting?"

She wants to laugh--it simply not funny.

"Who am I not fighting? You wantto hear me say the unmaker-wyrm and if I did it would be true--But my fight is against anyone who does NOT allow me my freedom--"

Another look at James.

"...and those who simply don't understand."

(james)
a brow lifts beneath the raggedy frame of dreads
you think so, Lord?
lips curing into an easy smile
long idle sip taken from the cool hard glass of water
chuckling softly

"Perhaps I would understand what you were saying if you spoke in plain English rather than riddles aimed to get under my skin."

(rune)
Dark eyes shift sidelong to James, watching him as he speaks before flicking back to Lazarus.

"Freedom's a great big word," Rune drawls in her easy SoCal drawl. It comes and goes these days, goes and comes, settling over her voice like a drift of lazy sunshine. "...but it doesn't seem to mean much, all by its lonesome. Freedom from whom? Freedom to do what? Without definition, it's just a long slow slide into nothingness."

(laz)
"Maybe. And maybe you're braincell is too occupied with remembering to breathe."

She sits back arms folding briefly. As a general rule she HATED to be questioned, but now she had little choice--did she? Her eyes slide from James to Rune nose wrinkling briefly.

"If its nothingness within, then I'll accept that. Its the spoonfed politics, the overarching generalizations, and based-in-bullshit ideologies I can't abide by."

(james)
"Maybe.... but now now, Lazarus, it's not nice to be that insulting infront of Rune-rhya."

tongue clucking in soft tsk
squirm, Lord, squirm

"And I haven't said anything degenerating to you all night."

(rune)
"Y'know, you don't look like a Lord anymore," the Glasswalker's eyes flicker over the threadbare clothes and the expensive fleece, noting the wear on the fine fabric but passingly before rising again to the woman's eyes. Rune's smirk - full and red, red and full - surfaces once more. "...but you still sound like one, sometimes. It doesn't suit this you, though maybe it would've suited whoever you were before."

She hasn't lifted her espresso yet. The tiny little cup is too delicate to suit her, and looks strange in her capable hands. In the end she merely stretches and lounges back, shaking her dark head easily, staring down across the surface of her coffee.

"That sounds like more spoonfed politics, more overarching generalizations, and more based-in-bullshit ideologies." The urrah are a practical lot. Rune's eyes rise now, from the steaming espresso, back to Lazarus' own. "...what do you mean when you say that?"

(laz)
"Why?--No offence Rune but.."

She leans forward on the table finished her Drink in a single gulp before a single points at the table right in front of him.

"..thats exactly the bullshit I'm talking about. If I think your a braindead uncle tom, then I say it. You guys wanna beat my ass, you can fuckin try. But a fucking title it means absolutely shit."

Exhaltion.

"I'm not in the game. I don't want any part of the game, title, rank, pack politicking--I've opted out."

(james)
a broad shoulder shrugs
dark, easy gaze leveling on the once Lord

"If you don't want to be in the game, Lazarus, why are you still on the board?"

a brow lifting
easy enough suggestion to stay down here
where she said herself the pockets are deep
he doesn't want even a once Lord in his territory
and since Rune already made it obvious North Jersey was theirs since Laz couldn't handle it by herself.... well....

(laz)
Her eyes close.

[Obsidian...think I forgot about you? (I know that voice, whats Sergei doing here?) You're the golden girl now, the whole sept is looking to you watching you but they don't see ( Shouldn't you be in the swamps earning your stripes, cliath?) Oh Rhya.. I would, but I couldn't -not- wish you good luck--wasn't my face the biggest stepping stone of your success...]

"Because I'm a weapon and It'd be a waste not to."

When things seem most obvious, they are most clearly not.

(rune)
"So you're philosophically opposed to concepts of hierarchy?" Dark brows rising sketch a smooth arch upon moon-pale skin. "...or you're just too damn good to take orders from anyone else? You say you're a weapon. Tell me this, Lazarus. What are you fighting for besides your own freedom to insult strangers about whom you know little or nothing?"

The question isn't as aggressively spoken as it is phrased; the easy rhythm of the words robs them of any sense of accusation or grievance until it almost sounds like Rune actually wants to know.

(james)
"Game pieces are useless if they're broken or never moved....."

smiled
gaze flickers to his packmate
yea.... what she said
he resist to answer, simply
She's a Lord
as if that answered everything
and to him? it probably did

(laz)
"Shall I justify to you? When your pack formed did you squabble over who would be alpha? Beta? Is someone even now waiting for you to fuck up so they can take your place, Rune?"

She tips the cup and stares at the small bit of liquid that slides at the bottom slowly twisting the cup.

"..Its survival of the fittest. Only the most clever, the most strong will survive--and our people will be THAT much better for it. The strongest man in the world couldn't defeat an army of weaklings."

She smiles at James.

"Who said it never moved?"

(rune)
"We didn't squabble over Alpha or Beta, Lazarus, and if someone wants to take my place, they're welcome to it 'long as they're worthy." The eloquent shrug speaks volumes. Responsibility does not sit well upon her shoulders. "We could sit here trading rhetoric about the ways of our people, and it probably wouldn't make much sense. We come from different worlds, and we operate differently. There's no way to translate my experience to yours, or yours to mine, but pack is - " brief pause, swallow. Dark eyes shading darker in the uncertain, artificial light. " - should be about more than that.

"But you still didn't answer my question. What do you do? For whom or what do you fight?"

Are you falling to the other side? Do you still (think) you fight for ours? Should we hunt you and kill you, or live and let live? Calm as the words are, the subtext is nonetheless quite clear.

(james)
sometimes
packs do not need to speak in words
those that come from the Lords lips only twist wry smile across his features
those that come from the silence of impression spark a strange light deep in umber eyes
and so he simply watches
waiting

(laz)
"I am not tainted. What ...few rules apply to the nation are still followed. You know: combat the Wyrm--not mating with garou.. that sort of thing."

Her eyes roll. When the begin the conversation had she mistaken feeling that swept between the pair? Her tone is mildly amused and she already standing the guitar taken in hand lifted onto her shoulders.

"Thanks for the Joe--I'll be heading back to my digs now."

(rune)
"Wait - " the slim white hand falls on Lazarus' forearm, staying briefly. With the other, Rune scrawls a number on a napkin and offers it to the other woman. "I'll speak to my Alpha, and as long as you follow those laws, I think we can manage live and let live. In the meantime, some things require packs. If you run across something you can't handle..."

The scrawl - black on thin white pulp - held up. "...give me a call."

(james)
his jaw
grits
silent

(laz)
Does Rune see it?
Does James see it?

The way Laz reads the number, chiseled into some memory in the back of razored mind. The edge of her lips quirking into a half smile before she turns and moves out of the cafe. No words--in this case she's said MORE than her piece.

(rune)
There's a faint shrug, weaving through her shoulders - up, down - and her short leather coat creaks as well-worn leather will, with the movement. The napkin crumples in her hand. Rune tosses it into Lazarus' empty mug, then presses it down with a spoon until the liquid dregs bleed any meaning from the ink scrawled across the thin white paper.

Her head falls back, and dark strands of hair sweep across the highest slat of Rune's straight-backed chair. She doesn't turn to watch Lazarus leave, though when the bell rings and the door closes, she sinks another half-inch into her chair and releases some tension in the tap-tap-tapping of her shoe on the tiled floor. Hands drift slowly across leatherclad thighs, pushing out and away, and her slouched torso drifts ever-so-slightly upward with the gesture.

Well? The open-ended question is accompanied by a brief glance to James. Then, a beat later. "Wanna get out of here?"

(james)
he doesn't turn to watch Lazarus leave
even if that is the best sight of her
leaving
dark eyes crawling from the table
up the swell from arm's stretching movement
tracing length of white throat and jaw
already catching the glance as its tossed to him

Well?

he's not sure what she asks of
though the answer to her question is only the sound of the chair's legs scooting back across the floor
waiting for her to rise before leading to the door

(rune)
He's not sure what she asks; and that makes two of them. That doesn't stop the strange surety of a bemused grin from slip-sliding across her red mouth as she plants her hands on the table in front of her and rises smooth and serpentine from her easy lounging posture.

Well.

She pauses just long enough to sign the credit card receipt, grab the carbon copy and slip it into her right pocket. The sprawled name isn't hers, but that's always the case and the signature flowed naturally across the slip. Heels clatter faintly on the wooden floor, though the rhythm is interrupted when she crosses the throw rugs tossed haphazardly upon the floor.

She pauses at the door, flashes James another glance and then heads on through. Outside, night has fallen fully and the warmth of the unseasonable day is dissipating to familiar November chill.

(james)
smooth, serpentine.... was she the cobra or the mongoose?
coiled muscle slithering beneath languid scales backed with deadly poison
sinuous pelted warmth eyes shining black and nebulous, lithely dancing til striking the final crushing bite
a smile wanders beneath the jungle vine hair
bell jingling as they exit

once more
loping clattering of heels
devouring stretch of Cochrans
the sleek Walker
the raggedy Gnawer
one passing the day to relax
one passing the day by working for every penny tossed into his hat now tucked into the sling of the sticks

"How was the spa?"

he noticed refurbished nails
he noticed glowing skin
he noticed the scents as they permeated the sea's salty air

(decker)
The sullen silence goes on and on. They're twenty miles northbound on the highway when Decker finally straightens up a little, looks behind them and - at last - at her.

"Go to Atlantic City."

The hell was she, a chauffeur? Nevertheless, south they went. Forty miles south, he adds another word - "Thanks." - and then after that, the occasional direction, becoming clearer as they come closing.

Pigeon to a roost, stallion to the stable, homing missile to the target, Decker finds his pack amidst the nameless glitter and glitz of Atlantic City. Lights of casinos and tourist traps glint off the silver finish of the SUV, and off the windows rolled up against the night. Tourists and college kids and the occasional professional gambler wander in and out of the casinos, stop to buy a souvenir, a pack of cigarettes, a Hustler.

The SUV rolls to a stop and the door opens. His feet hit the boardwalk and start toward Rune and James, giving them the usual nod up as he approaches.

(rune)
"Lovely," Her eyes find his, and the offered smile is warmer than it should be, though the glance slips so quickly to the refurbished nails (hands spread wide to admire) that it's hard to tell whether the warmth is for him or her manicurist. "I got my hair done, too. No more roots."

Not that he'd seen any, assiduous as she is about keeping the silky dye job up. Two-tone isn't exactly the look she's going for. Dark eyes rise from her hands, one of which folds into her pocket and rummages about for her usual paraphanalia: cigarettes, lighter. "How were the tips?"

Rune's fishing a cigarette from her pack when she catches a glimpse of Decker in the near distance, lighting up as he draws in range. The first ashen breath of the smoke dispells the light scent of the coffee house, but the other scents, worked into her skin during the long half-day of pampering remain.

"Decker," the greeting is accompanied by a smooth arched brow. She doesn't even need to look at him; packmate, she can feel the tension still coiled tight within, the spring begging to be sprung. Offhanded, she holds out the pack of cigarettes. It's something at least; the setting is too public for a joint.

(decker)
Decker takes Rune's hand instead of the cigarette, raising the pack and extracting the offered cigarette with his teeth. The usual half-frown is an all-out scowl at present, and he tips his head up at Rune. "Got a light?"

Eye contact while she lights his cigarette: storm grey to darkness, nearly black. Then a puff of smoke out, and the conversational tone of his words, "Seen Erik?"

(james)
the smile pulls further, breif, almost not there
then muscular shoulders shrug beneath the tattered trench

"Boardwalk's good on a Friday before a long weekend.... made nearly sixty."

a hand reaches up, running through dreads
rubbing over the back of his neck
the hours were long today
and he's tired, soar
from far more than just the drumming

chin lifting in a half-nod
he'd be a fool not to feel that Rage
he'd be a fool to provoke it
and unsure where they stand, from the other night
the Gnawer shakes his head, slightly
he's been down here since morning

(rune)
The lighter falls from opening fingers into her left pocket, following the trail blazed by the pack of cigarettes earlier. Red lips curve, half-smile, half-familiar smirk, in response to James' statement, but she doesn't continue the thread of that conversation for now and her eyes remain on Decker.

"No, sorry." In the space of a short pause, her brows lilt upward in query. "Why?"

(decker)
He takes a moment before he replies. He takes a drag and he takes a breath, turning his head this time to avoid breathing smoke (fire) all over Rune.

"'Cause that Athro wants to talk to 'im. 'Cause we ain't goin' to the Pine Barrens no more."

(james)
it's about now that they've really got the Gnawer's attention
last he heard, Gabe wanted at least him to come back
this is new
a brow lifting

"Why not?"

half of him doesn't want to find out
knowing Dire

(rune)
"Why not?" the echoed query is rhetorical, and only that. Once Rune got packed up, she the single prod that sent her (occasionally) careening through the boonies in her Beemer, wandering the piney swamps in her heels.

The smoke curling from her lips mirrors and twines with the smoke spilling from Decker's own, even though she, too, looks away, out over the dark rolling sea.

(decker)
A million scathing responses crowd his head and die on his tongue. In the end, Decker shrugs his shoulders. An energy hangs over him: bladed as an axe, coiled as a viper. "Ain't welcome no more." Pause, ash cigarette. "'N ThunderOak ain't welcome on our turf neither if I got shit to say 'bout it."

(rune)
There's a lilting glance toward James before she looks seaward again, and the slow crawl of an amused smirk across her red lips, hidden further by the sweep of a pale hand across her mouth.

"I figure it was because we weren't welcome anymore. There a reason for it, or does he have something against my fashion sense?" Calm, the words. The tone veers closer to self-mocking than the merely mocking.

(james)
there's just....
.... a nod

he doesn't have much else of a response
he's not exactly sure where the axe is aimed
so that makes him uncomfortable
just a little tickle down at the base of his spine
it's natural

he knows it could be taken out on him without recourse
just because he's lower in rank

but let's not think about that James
had enough Get taking shit out on you
glance caught, held, then his gaze drops away once more

so he busies himself by leaning aganist the rail
taking some of the cash from his pocket to count
did good today, Jamey-boy
he was going to eat on the busride home
stomach all but growling

(imogen)
She had not approached with Decker, having turned instead, a hand snapping down to her pocket, confining the vibration in her jacket pocket. Turning her back on the Garou, her head turning as her eyes scan for a pay phone. She refuses to carry a cell.

After a few moments, she walks down the board walk, several metres away. A free standing phone booth near one of the hotels, finding two quarters and dropping them into the slots.

Whatever conversation that was had, it was long enough. It's only now that she crosses back toward the gathering, hands sliding into her pockets.

(decker)
Self-mockery and mockery is an important distinction to make right now. Decker turns away, takes a few slow steps toward the rail, pauses to study the sea. Black. Calm. Sweeping in and out of the vast coastal plain, an endless breathing presence that had held and hid his former totem: shark, cold-eyed and cold-blooded and cold-hearted, striking with mercy, killing without regret.

Decker takes a last drag off his cigarette and flicks it out to the ocean. Turns back. There's boredom in his face, and fury in his eyes.

"Some fuckin' weaklings went snivelin' to Gabriel. Wanted apologies for shit I ain't done wrong."

(luc)
LUC:

"Who?"

And then there were six. A finger reaches up to scartch at the side of his nose as she walks into the small discussion.A passing glance to Imogen before he settles his hands deep in his sleeves.

(rune)
"You'd think he'd want the whole story before demanding apologies outta you," she responds quietly. When her own cigarette is smoked down to the filter, she stubs it out beneath her foot on the Boardwalk, then bends to retrieve the butt and toss it into a nearby trash container. "Ain't much of a leader or otherwise. Good riddance. We don't need the Barrens, anyway, got our own turf. You need outta the city sometime, it's an easy drive into Pennslyvania or New York. No worries there."

(james)
with the arrival of Luc
he counts out 20
puts it into one pocket
the remainder shoved away for safe keeping

dark eyes taking a walk to one of the "to go" joints lining the strip
but then back to his pack

(decker)
"Don't matter," he responds to Luc. Then, irritated, "Ain't askin' fer no one to hold my hand, Rune." Touchy, touchy. Head down, the Modi paces a few slow steps, looks up. "Just passin' the word."

(imogen)
She doesn't join the group, so much as pause at the railing some distance away, leaning her elbows on the railing, and pulling the pager from her pocket again. Peering at the LED, as she deletes however many numbers she has on file.

It's not how many pages she's received today, it's how many pages she receives in a week. Like many things, she lets it slide until such time as she actually gets frustrated enough to clear them up again.

Like now.

Her other hand lightly searches pockets for a moment, presumably for cigarettes, before falling again to hang loosely at her side.

(luc)
Tall. (Raise high the roof beam carpenters!) The young skald sort of slouched down an inch or two to that he was about the same height as everyone else. A hand with draws from his pocket to scratch the back of his neck...

"I say we go challenge the fucker. It'd be an epic story, man."

Gotta LOVE claiths.

(rune)
"Wasn't holding your hand," she responds with a lifting shrug. "Was just echoing the sentiment."

Rune's eyes drift to Luc, and a smirk of greeting spills across her lips accompanied by a dark-eyed warning - Don't Start. - which he would probably ignore, but which she felt obliged to give, anyway.

"Got a voice mail from my uncle," she continues after a small pause, gaze flickering over the sullen Modi before sliding back out to the ocean. Rune's best idea of the night: change the subject. "Remember that place last summer? Seems they're back in business, somewhere in the northeast, probably Jersey. Can't get any details until I get some new equipment, since my cell phone's not secure enough for my uncle's tastes."

(james)
now
the snap brings his eyes to Decker
don't matter
he's heard that before
obviously it does matter
but he's not pushing it
now is more definitely not the time

"Hungry?"

said to anyone, really
he's just uncomfortable standing here
(odd)
quirking a bit of a grin at Luc's suggestion
at least it's one Skald he currently likes

(decker)
"Yeah?" Considering, a half-squint, a frown, punctuated by a scathing glance Luc's way. Then Rune again: "Fuckers don't ever learn. Lemme know."

A glance over at Imogen, forever on the outside of the Garou pow-wows. Eyebrow up, bouncing the question over to her. You hungry?

(luc)
Scathing.

Luc's good natured enough to shrug it off--of course staring at Rune's uhm.. yeah. (What was he gonna do again?) Right! A hand rubs over his stomach as he tears his eyes from Rune to James...

"Micky Dee's?"

(rune)
"Yeah, I will."

and

"Yeah. I am." The brief, short words are punctuated by glances to Decker and to James. It's something to say, and something to do, something to distract her from the crushing aura of rage that circles the Modi, that pushes out from the Modi, that excites her own temper, still raw from the last few days.

"But not Mickey Dee's." She continues, stepping back and willing herself out of the range of Decker's seething anger, rolling her eyes at Luc's ...attention as she resists the urge to swat him. "It's the Boardwalk, there's gotta be better fastfood than that."

(imogen)
Forever outside of the pow-wows, she has turned to lean up against the railing. James asks the question, and dark eyes, half hooded by pale lids, flicker toward him. Decker's glance, too, and the red haired kinfolk nods slightly (even though she says nothing, though she doesn't even acknowledge half of what goes on, Luc can feel the promise of blood that runs through her veins), in response to both the silent question, and James, though he'd have to look at her to notice.

A hand reaches up, absently pushing back vibrant red strands from her face, while the other hand half pushes herself off the railing.

(james)
he pulls from the railing
that said and done
shoulder slamming into Luc's
oops.
he noticed that look
just a hello, right?
there's that grin again

already starting down the way to find.... something they'll all agree on
small smile for Imogen
yea, he was including her too
always would

(luc)
"Its NOT a goood time for the great taste?"

He's tring not to look at Imogen, he's trying REAL hard but she's JUST. STANDING. RIGHT. THERE. And so as her hands moves he catches it just in time to turn his head and stare straight at the swell in her (Oh man, decker's gonna flip.) Yup, back to the tride and true vision of Rune's rear...

Ow! He blinks at James, too tough to actually rub his shoulder, but now a shade more pissy. Freakin clumsy gnawers BUMPING into him--should challenge HIS butt right there.

(imogen)
Decker's gonna flip.

But she's the one steps away from him, and stares quietly down at the 16 year old. Luc must be used to a few things.

One of them is that kinfolk like her should not be able to meet his eyes like that. Stare. Dark eyes are blue as the depths of the ocean, and just as cold. Her walls are her only weapon, and the coldness that comes along with it. Her will.

A moment passes, and she turns, hands sliding into her pockets, beginning to walk after James, in the hopes of finding something that everyone can agree on.

Not likely.

(rune)
When James bumps into Luc, she flashes the Gnawer an amused, thankful glance, quickly dropping her gaze to the ground before her and shaking her head to dispel amusement. Rune's arms cross over her chest, though by the time the odd and somewhat defensive gesture is completed and Luc's view is obscured, he's moved on to other things.

Thank god.

Falling easily in step with her pack ( how does Luc always end up behind her? and when will she finally buy a longer coat for these specific moments? ), Rune drops her arms so that they swing at her side. They're a strange group, to be certain, prowling or stalking (or gawking) or just strolling eeeasy down the Boardwalk, though at least the uncomfortable aura of Decker's rage is useful in clearing their way.

"McDonald's is only good taste if you're in preschool, Luc. You wanna real fastfood burger, you gotta go to Wendy's. Better yet, some greasy spoon diner where the waitresses wear tight blue uniforms and are all named Flo."

(decker)
Decker keeps quiet, trailing along somewhere at the back of the group. Anything that was food was good for him. Let Rune and her discerning appetite decide.

James' shoulder crashes into Luc. Decker's almost amused for an instant, a twitch tugging at the edge of his mouth. Poor Luc, forever frustrated. Then Luc's staring at Imogen's, er, assets.

He's not amused anymore.

Catching up a step or two, he falls into place alongside the Fianna. No need to send Luc a glare: seemed like Imogen was doing just fine in that department. Hands in the back pockets of his lowslung pants (jeans today, dark dark blue, baggy as usual), he keeps pace with his own slow, long stride. The sway of his shoulders could brush Imogen on one side, James on the other.

The loose knot of five move down the boardwalk - by far the largest and least social crowd at this late hour.

(luc)
"Flo.. huh?"

He's quiet. And walking takes the rear of the group like a good cliath (mutherfuckers..always leaving me behind!) and generall y has their back.

(james)
a strange glance back at the Skald
as if he could hear it
just try it
sparking in umber eyes

the diner it is
and it's no surprise the Gnawer leads the ragtag group towards foord
at least he's paying this time and not scrounging
but he could do that too, in a crunch

this is far better than the coffeehouse Laz took them too
at least here he understands the menu
five of which he grabs on the way in
simply heading towards a back booth

(rune)
"Yeah, Luc. Flo." Rune's amused voice floats back over his shoulder, as she holds the door to the diner open for the next person. She releases the door, and long, easy strides carry her in James' wake. She nods to a waitress, and even though the nametag sewn into her uniform above her heart doesn't say Flo, she doesn't think the kid will notice.

Not at all.

Sliding into the booth, she grabs one of the menus from James and settles in to browse.

(imogen)
No one appears to have much in the way of conversation. Decker walks close enough to brush against her, and unlike the humans that part like the Red Sea, Imogen does not seem to notice the burn of rage that roils through the Fenrir's body.

More likely, she simply controls her reaction.

James picks the restaurant, and she enters the diner.

Booth chosen, she simply sits down, sliding and taking one of the menus, dark eyes flickering down the lists and choices.

(decker)
Decker drops in beside James, across from Imogen. The two Ahroun take up that side of the bench, which leaves Rune, Imogen ....and Luc on the other.

Lucky boy.

Flipping over the menu, Decker scans over it briefly. "Know what's good?" muttered: the usual pre-food conversation.

(rune)
"Nope," Rune replies, if only to break the silence as she flips her own menu closed. "But I doubt you can go wrong with the blue plate special. I'm having a Philly cheesesteak and fries though. We're close enough to Philly that it oughtta be authentic."

(luc)
In Luc's World, its a happy day. He doesn't say anything really only picks up his menue and stares at it intently being sandwiched between Rune and Imogen...

Sweet dreams tonight, boy.

(james)
the thoughtful chew on the inside of his lower lip answers everything
no. clue.

though there's some amusement to Luc's predicament
one comment
he can get stabbed in the leg from both sides
dull as the knives probably are
Rune's strength
Imogen's innate blood
it should be entertaining in the least

he glances up at the waitress
waits for the others to order
it's all about rank, man, rank
skillet. lots of gravy. lots of sides.
large coke.
handing the menu back with a smile

(decker)
Decker takes Rune's advice and goes with the blue plate special. After the waitress is gone, the Modi slouches down in the booth, the back of his head tipped against the top of the seat, turned sideways to look out the window.

Real pleasant dinner. One brooding Modi, one jittery (you know what they say...) Skald, one laconic Ahroun and one cold kin. And James. He might be the exception to this.

"Slow service," mutters Decker, ten or so minutes after they've ordered. The diner's mostly empty and it was still taking forever.

(imogen)
She spends a bit of her perusal vaguely wondering when her last meal had been, and another bit of it berating herself because she'll probably be the first medical doctor in history to kill herself with malnutrition.

She waits her turn. If it's a case of rank, Imogen goes last. If it's a case of the waitress choosing, likely she's directly after Rune, because the women seem to always be served first. Hamburger, frees. Water. No ma'am, I'm from England. Thank you very much.

After a while, the irish/scottish/australian comments are almost usual. The menu is returned to the waitresses hands.

Ten minutes of silence, and her eyes flicker to Decker as he complains of the service, eyes flickering toward the open service window, where presumedly the kitchen is. And where there is no one to be seen.

(luc)
"Uhm Can I have Cheesburger deluxe."

He can't even LOOK at "Flo" right now. No way, but he cant look to his right or his left either! As the waitress goes to take the menu away he hold onto it--and after a brief tug of war (DIE!) keeps it, to stare at.

(rune)
Such close quarters, so lovely.

Rune's hand slides into the pocket of her jacket and slips back out with a cigarette tucked between index and middle finger, lighter cradled in the curve of her palm. It's only when she's looking around for the ashtray that she notices the sign. By Order of the Atlantic County Health Department: No Smoking.

...fuck. The cigarette is slipped back into the pocket, but she lighter remains in her hand, the hand closest to Luc. Who needs a dull butterknife when you've got fire?

"It's late. They all wanna go home," Rune shrugs her acceptance of this simple fact of life. Her fingers tap on the countertop, and the lighter spins in a slow circle. The silence weighs heavily: no wonder they usually watch TV when inhaling their food.

(james)
while Imogen sits in her silence
while Luc tries to disappear into this lush dream
while Rune agitatedly fiddles with her lighter
while Decker broods
James?
He settles in nicely
comfortably
it's been an.... intresting... day for him
he wants to relax now
enjoying the company as removed as it is

this is pack
this is family
this is who you should be breaking bread with
there's just something about sharing a meal

all changes when the food arrives
finally
instead of focused in every possible tangent to the circle
they all focus on one place
the table
food

it's all good

[cont'd]

Posted by james at November 08, 2002 12:00 AM

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