November 12, 2002.11.12.02. - one foot [decker-raven-rune][north jersey]
(decker)
Walking down the street: Decker and James. The latter is visibly out of it; the former is silent, sullen, on-edge. Hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweatshirt, cuffs of his dark blue denims scuffing the sidewalk, Decker moves with his head down, hood up, storm-grey eyes sweeping a path left to right under the ledge of his nordic brow. In his left thigh pocket, a brand-new stash of MJ. In the right hip pocket, a battered wallet on a clinking chain, quite a bit lighter.You give, you take.
(raven mendoza)
It was dark. It was drizzling ever so slightly. The concrete pavements were slick with run off. Puddles collected in pot-holes and cracks, putrid and rank with old, tainted water. Garbage littered the gutters and fluttered down the road like tumbleweeds from an old Wild West movie. The area was pretty nondescript. Sort of quiet for a weekday. The guess was that everyone in the niehgborhood had run on home to sit infront of the idiot box, stuffing their face with nuked, flavorless food.What a night...
(james)
out of it?
he looks like he's smoked about the same amount that's in his packmate's pocket
cept his eyes aren't hazed from blaze
it's something else
far deeperdreads swing with each step
dark eyes watching ahead, even if he doesn't really see it
tattered tails snap around Cochran'd ankles
hands find place to hide in trench pocketshe was told to get up, walk, go out
so he didthat's the amazing thing about giving
no matter how much you give, selflessly, generously, completely
you don't always want what it is that you end up taking
(raven)
Banking to the left of the curb, an alleyway mouth gaped open like an open invitation walkway into the abyss of human depravity. They'd already passed a motley mixture of hookers turning their tricks, johns perusing the streets for kicks, dealers pressing their wares, no hopers smacked out of their head and drooling on shop front steps, and bums huddling in layers of newspaper in an attempt to keep warm.To the left, however, there was commotion. Sounds the stirred any Rage filled breast. The muffled signature of flesh pounding flesh. The cries of a brawl in progress.
(decker)
Gotta go check on his truck sometime. Gotta go see if that piece of shit mechanic's fixed his piece of shit truck so he can get off this piece of shit sneaker express. Gotta--Sounds of a brawl. Decker's favorite pastime. His head comes up, and one hand paws the hood down to rest against his back. Funny, inner city thugs. Always walked slouched, hunched over as though not from infirmity but from the poisonous power coiled in their veins. Like that which makes them the beasts of the concrete jungle keeps them from walking like a man, on two feet, straight.
In his pocket, one hand clenches, knuckles popping softly. Without a word to his packmate - none was needed - Decker slants the angle of his path, crossing the street with a glance over his shoulder.
Let's see wassup.
(raven)
Deep in the darkness of the alleyway, penetrated by only thin shafts of illumination that casted ghastly outlines of the brawl, there were four people standing around a singular figure that was down on one knee, by the look of things. Four young teenage thugs based themselves in a square around the partially fallen figure.The alleyay, itself, ran long and narrow. A straight line onto another street behind. The buildings were tall, decaying, delapidated. No one was pouring money into this neighborhood for renovations and a face lift, that was for sure.
(james)
it isn't until the unconscious realization of Decker's direction that he notices the gut reaction that's been brewing for a few yards now
funny, the things one pays attention to
he's not even a half step behindthere's not much of a height difference between the two Ahroun
it's practically negligable - not even an inch
its the way they walk that makes all the difference
Decker - prowling, low slung, powerful, taught and tense and coiled
James - shoulders straight, head up, easy swinging feline gate that can cross a city without breaking a sweat
then you look in their eyesstormy gray skies
earth's umber warmth
both backed by the always burning inferno of Ragewhen they round the corner to the alley
seems the Gnawer clicks back a step towards reality
fingers curling around something in his right trench pocket(raven)
Like a morbid paraody of Death itself, a long figure was coming from the exact opposite direction of Decker and James: from the other end of the alleyway, to be percise. Closer than they were, but walking with a casual ease. A slow, steady stride that didn't break once. Their outline, encompassed mainly by shadows and the occasional flicker of light gleaming off a long cylindrical length of metal casually resting over one shoulder. A swagger. A step. The lone figure headed towards the ruckus in progress.(decker)
As the Modi closes in, the scene laid out comes into focus. Four thugs, one victim. Nothing unusual, that. Decker takes his own slow pace. Might interfere. Most likely won't. Looked like a gang thing and Decker wasn't dumb enough to get mixed up too deep in that shit. Don't piss off the black kids, don't piss off the latinos. Keep your head down nose clean, and you won't have all the other shit to worry about on top of this Apocalypse shit.And then. A change.
The grey eyes narrow and his chin rises, squinting in that lazy half-lidded way boys who grew up in swamp-haze have. You live in the desert, you get that crinkled squint. You live in the deep south, you get this one. There are as many forms of human squinting as there are of human death.
A notch faster.
(raven)
The fight ensued, a madness of minds broiled with anger, hate and fear. For a good part of the exchange of blows, however, the figure in the center was throwing some decent right hooks and even managed to take one of the thugs in the knee with a brick that was lying discarded, but close to hand. The knee attack was a last straw, it seems, and three of the teenage thugs laid in with steel capped boots that had their victim in a ball on the ground, trying vainly to cover their head from the shower of connecting blows.
And still, from the other end of the alley, the lone figure stalked.Then, strangely, the lone figure, metal baseball bat (or a length of steel pipe, it was hard to tell in this dim light) stopped several feet away from the brawling. Leaned, actually, on one of the industrial bins and just.... watched the brutality.
(james)
some people know better
some people would walk away
some people would know to not get involvednot when there's three against one
not when one's on the ground
not when the guy walking up has been theretongue curls against the upper pallete, rolling against his teeth
harsh whistle blasting over the sounds of boots on bone and skin
excuse me, boys?(raven)
Smash. The sound of glass shattering against concrete. A broken bottle - discarded indiscrimanately by the human refuse of this neighborhood and now picked up by a youth fighting for their life - waves wildly at body and limbs. Slicing into exposed flesh and tearing material like warm metal through butter. Shouts and vulgar swearing filled the air, swirling and grating on the ears. The cat still had one of it's nine lives left, yet.It was Jame's whistle that had distracted the onslaught of blows. Had given their victim, covered in gang colors, time to grab the bottle and shatter the end of it into an improptu weapon. It was James that had given the victim an upper hand.
It had distracted them till the blood had started flowing.
And the gun had been pulled from baggy jeans...
(raven)
A gun brought a new level to the whole situation. It took it to a new level of violence that most people don't want to go to. If you ever pull a gun, you'd better be sure that you are willing to use it. You'd better be sure that you are willing to shoot whatever you pointed it at, no matter for how long.The whistle of metal cutting through the air. The howl of pain. The crunch of bone splintering and flesh tearing. The sight of a heavy metal baseballbat collecting the thug that drew the gun upside the side of the head.
It was like the whole scene was shunted into slow motion. A frozen picture in time; a glass image falling... caught in a time capsule before it shatters on the ground. Adrenaline kicking in. The whole world turns around you and you wouldn't have a clue. It was one of those moments.
One was definately down for the count. The other three trapped between Decker charging like a rhino and the figure weilding the baseball bat that just crumpled their leader. It was like being cuaght between a rock and a hard place.
They chose to run. Away. Far. Quickly. Straight past the figure weilding the bat, who didn't move one inch to sto their flight. Who just stood there, bat tip resting on the cracked, slick concrete, hand resting lightly on the handle top.
Silence save for the multiple sounds of feet running in all directions. Away and towards.
(james)
oh
a gun
how terrifying
how manly of you, Mr. Gang Member
be still my beating heart
I'm so impressedwhatever happened to the days of bloody knuckles, switchblades and drag rages to settle turf wars?
why is it everyone has to pop a cap into somebody else's ass to prove things?
it's days like this he understands the Banpaying a lot of attention to it right now, arencha, Jamey-boy?
well, it's not a man
technically
as the Modi strips and sprints
he just withdraws his hand from his pocket
low lights glinting off loosely held brass
he will always have his packmate's backone stranger runs towards the guys
one stranger waltzes in, arms held to the side in a mocking invitation
one stranger cracks a skull open with an aluminum bathe can't help the smile that brings, however slight
or the slight chuckle as the little thugs scatter like cockroaches when the lights come onthat was exciting
(decker)
Rhino? Not quite. For all the strength of the Modi, he's still young. He's yet to develop the oak-uprooting physique of the elders of his tribe. The shoulders are broad, but the hips are slim; the legs long, and fast.They think they're running.
(Victim was a girl.)
Decker has another thought for them.Pounding down the alleyway, wolf exploding from the cage, Decker ...swoops, fingers snatching the abandoned brick from the ground without missing a stride. A heartbeat later, the brick whistles past the watching figure close enough to wash a breeze over her cheek and crashes into the back of the closest skull.
One more. Running off. Can't let him escape either. Decker leaps the brick-brained one (crumpled heap on the ground now...deal with him later. Yeah.) and takes off after the last.
One thought in his mind.
Kill 'em all.(raven)
The figure that was standing there, casually using the baseball bat like some twisted version of a walking cane, didn't even flinch as the brick tore past her head and into one of the fleeing thugs. One eyebrow arched slowly as Decker then continued the pursuit, breezing past on long legs, with death blazing in his eyes.Eyes rolls towards heaven as the woman taps the end of the baseball bat with one boot, causing it to swing upwards. With a helpful flick of the wrist, it lands back over one shoulder and she casually meanders towards the thug she had brained. She lent down, raven hair sliding forward and covering her face like a cascade of black water. She collected the Glock, jiggling it from the thugs numb fingers, and stuck it into her waist band before nudging the poor boy (head wounds tend to bleed profusely and he was doing just so all over the concrete) with a boot. A shrug of the shoulder. A casual dismissal of the youth as she headed for the girl that was a victim of the abuse. The girl, dressed to the nines in gang clothes, was unsteadily lurching onto her feet while attempting to stem the flow of blood from a broken nose.
(james)
one down
one to go
and he's caught even before reaching the end of the alleywayyeah
that's them
Urban Cham-peens
protectors of them recieving beatings
upholders of all that is righteous in the laws of the concrete jungle
smokers of the almighty weed
oh... and Gaia's Warriors somewhere along the way
something like thata brow lifts over dark eyes
looking down at the beaten girl
hands slipping back into his pockets
and not exactly within bottle swiping reach"Hang on there cowboy, stem the bleeding before you run off anywhere. Y'allright?"
there you go again
picking up that damned drawl
a glance flicks to the bat weidling stranger(decker)
Caught before reaching the end of the alleyway. Snatched up by a hand fisted in the back of his jacket. Hauled back by Eagle's strength, grabbed by the hair with both hands, smacked face-first into the wall. Fragile bones of the face crunch; sinuses burst; teeth shatter. Crunch.And again.
And again.
And again.Decker doesn't look like he's about to stop. He doesn't intend to stop until all that remained of the boy's face was mush and blood. There's a wild and fierce blaze in his eyes, and an odd little curve at the edges of his lips.
Pretend it's Daddy.
Gaia's Warriors. Something like that.(raven)
The 'bat wielding stranger' was dressed in casual black. It migh have been street black, if the neighborhood hadn't been as bad, and the punks had style. Black jeans. Black t-shirt. Black leather jacket. Black belt. Black boots. Black... holster? Uh... She swung the bat off her shoulder, resting the tip on the concrete again and appearing (looks can be decieving) to lean her weight against it.The female ganger spat blood from her mouth, awfully close to the woman's boot, and looked up at her - a face drenched in blood, a nose that was broken and sporting what was going to be one hell of a shiner in the morning.
"You took your fuckin' time. I coulda been killed, you fucking bitch!" The teenager growled, bubbles of blood foaming around her lips and dribbling sluggishly down her chin.
The woman, eyes like glaciers in color and emotional warmth, merely raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to one side.
"I know."
"I could have been killed, you whoring duche-bag!" the teenage spat after a few dull moments as the woman's words and their meaning finally sank in.
"I'm well aware of this." Cool and remote. Calm and collected. Raven hair and glacier eyes.
(james)
well then
the kid can speak
the kid can swear
the kid can spitthat should qualify as allright
shoulders shrug from beneath the trench
up walks the bat bearing stranger, obviously in control
out walks the Bone Gnawer, this is not his problem any longershould probably go stop Decker before he breaks the wall
(rune)
.clack.clack.clack. - end of the alleyway, heels against concrete slick with whatever mix of urine and blood and the viscous oozing ... whatever ... that inevitably leaks from garbage piled together, slow-rotting in black bags dumped haphazardly about, to simmer in the pale warmth of the autumn sun. The long shadow spilled deep into the narrow-walled den, amber light from the streetlight diffuse where her shadow did not fall, sallowing her skin and making her eyes little more than dark hollows.(Again. And again. And again. Decker doesn't look like he's going to stop.) Then: he does. Released, the kid - he's nothing more than that, neither are anything more than kids - slid slowly down the brick wall, pink froth bubbling slowly from the ruin of his... mouth, or nose. So pulped is the face that the distinction of features are lost.
(decker)
His hands come loose slowly, unwillingly. His palms are red and sticky. Strands of hair - dark, curly (when are you going to fix that lovely hair of yours so it looks nice, Joel? - maybe the kid had been his momma's darling once) - swim and slide on the congealing blood. As though dazed, the Modi wipes his hands off on his pants, darkening the already dark blue of the denim, and turns to face the Glass Walker.He knows what she did.
He knows damn well what she did, to raise that gnawing nagging worm of fear in him."Don't you never do that again."
(raven)
"WHY?" the youth screams, a blood-curdling rage filled anger streaming through the word as she swung at the woman with the broken bottle still clutched in one hand like a lifeline."I told you to stop selling that shit to kids, Ranch. You do it again and next time.... You will be dead."
She deflects the broken glass bottle thrust at her with an open palm smacking the girl's forearm to the side, before her fingers wrap around the arm and squeeze, while twisting it up behind her back. The bottle drops.
Smash... For the second time that night in this alley way, glass shattered against the concrete. She manuveres the girl, using her own body weight against her, onto her knees. Raven black hair. Glacier eyes. The woman in black with the baseball bat (oh! it rhymes!) stares down with uncompromising distaste for the girl.
"Go home, Ranch. Get off my streets."
She releases the girl, allowing the ganger to drop into a curled heap at her feet and then turns away.
Back to the crumpled teeanger with her head split open from her well placed smack with the bar. Crouching, fingers at the throat searching for a pulse.
(james)
he just keeps walking towards his packmates
smash.... footsteps....
not his problem anymore
whatever it was that brought him back to the surface is slowly leaking away again
a bit of a grin crawling over his lips
Oh.... Hi Rune
but it disappears(raven)
Two were alive, if somewhat out for the count for who knew how long a period of time. Decker's own poor discarded victim probably wouldn't be that lucky. The kid had a face that was nigh on unreconizable. At least to look at. Teeth were another matter, of course. What were left of them, that is.Silent as the stalker that stares in your window while you are fast asleep in bed. Darker than any shadow, dressed in black, and thus never quite blending in. Cold enough, so far, that if she dropped any more emotion along the way she'd give you freezer burn.
Straight up behind James and to Rune and Decker. Straight through them all to the crumpled heap that was all that Decker left of the once vibrant - whole - youth. She crouches down, grabs one of the kids ankles and then drags him back into the alleway.
A pause part way in. She drops the leg in her hand and crouches again, lifting the heavy cover of a man-hole leading into the sewers.
Always clean up the mess. Less questions that way.
(james)
hmm....
lady... grab... drag.... manhole cover moving.... sploosh
that would explain some of the smell of what he had been crawling through the other night
lovelyhe mostly misses Decker's stalk away
something else snags his attention
reaching out, hand warm as it closes around Rune's wrist
dark eyes fall to the bandage
then look up to search her gaze
questioning(raven)
She wasn't a large woman in any sense of the word. Horizontally or vertically. Yet, the man hole came away from its nestled crevice easily enough and was set aside. She nudged the body towards the hole, expertly (if you can judge that sort of thing) feeding the thugs body into the manhole.Sploosh was definately one way to describe the sound of the body hitting - whatever - down in the sewer tunnel.
"If you've finished with the group hug..."
She straightens up from her crouch, fingers neatly withdrawing a black handkerchief from inside her jacket to wipe her hands with.
(rune)
There's another shrug, lilting up and back down in relief: Decker's only response. She's not going to push him; she knows better than to push him. Her gaze skims the woman as she drags the kid back to the manhole, drops the body into the sewers, and she swallows the inward sigh.Rune's starting to back away, one foot edging backwards, shoulders twisting in brief telegraph of the directional change, when James grasps her wrist and snags her eyes.
It's nothing. ...dark eyes shying away, tooth snagging the inner curve of her lower lip. Nothing: she had hurt worse, and would again. Nothing at all, but for now, it burns and itches and aches. Tendons of her wrist flex James' hand as she stretches the palm. See? Nothing at all.
(decker)
Seemed like the lovedoves were too wrapped up in each other to hear the woman. Decker shoves his (red) hands into his pockets and starts walking down the alley away from his packmates, grey eyes snapping up to catch on the stranger's as he goes.Doesn't say a thing. If she had something to say, she could say it. Otherwise, he'd walk right past her and out the other end of the alley - and from there, off into the city. Miles, hours, all night, looking for trouble.
(james)
his thumb moves a slow trace against the edge of her hand
Then why hasn't it healed yet....
he knows how quickly she can heal
her mad dash through the Barrens caused more damage
and healed completely the next morning
there's worry in his eyesa thousand reasons
but only one he'll let showreleasing his packmate's wrist
the Gnawer turns towards the voice in the alley
group hug? what?(raven)
A baseball bat extended out sideway, directly acorss Decker's chest coming within a hairs breath of it but not actually touching. A metal barricade in his path."I ain't cleaning up all of this shit, kiddies."
Indeed, even if this was a bad neighborhood, there were cops driving around surveying most hours. The stop the pimps, the tricks, the dealers, the druggies, the bums, the gangers, the waste of humanity causing more trouble that was already around.
(decker)
Flicker. Soon as the baseball bat comes across his path, his hand comes up and closes viselike about the shaft, just above the neck and just below the wider head. He tears it from her grasp in a forehanded jerk of his arm; it comes back on a brutal backhanded swing that's sure to break her skull open.If she was human, that is.
Which she doesn't seem to be.The bat grinds to a stop. The edges of his mouth twitch as though he wanted to bare his teeth, animal-like. His fingers come loose and the bat clangs to the ground, a red handprint on cool steel. A harder rasp to his voice than usual, as though he'd forgotten how to speak in the interim, "Call Stanley fuckin' Steemer."
Decker jerks the hood up over his head and starts walking again.
(rune)
It'll heal. Her mind voice is harder-edged the second time, perhaps even mulish. When the Gnawer releases her hand, she allows it to find to her side, then buries in her jacket pocket, fingers curled into a stubborn half-fist, nails snagging on the loose weave of the gauze."Looks like it was her shit in the first fucking place." The words are muttered: Decker is capable of speaking for himself, and given the situation, she's not going to intervene further, yet. Dark eyes narrowing, shoulders square forward, alert as she sidles two steps and falls in beside James.
(james)
at that tone, he just doesn't push it
shoving everything down and deep
dark eyes glance around at what's left in the alley"Seems you've cleaned up all that needs to be. Obvious gang scuff. Cops'll understand."
common
just look at the neighborhood and the facts
one guy left bears wounds of her bat, common weapon of choice
one guy left bears wounds of the brick, another common weapon, grab that when they go
one guy..... do you know how hard it is to find fingerprints in fresh blood or crushed skull? It would be impossible to track prints from Decker's hand wrapped in hair, anyway
and he, himself, hasn't even touched anything
nor has Runeso... he moves in, grabs the offending brick, and tucks it into one voluminous pocket in the trench
"There. You didn't do it all by yourself."
that's about when he sees Decker's little move
well, there goes the no fingerprints idea(raven)
Glacier blue eyes narrow ever so slightly, watching (examining) Decker trudging from the alleyway with his hood pulled back up around his face. Hiding him from the world, it appears. Wolf in sheep's clothing.She didn't blink as the bat came crashing towards her head, stopping oh so close to her. She did move her head back and to the side slightly, however. You can't be entirely blase about a piece of metal swung at your head, after all. Especially not the bat you just brained someone with. Especially not when weilding by the maniac that pile-drived a kid's face into a wall till it was crumpled blood and bone ooze.
She crouches, retrieving the bat and then proceeds to drop it down into the sewer also. The harsh scraping of metal against concrete as she pushes it - with a foot - back into place.. Clang!
She heads down the alleyway, that slow stalk taking her in the same direction as Decker, a hand removing a packet of cigarettes from a jacket pocket.
(the dull outline of a black piece in an equally dark holster)
"A light?"
Spoken to the back of Decker's head as they both walk, a few meters between them.
(decker)
He doesn't seem to have heard at first. He keeps walking, slouched back into the ghetto swagger, hands in his pockets, shoulders swaying. At the mouth of the alley, though, the thug slows, stops, snorts from inside his hood and turns around.Light's at his back. In the shadow of the hood, the faint glint of his grey eyes is visible; that and an impression of the harsh strong planes of his face. Wolf in sheep's clothing or not, he has a way, an angle of holding his head that reduces all the world to inconsequentiality under his nose. After a moment, one hand comes out of the sweatshirt pocket, delves into the right thigh pocket of his pants, and comes out with a box of sulfur matches.
He doesn't look down to fish one out, slide the box closed and drop it back in his pocket with a rattle like dry bones. He's too damn riled up, too damn ornery to look anywhere but straight in the face of whomever (whatever) faces him down. A beat, and then the Modi comes back toward the woman in black. Careless, he puts out his hand, scritches the match to life along the rough wall of the alley, and holds it out to her.
(rune)
Well.Another minute passes, with Rune just staring after Decker and the stranger - the bat, the gun - torn between whether to stay (he did not want her there; he probably did not need her there) or follow (the dull outline of a black piece in equally black leather, the casual professional way she shoved the dying boy's body into the sewer, replaced the fucking manhole, sealed his fucking tomb).
Indecision is the worst sort of cancer. Her hackles are still up, somehow, but there's nothing to be done, there's nothing that needs to be done. There's nothing she can do.
"Where y'all going somewhere?" spoken at last, perhaps reluctantly, to the Gnawer. Dark eyes shift from Decker's retreating form to the side of James' face, cast in the garish, sullen shadow of the sodium vapor streetlights, then fall lower, to the weighted pocket tugging the right side of his trench lower and lower.
Maybe she meant something else, though it's hard to tell. The question is devoid of subtext.
(raven)
She extracts a single cigarette, running her fingers down it to straighten out the slight kinks in tobacoo and paper from being in a pack that had been abused somewhere along the line. She places it between her lips, leaning into the flame and touching the end of the cancer stick to it. It flares red as she drags the toxic fumes deep into her lungs.The small flame, the glow of the red cigarette tip... it illuminates her face in a cavorting dance of light, dark, hell red, oblivion black, and cool glacial blue eyes nestled among long, stark black lashes.
She straightens, plucking the cigarette from between her lips with two fingers. She then reaches up and smothers the tiny flame, burning down the match stick hungrily, with two fingers. She plucks it from his and tosses it negligently into a collecting mound of debris off to one side of the alleyway mouth.
"Thanks An exhalation slowly upards, followed by a single smoke ring.
(james)
for him?
it's the fact the woman slid the manhole cover back with one!! foot!! that clenched it
he's seen some pretty cold people
so the body dump doesn't seem out of the ordinary
the cool, professional demeanor doesn't seem out of the ordinary
asking for a light, in this group, definitely doesn't seem out of the ordinarybut he knows how much manhole covers weigh
normal, healthy grown men tend to strain at least a littleshoulders hitch through a shrug
adjusting the jacket to compensate for the brick
he doesn't look back at his..... packmate
he looks down"Not particularly."
he was just along for the ride anyways
growled at to get out of the condo for some forsaken reason
he's not completely looking down though
keeping a partial eye on Decker and the lady
that's about all that's stopping him from slinking merrily away(decker)
Decker and the lady.Funny how that happens. Woman dresses stylish, woman smokes a cigarette like she should have it at the end of an chanel-black holder, woman pinches a flame out and plucks the match away and tosses it aside with that sort of understated flair and suddenly - she's a lady.
The Modi watches her, and then he watches the smoke ring. Another quiet snort. He wipes his hands off again on the side of his pants. "Whatever."
She dumps a boy down a sewer to drown. She slides the manhole back and asks for a light. And Decker? Could care less right now how iffy that all looked.
(raven)
She stares at Decker for a long thirty seconds that just seems to draw out even longer than it would normally seem in a situation like this. The cool tension near on vibrated in the air, hanging like a pall over the alley. It was going to attract attention soon enough. It always did.Her head cants to the side, long raven hair sliding across one of her shoulders and spilling like black spider-web silk.
"Coffee?"
The only way that one could actually tell it was a question and not just a random word was the faint arch of one eyebrow, questioning.
(rune)
She just... stands there, another moment, and lets the awkward silence descend another bloody inch, left arm swinging inanely at her side. The movement stops, abruptly, and she tucks her hand deliberately into her left pocket, shoving her hands forward to bring the smooth lines of the coat forward, almost closed.Which, of course, doesn't satisfy her either. Motion begins again, on the other side this time, bandaged palm curving around the long rectangular box of cigarettes, extracting one and bringing it to her mouth with a long slow breath that could be a sigh, or could just be a frustrated exhalation. Two awkward attempts with the lighter in her right hand, one more with her less favored left hand, and the cigarette is finally lit. Smoke spills from her mouth, drifts upward to wreathe their heads in the ashen scent.
"You gonna be okay?" It comes out of nowhere, and just... sits there, frustatingly flat in the rotten air. It wasn't what she meant to say.
(decker)
The fuck?Thug bashes boy's face into mush. Lady dumps boy into sewer. Thug almost bashes lady's head in. Lady asks thug for a match. Thug lights her cigarette. Lady asks thug out for coffee.
Are we missing a step?
Decker tilts his jaw up a notch, brow half-furrowed. Gunmetal eyes glance off black hair, pale blue eyes. Flick away like a spark from a flame. An incredulous snort that might've been a laugh once, long long ago. "You fuckin' kiddin' me?"
(james)
Decker wasn't at the morgue last night sending something [little girl] to final death
so it would explain why the Gnawer is a little more suspicious of the situation than the Modi
Eagle's voice enters his packmate's mind like a proverbial smack upside the back of his head
Think you might want to have a talk with Imogen about the new marks on her arm and how they might relate to your new friend there, Decker.
he's not suuuuuure about what she iscall him paranoid
so far nothing is saying she's not
then his attention shifts back to the side
watching the smoke curl near invisable barrier between them"Think so..."
quiet. real quiet.
translation: I have no idea.(decker)
Decker's grey eyes flicker over the woman's shoulder in James' direction. Neutral, cool: Marks on her arm?(that. is. not. okay.)
(raven)
Cool silence. Chilled winter air. Cold personalities. In one stop. Hell, you could make a tray of ice cubes in a minute flat among this crowd. She watches Decker for another thirty seconds or so before slowly turning to glance over her shoulder at James and Rune with icy blue eyes through a shroud of raven silk hair.Exhalation of tainted smoke. A fall of ash as a finger taps the cigarette once. Who died? seemed like an appropriate question a stranger passing by could ask this crowd.
She looks back at Decker, one corner of her lip curling ever so slightly into a strange smile before she shrugs one shoulder. She slides her free hand into a jacket pocket and then begins... to walk away.
(rune)
Like the marks on mine.That snapped her out of it, snapped her out of something, whatever it is.
They haven't healed yet.
Like James, Decker would know the significance of that. Rune exhales sharply, then flicks the cigarette to the side, barely touched. End over end it falls, sparking in the darkness. She sidesteps - leatherclad shoulder bumping faintly against James' own, head lowering faintly, even as her eyes flicker up to Decker, shadowed in the distance.
(james)
no it's not
he's very aware of this
damn good tool in getting the Modi's attention, wasn't itand you know how some people just know when to shut up?
the Gnawer would be one of them
and now would be a good time
hands actually withdrawing from his pockets to cross his chest
he's not giving up jack until his packmate is safe and away
for all he knows, if she is what he thinks she is (one!! foot!!!), then she could be planning on using the Modi as a straw for that coffee... and then where would we be, hm?yea, boyo, skull cracking temptress or some information about what happened to your girl last night
s'up to you(this is gonna hurt)
when the leatherclad shoulder bumps into his
weight shifts
leaning so slightly against it(raven)
Far down the stretch of the road a cop car slowly crawls its way down towards the alleyway, scanning the alcoves of buildings for any suspicious activity. It's their job. Serve and protect. Or something like that.Walking away, turning onto the sidewalk. Cigarette in one hand, the other deep in a pocket. She holds out her arm, cigarette still sending spirals upwards from the tip, flagging down the police officers with nonchalant ease.
(decker)
The thug lets the lady go by. He stands where he is a moment, then looks over his shoulder at her disappearing form. One foot. One manhole cover. One boy-soon-to-be-body.Turning back, Decker slips his hands back into his pockets and comes toward his packmates.
"Hell's this all about?"
(raven)
The police car's crawl slows further and pulls in against the curb no more than a good 10 meters down the road. She doesn't bother to look both ways as she crosses the double lanes at an angle towards the police vehicle.Step. Step. Casual. Nonchalant. Easy. Step.
One of the windows rolls down as she approaches the vehicle, leaning against the roof with one arm, stooping down to talk with the uniformed law enforcement office.
(rune)
"The morgue last night," Rune's right arm brushes James' casually, as she lifts her hand and offers it up for Decker's inspection. Her voice is low, practically a whisper, and her eyes flicker up to Decker. "One of the bodies wouldn't stay dead. We helped her get rid of it. It scratched my hand. She had similar marks on her arm."(james)
he lets that little exchange go on
interrupting even before it's over"C'mon."
he knows turf wars all too well
he grew up on the streets of New York
when one gang whomps on another, the whomped gang tips off the cops to make things sticky for the victors
right now, they were the victors
and he has a feeling she won't like being turned down for coffeejust a little paranoid, aren'cha, Jamey-boy?
he's already turning and leading them away
(raven)
The cop looked across the street at their faint outlines and she turned slightly to look in their direction also. She shakes her head, waving a hand faintly and then shrugs. The cop doesn't look fully convinced of whatever she was saying, but whatever she said after made him nod. He shrugs and the cop car pulls away... off down the street without even a glance into the alleyway. Without even pausing to get a look of their faces.She stood on the other side of the road, one arm crossed over her chest, the other raised with the cigarette to her lips.
She watched.
But, then again... they were leaving anyway.
(rune)
At James' words, Rune actually looks up, (should've known, getting soft, it's been a year. seems like it's been years.) flashes a glance across her shoulder, back....then follows in James' wake.
(decker)
Decker grabs Rune by the wrist and holds her arm up to the light slanting in front the street. Bodies that won't stay dead. Fuckin' great. What's next, zombies? Shambling dead?Letting Rune go, he mutters a thank-you. For helping Imogen out, one supposes. Then, hands back in his pockets to protect them from the cold, he starts walking.
He fuckin' hates it that he can't be everywhere he needs to be at once.
(raven)
Brackish water stained the cracked and wrinkled concrete. A faint drizzle clouds the air, making it feel even more oppressing. Litter floats down the gutters like surrealistic tumble weeds of the bygone Wild West. Talk about the ass hole of humanity.What a night...
(james)
it's a couple blocks of silence
hands shoved into the trench
right one balled into a fist against the brick
shoulders square and tense
head down, dreads swaying
long lopey stride barely hinting at his stresshe was shut down once
he's not bringing it up again
no matter how much it's worrying himfinally, he realizes he has no idea where he leads them
or even why he, the Gnawer, is leading
and the pace slows
brick extracted from his pocket
tossed into an alleyway they pass
but it's still hard enough to shatter it
all evidence gone
finally looking to his packmates,but mostly Decker"Remember that freaky little girl?"
(decker)
A glance slid James' way from under the lip of the hood. His lashes are long, but his eyes are hard and narrow. His reply is as terse as ever, "Yeah."(rune)
"James can tell you about it," Rune murmurs, casting him a brief, sliding glance. "I gotta go find my car. Don't like this neighborhood much, if you know what I mean."Shoulders rise and fall with her shrug, she's already walking away.
[and insert here that James tells Decker the story of what happened and they head back to the condo]Posted by james at November 12, 2002 12:00 AM
(raven = V)
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