drums-on-skulls: .02.03.03. - sliver moon humor [decker-tristan-imogen-dire]

February 03, 2003

.02.03.03. - sliver moon humor [decker-tristan-imogen-dire]

[north jersey]

(tristan)
There is a softness to the songs being played tonight - normal time, normal corner - and it matches the soft light in his eyes, the curl of lips that pull into a concentrating pout that never quite mars the smile, the sway of lean (used and abused and delightfully so) body in time with the instrument that seems to outright croon tonight. Bhraums, Chopin, Motzart - it all seems to have a sultry undertone tonight, a smoothness that slides through notes without words that paint pictures without vision...
He hit his stride a long time ago, and he's been playing for hours - the occasional request taken, the case at his feet showing a good pile of coinage, and that boyishly confident smile firmly in place, the light in his gaze a far cry from the upset young man of just two days ago... Things are ok in his world right now.
The music continues, the people gather, the people move on and more take their place... and he? simply plays on...

(james)
bricks grab at a light gray patch on the shoulder of trench
weight shifting to lean against the wall
some easy lounge where arms cross over muscular chest
the long muscles in his back stretching slowly in the guise of comfort
deep umber eyes watch the violinist
listening to the sultry croon that came out of the hands of Chopin
listening to the low ephemeral quality of Brahms' dreams
listening to the stringed love letter drawn by Mozart

he may be some uncouth urban primitive
finding the tribal rhythms from the scab's hidden heartbeat
but it's clear that he has an appreciation for the classics, as well

(tristan)
Eventually even he must pause, eventually even he must rest, and eventually… the music ends.
Not abruptly, not suddenly, more a long drawn out lullaby that sooths the (savage beast) listener, gives a security where there is none, (come play your song for me…) speaks of the strength of protecting arms, (Let the music set you free) of loving touch, (and when the night is done) of the scents of mothers skin as she rocks her precious baby to sleep… (play on, play on, play on)
The last note hangs on the still cold air, shimmering in crystalline clarity before it too fades away and he pulls the bow from the strings, lashes falling to hide dark gaze as smile plays over lips, and coinage rains… beloved instrument is pulled from shoulder rest, bow and violin held against belly as he looks over those gathered and takes a well deserved bow to smattering of applause.
It’s then his eyes find James (family) and playful wink cuts through the crowd even as he turns his attention to this comment or that, that person or this, his laughter ringing free, hand shook here, and there as the crowd disperses.

(decker)
Next to James, half an arm's reach away, crouching with his back to the wall: Decker. Squatting, really, but that's an ugly word that doesn't quite have the right feel. Peasants squat. Animals crouch. And he's an animal. Homo sapiens, canis lupus. One and both and neither.

He's just rolled a joint, but with the fingernail moon slipped down under the buildings and the horizon it's not necessary, and pot's expensive, and his debt to Rune was running high. So he's just holding it. Looking at it, studying it like the riddle of the Sphinx with his lumbar back to the wall, free wrist on his knee, fingers curled loosely. Looking at it, studying it, rolling it idly between his fingers and watching the bits of marijuana crushed between the paper slipping out where the haphazard folding left creases and breaks while he waits for something else to catch his attention - or, perhaps, just enjoys the rare moments of quiet pack unity.

Music slips over the cold night - cold, but not so very cold anymore. Well above freezing, almost into the forties. Music glides off the pavement and slides off the buildings. God only knew if he liked it, but at very least he wasn't complaining tonight.

(james)
these quiet moments have been rare indeed
something or someone or even what isn't big enough to qualify as some happens
true enough there are times when they really can blame it on the moon
luckily, now, that's not a bad thing
the sliver high above the occasional clouds
given that, and the carryover from the few nights past
seems the Kin and the Modi aren't the only ones in good moods

even in times like this, their actions are instinctive
the Gnawer stands and watches one direction
the Fenrir crouches and watches the other
always looking out for each other's backs
even when it's just to listen to a streetman play

it's an easy smile that responds to that wink
waiting until the crowd disperses

"Keep this up I'll have to find another corner, Tris."

(imogen)
It's a general meeting place, tonight, it seems. Tristan plays, and eventually, someone finds him. James with his packmates of burning rage. Imogen and her cool implacability. Bright flames, candles to the darkness of the unawakened. Some of the crueler called them sheep.

She exits one of the coffee shop, fingers shifting the light weight of a small plastic bag holding a few bags of ground coffee. In her other hand is a take-away cup with it's cheap lid, the hot liquid inside steaming gently. It's doubtful she'd been a crime scene tonight, not if she was running such an errand. The sky is cloudy and for the most part, all forecasts have promised rain to add to the dreariness. Lucky for Tristan and countless others playing on street corners, or sleeping on street corners, the rain has stopped for now.

It's warm enough to keep her jacket open as she walks down the street, attention flicker toward the playing kinfolk and then the two Garou beyond, booted feet making a soft beat against the street made grey and grimy from melted snow dirtied by hundreds of careless feet.

(tristan)
He laughs as dark gaze slides to James again, this time seeing Decker crouched as well and playful grin gracing the Modi as well. He spreads his arms, bow and violin in one hand, the other open as he looks properly sheepish. “Sorry?” yet triumphant all the same as he crouches before his case and collects coin, slides it away into the soft bag found for that purpose, tucking it into his coat pocket as he sets his beloved instrument into the case, wiping it down with a soft cloth as he continues.. “But you’ll be happy to know that most of the requests I got tonight involved “so where’s the man with the drums? You two play together? He know you have his corner?” for the most part.”
Easy smile as he stands, foot resting against the case – casual contact that means everything: it’s there, all’s well, its within reach and he’s ready for whatever comes his way. “Evening Decker” then a glance up, and warm smile for Imogen as she approaches.

(decker)
Grey eyes flick past his joint to Tristan. A silence, not so much seething as considerating. Is it worth it? Then, grunt: 'hnh.' Must be some sort of hello.

Just so happens the direction James is watching is the one Imogen's coming from. All the same certain knowledges seem able to pass between the packmates without even the need for conscious thought. A beat after James notices Imogen, Decker leans forward an inch or two from his crouch, peering beyond James' legs to note the kin coming up the walk.

(ain't that a sight.)

Suddenly Decker's vibe's a little more relaxed. A little lighter at the edges. Might even be a curve to the corners of his mouth as he leans back, eyes downcast as he fiddles with the buckle on his lowslung belt before laying both his wrists out on his knees, joint still unlit between thumb and forefinger of the right hand.

(james)
sorry..... right
he'll believe that
just like he's sure the Kin will believe he's actually annoyed by this

"Tell them he's on walkabout. Sounded like you were in a good mood."

how well he knows that emotions transgress through play
just how long has it been since he's played?
the thought comes up from some oblique place to strike him
he hasn't necessarily had to, living at the condo as he's been
some of what he made before the trip carried over, too
so while there hasn't been the need
for a breif, brow furrowing momen, he wonders where the want has been
something that will soon have to be corrected, it appears

dark eyes slide across the slushed ice, past his (family) kin
dreads dragging over his shoulder as the entire body doesn't lift from the wall
there's just a liiiiittle stretch (cause yeh, that's quite the sight) to peer around
chin lifting up in a little nod for the good Doc
maybe that grin hangs around to feel his packmate relax
maybe that grin hangs around because Imogen is simply his friend

"Oooooooh, you brought me coffee?"

even managing a little excited lift of his brows
that grin is definitely there in the tease that suffices for hello
ah yes, that would be the great crusade to find the lost arc of humorous covenant hidden deep within the firey Kin

(imogen)
She receives a warm smile from Tristan as she approaches and he receives a half nod from the redhead, a movement that stirs strands of hair freed from her pony tail, most of the mass pulled back low on her neck, but for those few aforementioned recalcitrant strands. "How's it going." Murmered statement that is a greeting more than a question.

Boots protect her from the slush, mostly (as they have protected her from snow and blood), though a bit of the dampness has transferred to the cuffs of her jeans, causing a faint darkening along the hem. The hand that holds the plastic bag rests lightly near her thigh, thumb hooked into her pocket, the rest of her fingers threaded into plastic bag. Both eyebrows lift at James as he speaks, with that teasing note, and she simply watches him for a moment, before taking a deliberate swallow of the coffee in her hand. "Get your own ga'damned coffee." Deadpan delivery and it's only then that she smirks, "I've already shared my beer with you."

A glance past James to where Decker crouches, holding an unlit joint between his fingers. A moment passes, and then the dark blue eyes slide back to James. She's never quite one for greetings, be it responding to warm smiles, or waves. Something about it simply isn't second nature to her.

(tritan)
hands slide in and out of pockets in the oh so familiar search for a smoke.. it’s been hours since he’s taken a break, too into the music to break away, something he knows James understands. Just like he understands the feeling behind the music. Some play to escape, some play to show off the mechanics, some play for this or that or because they have too. He has always played his emotions, always played his feelings through finger and string, from mellow and haunting to lilting and fun, to the doomsday mourn of an ache that is far too deep to simply speak about…
But tonight? Oh yes. He is in a good mood. He grins at Imogen… “Better be proper coffee too..” you know, laced with Irish cream? Oh yes. He laughs and fingers finally find his pack and lighter, and corkscrew curls slide over strong jaw as he tips head to light a cigarette, offering pack and (hotpink) lighter in James’ direction. “And yes, I’m in a good mood. He’s staying.” A world of information in two. Little. Words.

(decker)
From beyond James, the low southern drawl: "Yeah, she ain't gittin' coffee fer nobody but me."

And, as Imogen rounds James' mass and comes into view, the Modi's eyes meet hers for that one too-long not-long-enough glance, mouth twitching into a lopsided smirk. "Sup, Imogen."

Yeah, that's right: beggin' for her to contradict him.

She looks back to James (the more vocal of this little group) and he uncoils to his feet, dancing the joint through his fingers and slipping it away. He had three all rolled and ready in his pocket already, for when the moon passed its nadir and started toward the full again. Hands go around behind to dust off the small of his back that had pressed against the wall - it and whatever semitoxic substances might've coated it.

(dire)
The tricked out Jetta pulls down the street. Turns into the lot and after chooseing a space pulls in and stops.
THe driver sits there a moment singing to a Falco song. Totally getting into it as he drums his hands ont he wheel and such. The song ends and he cuts off the radio. Sighs and rotates his shoulders in the oversized leather jacket. He was feeling all nice and stuff after the rite of cleansing. THen the long bubble bath at Danni's. Carmen liked the bubbles and after her song had fallen right asleep. Danni insisted he leave her there to sleep while he went out.
The door opens and he streches again. Sniffs and growls softly. Sniffs again to see if it's safe. He tilts his head. Old scents here.
He walks up to the packs portch and raps on the door. Waits a while and shakes his head. Hopping the deck and some how managing not to break his neck he knocks on Imogens door. No answer he sniffs and sighs.

Reaching into a pocket he pulls out a string with a little sliver of malichite on the end. The motions are done. THe rite inacted. He follows it down the steps and heads out of the complex.

(james)
she's not one for greetings
she has stares that peel even the most reslient of paint
which is why he figured he'd just prompt a like remark
and call it all good
so her deadpan delivery gets a sheer grin from the Gnawer

a brow lifts, taking the pack and (strippa pink!) lighter
tapping out one for himself, lighting up
and instead of handing them back to the Gnawer Kin
he offers them to the other Kin
and knows Tristan wouldn't mind, either

"Good."

a world of information in that single word
because he knows the reasons, and he remembers his reaction
smooooooth transition sliding dark eyes back to the Modi

"Yeh, seems she only buys and shares beer with me."

brow lifts
oh yeh, beggin' a contradiction on that one

(imogen)
"Yes. Proper coffee," spoken to the Bone Gnawer kin, "and it's mine." Another swallow of coffee, a suppressed wince as the damned proper coffee that appears to be so in demand burns her freaking tongue.

Cigarette and lighter offered. The other kin shakes her head slightly, the fingers wrapped around the coffee cup and the fingers resting lightly against her thigh, stuck through the plastic store band bag flicking up in half demonstration. No hands to smoke right now, thank you very much. Or at the very least, not enough inclination to smoke that she's going to bother juggling it with the bag around her wrist. "Thanks, though," tacked on after a moment.

Decker speaks, daring her to contridict him, a glance sliding upward as he stands. Amusement twisting a half smirk across her mouth, "That shouldn't be too hard. Unless you've grown t'likin' cofffee since I last checked?" Another glance this time between the two Garou, the eyebrow lifting once more, in what might be slight imitation of James, or her own indication of mild humour. "Please. There's enough beer for everyone." It's more her words than tone that indicates humour, "What th'hell do you take me for?"

(tristan)
Of course he doesn’t mind, and his smile turns positively wicked at James one word reply, adding three to his own.. “Oh it was….” Beat. And another “very.” A wink as he tucks free hand into the pocket of his jeans, the other involved in the slow lift and lower of cancerous stick to his lips and back to rest against thigh.
He can’t help the slight smirk, the though he ducks his head because even if the Modi seems to be in a great mood? He could damn well get plastered for what he dares say next… “Least I get tequila.” No beer, no coffee, straight to the hard stuff baybee (and did he mention that was quite a sight? Nope. Not that he didn’t notice, but he was told to keep his eyes where they belong, so dark gaze lifts to James again. Not that he’s ignoring the rest of them, he’s just behaving. Yannow. Mostly.

(decker)
"Don't tempt her, Tristan," muttered so low under his breath that he'd have to have the ears of a bat to hear at all. "Imogen's tryin' to taste better."

Then, his attention swerves toward James. Brow for brow, blond for dark: cocking up. Beneath the blond brow, grey eyes like distant thunderheads, heavy and stormy. He just...looks at James for a while. When he speaks, it's dangerous and quiet.

"Watch yer step, boy."

(And this is when Decker flies into a frenzy and...)

...and, an unexpected twitch of mouth, a lift of chin at his packmate. "Don't want me t' report yer l'il exploits to Rune, now do ya?"

(dire)
Walk
Walk
Walk
Walk
Walk
He walks along. Time and again checking the stoneon the string. Finally he turns the corner and here comes the Skald.

Dressed in black pants, A new black silk shirt and his over sized black leather jacket that he's had for a while. His heads down, looking at the string as he approaches. blond hiar shining in the night lights. THe glacier blue eyes cued in on the string and stone.

(james)
we! have! humor!
no matter how small of an inclination it is, it's there!
one victory for James, thank you, thank you
and whatever smugness he may have had at that little victory
is totally lost at the comments
(tastes great less filling? mmhmmm.... not going there)
Gnawer breaking into a laugh - wholehearted and too amused
his head shaking to take dreads across shoulders
finally shifting to lean back against the wall
finally extending an arm to hand pack and lighter back to their proper owner
the other hand gesturing absently with the Camel
deep earthen brown meeting stormy gray
easily holding that rolling thunder stare

"Dunno... she might beat me for it."

and with that rogue grin just raking across his lips
..... was that a plea.... or a suggestion?

(imogen)
She's close enough to Decker to catch the commentary. Or at least close enough to hear the sounds and guess, because she's the only one privy to that discussion, and her eyes narrow in the direction of the Fenrir.

She might even be disturbed by the good mood.

"Get you coffee, taste better," she replies after a beat, shaking her head as her gaze strays down the street, catching the sight of the approach of the black swathed Galliard. "You sure do ask a lot."

James's reply to Decker, coupled with a laugh provokes a glance from the fire-haired kinfolk, as she takes another sip of coffee, the movement hiding whatever expression that might have crossed her lips. Be it smile, smirk or grimace.

(tristan)
We have HUMOR.
Expected from James.
Even expected from Imogen in that famous deadpan way she has (and there is a flicker of an image of her just snowplowing the boy on moving day) and then…..

……..taste……better……

oh god.. he aches to say something in reply but he. Doesn’t. dare. But lips twitch and he attempts to hide the laughter (simply infected by Jamey-boy’s, right?) and there is no hiding the goodnatured boyish grin that slides over lips and finds permanent home in dark eyes…

And then…
Exploits….
And beating…
And pleas and suggestions….

And Imogen and her list of Decker’s demands….

And the boy? Aw hell. He has absolutely no comeback in the world to all that – so he simply, concentrates on bringing camel to lips and inhaling without choking on the laughter still bubbling softly free. Yes, boys and girls, the good-natured, kin is stunned silent.

(dire)
He's walking up the street and he smells them before he sees them. They should be called the Nicotine pack. His head jerks up and it comes to rest right on Imogenes ass. He blinks and... blinks. His brows shoot up and he blinks looking up and seeing the rest of them.
Man, That just wasn't fair.
He winds up the string around the rock and slips it back into a pocket as he moseys on up to them. Nods.

(decker)
Yeah, yeah. Good mood. Whatever. Seems even that won't make him any more verbose. Just a grunt for the beating comment. Might just be that James would enjoy it. He's heard the noise those two make, and damned if it didn't sound like a fucking slaughterhouse sometimes.

And while prettyboy's damn near bubbling over with laughter (earning a sidelong sneer of a glance from Decker - 'cause no, he ain't forgiven for staring at her ass yet), Decker just kinda...shrugs. Grunt, sneer, shrug, snort. Let's hear it for the expansive vocabulary of the Get of Fenris Modi.

"Damn right I ask a lot," muttered. "Ain't I givin'it enough?"

And that. Was so surly-deadpan. That if he hadn't been looking at Imogen when he said it, she'd miss it - the subtlest hints of lazy amusement in his eyes. And those eyes, half a beat later, turn down the street to the approaching Skald.

"Dire," simply enough: both an announcement and a greeting.

(james)
that's a bark of laughter out of the Gnawer
coughing up the lunful of smoke
he's not about to answer "yes" to the question posed to the kin
the condo's share a lot of wallspace
sure bet he's heard them, too
guttermutt's guttermind connecting that comment right purtily
he doesn't even bother saying anything else

still just chuckling amusedly when there's a nod up for the Skald

(imogen)
She'd been swallowing coffee as Decker spoke, and in an imitation of Tristan nearly choking on his smoke, she nearly chokes on semi hot liquid as the Fenrir speaks, and the Bone Gnawer bursts out laughing, casting James a half glare (not paint peeling. Amused, maybe.), as she swallows rapidly, clearing her throat.

When the danger of... ignobly expiring on the sidewalk (death by humour. Or by coffee) is passed, one finger leaves the coffee cup to point vaguely in James's direction, "S'enough outta you." Half breathless as she catches her breath, inhaling slowly, clearing her throat again.

The finger moves to point in Decker's direction, for a moment, wordless, the same amusement flickering before her attention flickers to Dire's approach, a half glint of recognition, a faint lift of her chin in a half nod of greeting. Another swallow of coffee, cautious this time.

(tristan)
The sidelong sneer isn’t unnoticed (nor is Dire’s oh so innocent [not] look at Imogen’s ass that gets a slight lift of brow) and he? Just grins at the Modi. Forgiven or not, it seems that Decker knows damn well what he’s got. Perhaps even more then he’d like to think. And the grin? Completely unrepentant.. seems it’s a damn good thing he’s moved a few miles away. Lot quieter. Well. Kinda. Now it’s his own neighbors complaining
Givin in enough indeed.
Oh yes – inhale, exhale, and for gods sake don’t say a word. (oh the words he’d say) and his grin turns on Dire for a moment. And then Imogen telling James to can it in her own way gets outright laughter again as he looks between Decker, James and Imogen, and settles for the relatively safety of Dire.. “Evenin, Dire.” Because god knows what all this good mood stuff is gonna lead.. (oh he knows where it will lead on at least two sides, and that causes all the more amusement.)

(dire)
He nods to them. A simple cant of his head. A smile. Nothing huge but he wans't known for neverending pissyness. Just.. random acts of madness.
He's had a good evening. One on par with the rest of the pack he's still not a part of evidently. He smiles sofly listening to them all. Looking between them and picking up a bit on the humor.
He's a Skald, humor was one of the ways to move people.
He pauses sniffing the air. looking around and then up. Always on the alert. born of the warrior form any other seemed a step down. THis human one more squishy than most. Sences reeled in to just normal pretranatural levels, why... he could probly only scent somone at 400 yards in this nose. Damn thing.
Sniff.
Damn Imogen smells good. All that pure blood singing in her veins. Her heart beating in her chest. all audiable and easily senced by the fenrir.
Not that he would ever even entertain the idea of one day looking in her general direction with anything approaching something other than famiiar affection or natural admiration.
He likes his heads where they are thank you.
Then there were the other smells. James' on distinct one that's so different from Deckers. just like a human could tell an orange from vanilla he could detect such a major scent change between those two.
Tristin kinda smelled like james though.
Glaciers hearts ice blue eyes flicker among them as they talk and what not and he looks up again. Around the sky and back to them.
He listens to more as his own fingers come up to gently feel the black silk shirt somone had bought him. Told him he looked pretty fly.
Then came the dreams the other night. Terriable night mares about stuff falling out of the darkness on him.
He'd done that damn cleansing rite AGAIN today because of it.
The fact that the TVs and news papers were splashed with stories of shit falling out of the sky didn't fucking help.
SO he feels the silk and tries to enjoy the banter.

And he shifts his foot to kick the goblin pissing on deckers boot in the ass making it piss all over itself too.
His head flicks up to Tristan and he nods.
"Bonjour. Comment êtes-vous tout ceci met à l'amende le soir? J'apprécie plutôt ce claquement chaud dans le temps. Oh, et quelque chose j'ai découvert eariler "matticotti" appelé"

(decker)
'S enough outta James, and 's enough outta Decker too. The thuggish Modi snorts a chuckle under his breath, rocking his weight back to thump shoulders against wall, plant feet apart, slouch down. Look at Dire: stare.

He's taking in Mr. Pretty-Fly-for-a-White-Guy in his fly silk shirt. Who's speaking French. Decker understood the first word. Sort of. He knew it was French, at least. Heard it on a sitcom or a cartoon or something. Somewhere.

And it's back to familiar, frowning, tolerant, ever so tactful Decker. "Quit sniffin' her, Dire. The hell you talkin'?"

(james)
as that finger uncurls from the cup and points at him
both hands go up in total surrender
even if that grin just doesn't quit
Gnawer backed against the wall, hands up in white flag
reaaaaal convincing

"Yes ma'am."

and then the Skald speaks
in French no less
and a brow. certainly. lifts.
.... the hell? - yeh, what Decker said

(imogen)
Yeah. Reaaaaaaaaal convincing James. His grin doesn't quite, and at the very least the half smile that touches her lips doesn't quite fail, though it falters and changes into an odd look as Dire spouts off in french.

She understands more than she can speak, and the end she just stares at him. Decker's already spoken most of their opinions, and she doesn't want to know what he was doing with the manticiotti, because really that was all she understood.

(tristan)
Decker’s done, James gets a wide grin, Decker’s comment brings laughter… and the French? He didn’t understand a single word. He blinks.. looking at Dire, then flicking the butt of his cigarette into the gutter to extinquish with a little psssst in the slush. Hands slide into the pockets of his jeans then, comfortably, foot touching his case once more – just to make sure its there.. and then.. well.. the hell? of the others pretty much sum it all up, don’t it…

(dire)
He blinks realizing he'd sliped up and used the wrong language. He looks to Decker with a blink and then to Imogen then back to him and srugs with a nod.
Wasn't really going to apoligise... I mean.. if he'd gotten on his hands and knees and sniffed her crotch, well yeah, He was just sniffing in general and smelling them all.
His poor missused noses still remembers close confines with decker smelling like a monkey, rode hard and put up wet.
He listens to the others.
When they all give him the goose look he kinda sheepishly looks down and grins. "All I said said was hello.... commented on the weather, and the food that is Matticotti. I rather enjoied it. Even if it didn't taste like any italians I've bitten in the past."
He looks up with juuuust enough of a grin to let them debate on weither he was kidding or not.

(decker)
If Dire'd gotten on his hands and knees to, er, 'sniff' her crotch, you don't wanna know what might've happened. Decker don't share.

More to the point, Imogen packs silver.

The bare hint of a grin's met with a blank stare, still. "The hell's manticotti?" Sounded like some sort of manta ray to him.

(james)
for some reason
he just doesn't doubt the way that Dire's phrased that
though he still stays quiet
using the near finished smoke to jump start another
that butt flicked to the gutter after Tristan's
something of an appraising nod
he know what it is, good food

(imogen)
She steps past James, and steps around Dire to reach the garbage can a few feet away from where Decker leans against the wall. The three quarter's empty coffee mug is tossed inside, dismissing the cold coffee now.

Much of the conversation now appears to be Decker discussing the finer points of culinary food with Dire. She does nothing to break the trend, instead moving to lean slightly against the cold brick of the wall, her hand sliding into the pocket of her jean, while the other shifts the light weight of the coffeehouse bag, a faint crinkle of plastic with the movement.

(tritsan)
If dire had done that kinda sniffing – well Tristan woulda beat feet outa here, before he got some of that retaliation of Decker too, because he’d be laughing his fool head off. Not a good way to stay on the Fenrir’s good side, even when he’s in such a good mood.
He chuckles and nods to Dire. “Good stuff, manticotti – and I’ll just trust you on that comparison.” Chuckled as he stretches slightly, then it turns to more full body oh god I’ve been standing in one place too long stretch, hands over head, back arching slightly, eyes closing before it all reverses and pulls farther to see lean frame sinking to easy crouch, arm lightly resting on knee, the other atop the violin case. Which of course, affords him a rather nice view of Imogen’s little walk, but does he look like he noticed? Oh no… (oh but he did…)

(dire)
He blinks pausing and looking at decker like he just pulled off a mask like in scooby doo

"Wha... it's food... you eat it."

Blink. Mayby decker hit his head on the headboard too hard or something. It should heal.

Slowly turning his head back to trist. Eyes not turning with till the very end. Staying on Decker untill they flicker over. He sees the strech. He sees the squat. He absently wonders if the kin was going to Smell James crotch.
he'd only rarly seen humans do it. That'd be intresting to watch. Oh and watch their reactions too. So he hushes up.

(Decker)
"Oh." Well shit. Food. In his world, that's burgers, fries, sweet-n-sour chicken. Chow mein. Mono- and bisyllabic words.

That little walk seems to be attracting quite a bit of attention. Certainly got his. She's facing him, though, so it can't be the a-s-s. His eyes follow the trajectory of her coffee (still some left over, too. What a damn waste) to the trash, casual-like, and boomerang back to her.

(must be the hair thang.)

Either that or the eyes that don't look away. Or those finely-made features. Or the damn attitude. Whatever. Something's got him all...

...watching her move. "Stubborn," he mutters at her, whatever that might mean. As she leans against the wall, he shifts his weight to one foot, nudging over to make some room for her. Didn't need her resting her elbow on the lip of the trashcan.

(james)
he's probably the only male in the vicinity that's not looking at Imogen
at least anywhere from the neck down
maybe it's just that his eyes don't naturally wander
maybe it's that not all beatings are good beatings
and just maybe.... it's another reason altogether
there's an offhand glance just to watch where she's going
then there's more room made on the bricks as he steps away
body folding and long arm reaching down to grab Tristan's wrist
head tilting as dreads swing, smoke blown up and away
lifting the kin's arm so that sleeve falls away to reveal watch

"Night folks."

it's getting late
he's got somewhere to be
some negligent wave
some swing of tattered tails around his ankles
and the Gnawer heads away

(imogen)
It's sometimes the oddest things that get attention. The slow steady walk across a few feet of concrete. A hand running through her hair, vibrant red tresses, all the colours of an autumn sunset. She does not take much things like that well, so it might be a question as to whether she notices some looks. Or if she simply ignores them altogether, avoiding the possibility of conflict.

She glances sideways at Decker as he shifts over for her, settling her shoulders against the wall, her lips curving into a faint smirk, half amused. He's got height on her even when he's leaning like that, so the look she gives him includes a lift of her chin to cross the difference in height. An eyebrow lift. And?

Whatever he meant by that.

Then the attention shifts away, and James is walking away, his back turned, so instead of some half gesture it's just a simple "Night, James."

(tritan)
He feels Dire’s eyes on him during that stretch and all, but it does nothing to budge that easy going grin. Not like he’s not as used to being checked out as Imogen must be, what with the hungry way Decker’s watching her move. Least he had couth enough not to outright stare – but then again? He’s not the one…..yeah..
From his vantage point across from James and Decker and Imogen, and even dire who completes the something of a lopsided group, he can easily follow the conversation in movements. The way Decker’s watching Imogen move. The curiosity in Dire’s eyes as they watch him – wonder what he thinks our pretty boy will do, hm? And the Bone Gnawer’s easy grace still leaned on patchworked shoulders until he’s away and moving and grabbing his wrist. Dark eyes look up, he arches a brow, and grins slides teasing. Wonder where he’s gotta be in such a hurry. Neighbors probably won’t be complaining tonight, however – they’ll be just as occupied. he smiles… “Night James.” And to be fair? He watches that back porch swing (easy ground eating stride) away too.

(dire)
Dire's ctually watching James and Trist.
Oh OH! Look. LOOK. Physical contact, though while seemingly platonic might symbolize a dominance action on the part of the social alpha... James grabs Tris and "uses" him for his own devices and then departs without accknowledging such...

Trist squatting, looking up at James. Definate submissive pose.
But.
they
were....
Both...........
Ma....l.....e......................
Dires head cant's to the side and there is a soft inquizitive shound made. Coming out something like "Arroungh?"
Then he remembers himself. Covers it by looking up in the sky and runs a hand though his hair all nonchalant like.
"Heard the hu... people went into the Aetherial... and died on the way home... The spirits of the wyld cry at this... such hope in the h.. people... give them much."

Male/Male...... well it' snot garou garou.... so that's something.
but it's TOTALLY baffeling to poor Dire. I mean what would.... they..... Oh.
blink.
OH!?
He swallows and keeps looking up at the sky.
"I hear that some people even go up in planes and jump out for no apperent reason at all. I don't know if it's true.. seems silly"

Oh yes. Tristans smile.. Danni gives him that smile in the morning. Oh my. Oh my. The poor Skald is honestly baffeled. And watching tristan watch James ass out of the corner of his eye he just coffs. Shakes his head as if to clear it and pats down the pockets of his jacket and pulls out a 20 Oz pepsi.
He opens it. Offers it to Decker first, then takes a swallow if Decker doesn't take it.
Instinct.

(decker)
[north jersey]

he may be some uncouth urban primitive
finding the tribal rhythms from the scab's hidden heartbeat
but it's clear that he has an appreciation for the classics, as well

it's an easy smile that responds to that wink
waiting until the crowd disperses

"Keep this up I'll have to find another corner, Tris."

(tristan)
He laughs as dark gaze slides to James again, this time seeing Decker crouched as well and playful grin gracing the Modi as well. He spreads his arms, bow and violin in one hand, the other open as he looks properly sheepish. “Sorry?” yet triumphant all the same as he crouches before his case and collects coin, slides it away into the soft bag found for that purpose, tucking it into his coat pocket as he sets his beloved instrument into the case, wiping it down with a soft cloth as he continues.. “But you’ll be happy to know that most of the requests I got tonight involved “so where’s the man with the drums? You two play together? He know you have his corner?” for the most part.”
Easy smile as he stands, foot resting against the case - casual contact that means everything: it’s there, all’s well, its within reach and he’s ready for whatever comes his way. “Evening Decker” then a glance up, and warm smile for Imogen as she approaches.

(decker)
Grey eyes flick past his joint to Tristan. A silence, not so much seething as considerating. Is it worth it? Then, grunt: 'hnh.' Must be some sort of hello.

(ain't that a sight.)

(james)
sorry..... right
he'll believe that
just like he's sure the Kin will believe he's actually annoyed by this

"Tell them he's on walkabout. Sounded like you were in a good mood."

"Oooooooh, you brought me coffee?"

(decker)
From beyond James, the low southern drawl: "Yeah, she ain't gittin' coffee fer nobody but me."

And, as Imogen rounds James' mass and comes into view, the Modi's eyes meet hers for that one too-long not-long-enough glance, mouth twitching into a lopsided smirk. "Sup, Imogen."

Yeah, that's right: beggin' for her to contradict him.

Reaching into a pocket he pulls out a string with a little sliver of malichite on the end. The motions are done. THe rite inacted. He follows it down the steps and heads out of the complex.

"Good."

a world of information in that single word
because he knows the reasons, and he remembers his reaction
smooooooth transition sliding dark eyes back to the Modi

"Yeh, seems she only buys and shares beer with me."

brow lifts
oh yeh, beggin' a contradiction on that one

(decker)
"Don't tempt her, Tristan," muttered so low under his breath that he'd have to have the ears of a bat to hear at all. "Imogen's tryin' to taste better."

"Watch yer step, boy."

(And this is when Decker flies into a frenzy and...)

...and, an unexpected twitch of mouth, a lift of chin at his packmate. "Don't want me t' report yer l'il exploits to Rune, now do ya?"

(dire)
Walk
Walk
Walk
Walk
Walk
He walks along. Time and again checking the stoneon the string. Finally he turns the corner and here comes the Skald.

"Dunno... she might beat me for it."

and with that rogue grin just raking across his lips
..... was that a plea.... or a suggestion?

She might even be disturbed by the good mood.

……..taste……better……

And then…
Exploits….
And beating…
And pleas and suggestions….

And Imogen and her list of Decker’s demands….

And the boy? Aw hell. He has absolutely no comeback in the world to all that - so he simply, concentrates on bringing camel to lips and inhaling without choking on the laughter still bubbling softly free. Yes, boys and girls, the good-natured, kin is stunned silent.

"Damn right I ask a lot," muttered. "Ain't I givin'it enough?"

"Dire," simply enough: both an announcement and a greeting.

still just chuckling amusedly when there's a nod up for the Skald

(tristan)
The sidelong sneer isn’t unnoticed (nor is Dire’s oh so innocent [not] look at Imogen’s ass that gets a slight lift of brow) and he? Just grins at the Modi. Forgiven or not, it seems that Decker knows damn well what he’s got. Perhaps even more then he’d like to think. And the grin? Completely unrepentant.. seems it’s a damn good thing he’s moved a few miles away. Lot quieter. Well. Kinda. Now it’s his own neighbors complaining
Givin in enough indeed.
Oh yes - inhale, exhale, and for gods sake don’t say a word. (oh the words he’d say) and his grin turns on Dire for a moment. And then Imogen telling James to can it in her own way gets outright laughter again as he looks between Decker, James and Imogen, and settles for the relatively safety of Dire.. “Evenin, Dire.” Because god knows what all this good mood stuff is gonna lead.. (oh he knows where it will lead on at least two sides, and that causes all the more amusement.)

And it's back to familiar, frowning, tolerant, ever so tactful Decker. "Quit sniffin' her, Dire. The hell you talkin'?"

"Yes ma'am."

and then the Skald speaks
in French no less
and a brow. certainly. lifts.
.... the hell? - yeh, what Decker said

(tristan)
Decker’s done, James gets a wide grin, Decker’s comment brings laughter… and the French? He didn’t understand a single word. He blinks.. looking at Dire, then flicking the butt of his cigarette into the gutter to extinquish with a little psssst in the slush. Hands slide into the pockets of his jeans then, comfortably, foot touching his case once more - just to make sure its there.. and then.. well.. the hell? of the others pretty much sum it all up, don’t it…

(decker)
If Dire'd gotten on his hands and knees to, er, 'sniff' her crotch, you don't wanna know what might've happened. Decker don't share.

More to the point, Imogen packs silver.

The bare hint of a grin's met with a blank stare, still. "The hell's manticotti?" Sounded like some sort of manta ray to him.

(tritsan)
If dire had done that kinda sniffing - well Tristan woulda beat feet outa here, before he got some of that retaliation of Decker too, because he’d be laughing his fool head off. Not a good way to stay on the Fenrir’s good side, even when he’s in such a good mood.
He chuckles and nods to Dire. “Good stuff, manticotti - and I’ll just trust you on that comparison.” Chuckled as he stretches slightly, then it turns to more full body oh god I’ve been standing in one place too long stretch, hands over head, back arching slightly, eyes closing before it all reverses and pulls farther to see lean frame sinking to easy crouch, arm lightly

Posted by james at February 03, 2003 12:00 AM

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