March 07, 2003.03.07.03. - if you're going out... [rune-imogen-luc][noje]
(imogen)
The weather's warmer now, a whole forty degrees farenheit, which is nothing to scoff at, when yesterday it was nineteen degrees. American weather is chaotic, warm and then cold, warm and then cold with highs and lows across the board, winters and summers that vary greatly from each other. It's a far cry from the more stable english weather.Rain, however. Rain she knows. Rain she's familar with as she steps out side, one hand rustling the plastic bag, she carries loosely slung over two fingers. Her rainslicker allows much of the chill to seep toward her flesh as she walks out onto the balcony, her head half turning to look across at the porch of the neighbouring condo for a moment, glancing around the lifted half of the bridge that Decker and Dire decided would be 'useful'.
A smirk touches her mouth, half caustic, half exasperated, as she instead, tugs up the hood of her jacket, walking down the steps of the condo, her free hand lightly trailing across the cold slick railing. She walks from one pathway to the other, crossing piles of melting snow and damp dead grass, turning and backtracking, now up toward the mirror of her own condo, to Rune's own. As she steps up underneath the protective eave of the overhang, her hand pushes back the black cowl of her hood, throwing it back from curled and kinked hair as she takes the next few steps toward the door, and raises one hand to rap succinctly. Three times, precise, as many things about her are. A step or two back, her hand, instead of dropping to her side lifts to drag through her hair, pulling it out from beneath the collar of her jacket, eyes turned toward the doorway.
Beyond her, water drips from the porch roof, pattering softly against the railing, stairs and path far away. Clouds obscure the stars, turning the moon into nothing more than a pale diffused glow.
(rune)
Three precise knocks, no more and no less, and no sense of pack below. It's either the chairwoman of the tenant's organization coming to tell them to clean up their act or get the hell out (and it's not, and she wouldn't. She'd find someone else to do it, someone stronger, someone more official. The police, for example, or at least a security guard. Someone armed, preferably, to deal with what must be the drug dealers living next to poor Dr. Slaughter. How she stands it, the rest of the residents will never know.) or Imogen. They don't get many extraneous visitors.Rune stretches lazily and rises from the floor, clicking the computer to sleep. The email to her parents can wait until tomorrow (strange that such creatures still have parents, adults who raised them from infancy to young adulthood, only to give them up to the war. And what strange relationships develop, later, if they survive long enough to emerge from early adolescence, if they become adults, warriors, in the eyes of their nation.) since it's already waited this long.
Rising, she pads through the living room on bare feet, squinting at the rampant gloom outside the windows distastefully before opening the door.
"Imogen." The nod up, familiar from them all, the pack's greeting unconsciously adopted from the Modi. "Use the bridge?" The Glass Walker smirks and swings the door open. "C'mon in."
(james)
the living room wasn't completely dark or completely silent
the Gnawer had been amusing himself with some I Love Lucy rerun
..... mostly amusing, anyway
at some point during the first of each evening's double dose of reruns
he had drifted off into a half-sleep
deliciously relaxed beneath the sliver moon high above
only noticing a little bit of the black and white mayhem
only hearing a little bit of Rune's relentless typing
she was typing an email to her parents
his mother wouldn't even know how to turn on a computer
so the Ahroun had busied himself elsewisedreads tangle to form some sort of pillow
deep umber eyes slowly drag open
glancing first at the screen
then the slender form of the Walker passing infront of it
(Imogen)
that would explain the knocking
but he does little more than remove that arm that had been over his eyes
using it to dig into the couch pillows and lift himself into almost sit
nodding up in that almost sideways sort of way once the Kin gets inside(imogen)
A brief sound that is somewhere caught between denial and a scoff, trapping in her throat even as she utters it. "No." Decker suspects that she'll never use it. Decker may very well be right. Pride and independence are a powerful cocktail and she has both in spades.A half nod, a tilt of her chin acknowledges the offer to enter, "Thanks," as she steps inside. Her eyes flicker beyond the lithe Glass Walker to the sprawl of the Gnawer on the couch, before back again as one hand reaches up to pull down the tab of her zipper, the other reaching out to offer the bag in Rune's direction. "Your clothes." Washed no doubt, or dry cleaned, if they called for it. Common courtesies tossed out carelessly.
In the rainfilled air, the edge of her hair had dampened, having sneaked out from under the protection of her hood during her brief foray into the outdoors. Water has beaded on the black rainslicker, condensed, but the rain is not so hard as to have soaked her, through and through. It is, all in all, a perfect day to curl up inside with a good book. Or I Love Lucy Re-runs. Or an e-mail to the parents.
(rune)
"Maybe Dire'll paint it pink and line it with fake flowers in an effort to entice you across." Rune echoes the scoffing note in Imogen's brief negation, though in her throat, the sound is given full voice. "I'm throwing the fucking thing away before he gets that idea. And thanks."Her hand uncurls to accept the bag, and she gestures toward the kitchen. "Grab yourself a beer, I'm going to go put these away." It's an easy pivot, turning around, and the Walker heads up the stairs at the end of the short hallway, feet whispering a quiet symphony on the plush carpeting.
(james)
slowly but surely
the propped up sprawl ebbs into a proper sit
weight swiveling on the plush leather
feet dropping to th.... no.... more comfortable to tuck them crosslegged
and he's still wiggling backwards to find once more that comfort zone in the overstuffed pillows
attention flickers past the two women and to the outside world
(yep, still rainin')
perfect day to stay inside where it's warm and comfortable
even if just during the last rainstorm... the last sleetstorm... he was out walking the blocksRune tosses out the offer to help herself to the beer
so... he... uhm..... locates the controller and turns down the volume to be polite
not that it was incredibly loud anyway
but now the hilarity and track laughter has been reduced to a low hum
free hand runs through dreads and the smile lifts sleepily
head tilting to follow Imogen's path through the condo"How ya been?"
(imogen)
"No worries," automatically answered as she slides out of her jacket. It's put away, hung up where it won't drip, and she easily slides out of her boots, having not bothered to lace them up for that small trip across to next door. "And... I'll help."Throw the fucking thing away, perhaps. Rune turns to walk upstairs, and Imogen steps out into the living room, heading toward the kitchen. She rarely refuses beer. Her head turns as James speaks, her hand lifting simaltaneously to brush back errant strands from her face and over her shoulder, an absent movement. Her eyes flicker to him a moment of attention before she turns away, continuing the few steps into the kitchen, the fridge hissing open as she pulls at the handle. "I've been fine," she answers over her shoulder, reaching into the fridge, bottles clinking against each other as she reaches for one. "And yourself?---" half interrupting herself to gesture at the Gnawer with a bottle, "D'you want one?"
(rune)
"Yeah? Never took you for a fake flower woman, myself." Tossed over her shoulder with half-a-smirk as she reaches the top of the stairs and disappears around the corner.The trip upstairs is a short one, and the development is new enough that they cannot really hear her moving around upstairs until she's coming back down the steps. Then, it's only the creak of her weight on the landing, and on the third step from the bottom, the gradual crescendo of a quiet thump-thump-thump as she descends.
To the half-offer sure to come as Imogen stands at the fridge, Rune shakes her head. Instead, she crosses the living room and grabs her own beer, recently opened, abandoned beside the computer. Lifting it, she takes a long drink while padding back into the living room. The Glass Walker finds a convenient wall against which to lean, and crooks one knee, drawing up her foot to brace it against the wall.
(james)
"Please."first a nod
then muscular shoulders roll in a shrug beneath the tangled dreads
pushing scapula further into the plush couch
a part of him wants to overthink her question
and answer in the agonizing poetry of truth from the depths of worried mind
but he lets it pass - settling for a single word even if the shadows behind his eyes speak differently"Allright."
Rune knows better
she's well aware of the tiny little questions prickling at the back of his mind
(like tiny rat's teeth)(imogen)
Fake flower woman. The comment tossed over Rune's shoulder results in a brief exhalation of half humour as she reaches back into the fridge for another beer.As expected, she had turned her head to glance at Rune an eyebrow arching in question, the butts of both bottles resting against the edge of the open fridge door. The eyebrow resettles as Rune's head shakes, and she steps away from the cool wash of the fridge, a light tap of one of the beers against the door, pushing it closed. Bottle opener found, she cracks both open, a faint hiss of trapped carbonation escaping.
A flicker of her attention toward James, a moment's consideration. "Yeah?" she echoes. His eyes speak differently, and perhaps she who notices those details recognizes that, though unlike Rune, she may not know better. She didn't see bloodstained sheets, torn out throat. "Good to hear." Feet soft against a plush carpet as she approaches, coming up to the back of the couch, and offering him the open bottle, taking a long pull from her own.
(lucian)
...and its always there.Despite the soundproofing measures, the constant vibration of Luc's "music" usually something -german- and loud. [Does Luc EVEN understand to German?] He tramps down the stairs causing the banister to vibrate with the heavy TROMP! of booted steps from the bean-pole teen.
He's been REALLY into German death-metal lately.
(..and it hasn't done much good for the galliard's disposition.)"Ruuuuuuune!"
Ahem, would he EVER stop shouting?
(Maybe he should turn of the discman?)
(rune)
Rune's own beer is resting against the curve of her hip, cradled in the light grasp of three fingers and a thumb on the long neck. Her mouth remains in its usual little smirk, the corners of her red lips quirked upward, ever-half-amused.It's not until Luc comes tromping down the stairs and yells for her that the expression changes, a flicker of exasperation finds expression in her brow as her gaze flickers up to the teenaged Get. With her free hand, she mimes an impression of earmuffs, or muff, as the case may be, and she doesn't reply until he has removed the headphones.
"What, Luc?"
(james)
one hand lifts, wrist to shoulder
relieving her the meager weight of the bottle
chin lifts up a bit with a "Thanks" worked into the easy smilethen here comes the cavalry
or at least the horses from the sound of the stampede on the stairsbrow lifting as he looks over his shoulder
past the pack of the couch and past the Kinfolk
yeh, he's not allright, but get him to admit it without direct questioning
(and was that a direct avoidance of the confirming 'yeah?')(luc)
The oily mass of blond hair is pushed back onto his head with a woolen cap, a collar of small studs adorning his (albeit veiny) neck...He's going through his "black phase" and while generally laid back, more than a few have found out that that quiet demeanor hid a louder (...he's just a kid after all) Not that the guys he's been spending time with are exactly specimens of ape society..
Its good he has friends.
The headphones are pulled off and the growly low voice rumbles seconds before he speaks [..yuo think it takes a while for the vocal noises of someone THAT tall to carry.] low shrug of greeting to James and--
Her.
[Decker's bitch.]"Can I borrow some cash?"
LOVE teenagers.
(imogen)
"You're welcome," off handed as Luc exercises good fine galliard lungs, bellowing Rune's name. Her eyebrow lifts slightly, following James's gaze to the stairs, the young boy.She steps away from the couch, as Rune reclines and James lounges, it's out of place to be standing. Leather hisses as she slides into one of the chairs, sinking backward, one foot tucking beneath her other leg. Her right hand (unbandaged, and she's still not used to the ease of movement) tugs lightly at the cuff of the three quarter-length sleeve of her left arm, straightening the curve of the blouse, before another swallow of beer, deep appreciation of the cold liquid.
(rune)
Luc speaks, and Rune's attention flashes to again, from where it had lingered between Imogen and James. The furrow of brief concern - the question, the evasions of answers, all that - is smoothed away as her eyes settle on the teenager."What do you need it for?" It's an exercise in futility, questioning him like that, but she'll play her role as Beta (make that, den mother) and go through the motions. Red nails tap lightly on the curving neck of her beer bottle, tracing the outline of the label on the sweating glass, slick in her hand. When she lifts it from her hip, it leaves a smear of condensation glistening on the leather, one that she wipes away unconsciously. In the winter, it's seventy-two degrees in here. In the summer, considerably cooler, cool enough that a sheet and perhaps even a blanket at night feels comfortable, cool enough that one can burrow beneath the covers without waking up bathed in sweat, and all because she likes her creature comforts.
Mouth sliding wider, the suggestion of her familiar smirk finding expression in her lips, in the half-staff lowering of lashes, in the sly glint of dark eyes. "Got a date?"
(james)
there's a nod up in response to the shrug
even as tall as the young Skald is
he wouldn't see a return shrug
with the back of the couch in the way and allstrangely, he's gotten quite used to the constant growl of Luc's music
most of the time he can tune it out
(or at least compromise and use it as cover noise)
but when it's blaring out of the headphones
that sure disrupts the quiet harmony the condo had enjoyed so farhe just, uh, concentrates on his beer
levels of introspection rising lately - and it seems he's comfortable with that
or at least had adapted to it rather quickly
though the last comment gets a half-snort of amusement before slugging from the bottle once more(luc)
Sullen.Not quite but he certainly was aware of how much he stood out. A hand reaches back to scratch against the back of his neck unconsciously moving to stand closer to James. His T-shirt only half covered by the zipped up sweatshirt taht hangs from his lanky frame.
who understood chicks?
Her question bring a lift of brows before he look to James for help (--Imo? NO, don't look that way Luc.) with the pained sigh of one having to explain something to the terminally retarded (or un-cool, same thing really.) tongue sliping over faintly cracked lips.
"Nah, the girls pay for me." Grin slow and Wiiide. And then he sobers straightening against the wall. "Band playin."
(imogen)
It's something both James and Imogen share at hte moment, the introspection. It may be really that neither he, nor she, or being hit up for money, after all. Nor do they have any requirement to play den mother or beta when the teenager comes down, all gawky limbed and music blaring, asking for some dough.James certainly has a lot to think about, if he wants. And Imogen, true to form, rarely finds comfort in being around those with whom she is not familiar.
Her attention the conversation is sidelong, absent as she takes another swallow of her beer, her other hand raising to run through thick lengths of hair, the bright flame coloured strands pushed away from her face, away from her eyes and over her shoulders, the dampened darkness of some strands mixing and joining with the drier, freer (chaotic) strands that had managed to not be touched by rain.
(rune)
"I'm sure they do." Surprisingly enough, it's not spoken with any sort of caustic flavor to it, there's no particular edge to her words, and they just hang there, leaving the truth to question. "There's cash in the envelope in the fish bowl," she continues with a nod, rising from the couch. Dark eyes narrow faintly, long lashes skimming half closed as she confirms that the envelope is, indeed, present. "Unless you already took it. You can have forty."Usually there's a hundred dollars there, enough for emergencies, should anyone have any, enough for cab fare, if someone comes stumbling home from a fight or a bar, enough for groceries, if Livingston has decimated the fridge, and perhaps enough to satisfy a burglar that there wasn't anymore cash around, just those fine electronics to be hawked.
"What band?" The rest of the group has fallen silent, and as she rises, the Glass Walker's attention flickers toward them, weavingly. She's used (she was used to) some sort of rampant chaos, ever-present chatter, when around pack and kin, but such things have changed, like everything else.
(james)
Nah, the girls pay for me
gets -quite- a different reaction
breaking into one of those low and easy laughs
(which seem such a rarity around most of the others these days)
his head shaking slightly
(atta' boy, Luc)even with the moon dangling slender in the sky
when normally his mood is bookie worthy predictable
except for the shopping trip
except for the sparring session with Diego
he's been so. damned. quiet.
too easily did he absorb himself in the television rather than the idle meaningless conversation they carry when she's on the computer
too easily did he fall into the Kinfolk's expected, comfortable silence
other than the random sounds of amusement
it's just so strange
(happens when you kill yourself)weight shifts two pillows down
and it doesn't disrupt the one he's sitting on
dark eyes flicker to follow the Walker (Beta.... lover)
then swing back over to the Fenrir
must be curiosity about the band... or something...(luc)
He finally heads towards the fridge rubbing at his eye as he goes. Something about the way he moves reminds one of Darwin; faintly resembles pictures of oversized blonde hairless ape-men wandering through civilization pillaging unsuspecting refridgerators. There is the musical tint of glass being pushed against glass and he calls out.."Anybody hungry?" Though to be honest he doesn't quite wait for a response pulling out a package of deli-sliced ham and picking at it as he moves back to were the group sat a beer tucked under his arm.
the headphones for thier part are still BLARING from around his neck, and even he notes the quiet.
"GreenHaus." Chug beer, burp. "--Shit Rune, you know its empty.". He took $50 last week. And what -exactly- he does when he's out..?
Well he's a shapeshifting warmachine--he can handle himself.
(rune)
"That's for fucking emergencies, Luc. You need cash for something else, you lemme know. If someone needs that - " and christ does she sound like a mother, watching him balefully as he forages through the refridgerator, dark eyes narrowing as he grabs ham ...and nothing else. "That'd be more filling if you made a fucking sand - "- aaaaaand, cut. Because someone just heard herself, she bites her tongue and settles for a good old-fashioned eyeroll instead, self-mocking and faint with remnant amusement. "Christ, Luc. They sound like crap, and they can't play their instruments, and I thinks that's Lithuanian, they're singing, not fucking German, and they don't even do that well. "You got a timeline on when the German deathmetal phase is gonna be over?"
She waits until Luc leaves the kitchen, and then retraces the path into the kitchen, pausing to toss her empty bottle into the recycling bin before resting her hand on the handle of the fridge. "So, is anyone hungry?" Her eyes flicker across the breakfast bar into the kitchen, resting on the Gnawer and the kinfolk. She receives a faint shake of negation from Imogen and shifts her attention to James. "I think there's some leftover Italian if you don't want processed deli meats straight from the bag."
(james)
Luc sits back down with the deli-sliced ham
when the Gnawer reaches over to steal a slice
a brow lifts a little
(what, no cheese?)
but he makes dueit's around a half-chewed piece of ham that he looks up and grins
swallow first, then speak"Yeh, pull that out, plus the sandwhich stuff." he's already getting up off the couch, half manhandling the Skald up with a hand in his collar for all of a two-second suggestion "C'mon.... if you're going out, you're going out on a full stomach."
she may not like sounding like a mother
but the Gnawer doesn't particularly care if he's called that to his face
he's not above dragging Luc to the kitchen to teach him how to make a proper sandwhich
.... and manners(luc)
To which she gets a glare."..you comin--" And ---yank! He is dragged after James towards the kitchen a piece of ham hanging half-chewed from his lips. His nose wrinkles briefly until he shakes the Ahoun off of him straighing to his full height.
Not taht James COULDN'T wipe the floor with him--freakin ALL Ahroun pack.
"They're gonna bitch at me for being late.."
(rune)
"Let 'em fucking bitch, Luc." Rune calls out as she rummages through the fridge. From the meat drawer: salami, ham, american cheese, provolone, swiss, turkey, olive loaf - bloody well everything - picked up and tossed on the counter into a pile of crinkling little deli-bags. She crouches to grab a head of lettuce, discarding the first as brown and icky, before grabbing the second and tossing it onto the counter, where it rolls an uncertain path until it runs into the assembled deli meats. "The hell do you care, hmmm?"The Glass Walker flashes the pair of her packmates a glance over her lowering shoulder as she straightens, dark hair sliding across the sharp line of her cheek. Her mouth is painted - always - fuck me red - perfect match to the wicked nails tipping her capable hands, one of which finds purchase on her hip as she turns back to study the fridge. Anything else?
Mustard and mayo are plucked from the door then shoved onto the counter. She hipchecks the door to nudge it just wider, then begins foraging leftovers. There's a quarter pizza and several white boxes of Chinese, both likely left from some massive midnight feast, or early morning romp. Strange - with this group - that they ever have leftovers, but not so much when one considers just how much food they order. Rune grabs a beer at last, then shuts the shut and leans back to rest against the surface, eyes finding their way to the teenager once more. "Where's the show?"
(james)
beer bottle hits the edge of the breakfast counter
the Ahroun looks back at the Skald and a brow.... lifts"Tell 'em your mom was being mothery."
it was said in that don't argue sort of way
threat unspoken that he WILL wipe the floor with him for any lip
daaaaamn the Gnawer is good at this"Sit."
nodding towards the stool on the other side of the breakfast bar
quick enough he's got a plate on the counter
relieving Rune of her fixin's and Luc of his deli-meats
ah, yes, the poor man's gourmet with his buffet of ingredients on the counter
quickly snagging the lettuce before it rolls too far
six slices of bread, mayo, mustard, salami, provolone, swiss, turkey, american, ham, lettuce, tomatooooo......er..... (he leans over and around the Walker to snag the tomato from the drawer as she forages for the rest of the leftovers).... there we go, tomato!
strategically smeared, stacked, or sliced
two sandwiches wrapped in a paper towel (or three) in five minutes or less or your sandwiches are free
held out in offering to the Fenrir"There will be a test on this tomorrow."
grin raking over his features
won't make him late - sure they'll be wolfed down even before the kid's out the door(luc)
He grumbles. "...out." Hell, were they gonna tape a LoJack to his ass too? Though once the sandwich stuff is out, his stomach starts to grumble and he parks his ass in a seat. Long legs stretching out adjacent to the table...Its strange when he first joined the pack ALL he wanted to do was BE like decker, but its James he always bragged to. [...you 'member that fine pale chick in the woods?] And James who he tended to spend time with when in a talkative [..talkitive from the skald was more bitchin' than anything else.] mood.
Its like he hasn't eaten in years, [Ooooh mustard.] and the top slice is slathered with all kinds of condoments in messy procession between swillings of beer. "...why donchya tell me what y'all've up to?" Already One sandwich vanished in the unknown depths of Luc's stomach--I mean WHERE does the food go...?
besides up?
(rune)
"Well, hell," the Ahroun smirks, feeling oddly like a very strange version of Ozzy and Harriet - does this make her Harriet? - as James grabs the parental role and sends Luc to the table. Dark eyes sidetrack to her packmate (...lover) flickering over the minute movements as he goes through the business of fixing sandwichs. It's a brief glance, really, a small measure of attention, because pack's home and company's over, and soon her gaze slides back to Luc. "...I'm glad they're not setting up in my fucking living room."Yeah, okay. Ozzy and Harriet in Seinfeld's Bizarro World.
"What we've been up to?" The beer hisses as it releases it carbonation, bubbles dancing up through the neck almost to the rim, before falling to an acceptable level. As the foam fizzes itself out, Rune slides the bottle down to rest her thigh. "I suspect your life is much more exciting, Luc. You wouldn't really wanna know waht we've been up to."
(luc)
"Yeah... maybe."He flicks The disman off taking a last glance at the door before settling back to the sandwiches like flame to paper. (that is: eviseration.) And leans back chasing it with a mouthful of beer.
"Been thinking about pack alot--" well alot MEANT at all. "..and tribes n' stuff."
(james)
yeh, he knows how the Skald admires the Modi
half those talk/bitch sessions have been centered around the other Get
(and that fine pale chick in the woods)
but he realizes it must mean something when the Skald always comes to him for something
which is why he made the sandwiches
which is why he's done a bunch of other stuff with only that raking smile
chuckling at Rune's next comment"Oh yeh, us old folks?" gesturing absently with a fork, he's already set out sorting through the other leftovers, figuring what he and Rune are going to find in them worth a meal "Fight the Wyrm, fight the Wyrm, day in, day out." he goes so far as to heave a dramatic sigh "So unexciting."
he'll, uh, leave the exciting things to imaginations
some strange version of Ozzie and Harriet
she's all sleek and leaning against the fridge with a beer hissing at her thigh
he's all raggedy and dreadlocked puttering around fixing food for everybody
(.....he'd've made a really good dad.....)
there's a breif glance back out to the Kinfolk
knowing she must be amused by this
though as one hip leans against the counter, waiting the microwave out
a brow lifts, attention returning to his packmate and the beer"S'on your mind, Luc?"
(rune)
He'd've made a really good dad. Even the Glass Walker is likely thinking that as she lounges and watches the Gnawer putter around, fixing food, sorting through the leftovers and ordered-in-cases, the i-might-be-hungry-laters and the someone-else'll-probably-be-back-before-longs to make a meal of them. Doubtless he'll be able to make more than one, more than two or even three, capable of stretching the food to fill everyone's belly before wolfing it down like someone's going to take it away from him.Rune is no longer astonished by the rate at which food disappears into Luc. She is likely not surprised by the rate at which money disappears around him, either. It's all part of the package, even if there's a rising brow for just how fast it goes down, not surprise so much as... some strange sort of awe. At least he's seated, so she doesn't have to look up, exactly, though he is perched on the low stool by the breakfast bar, so she can't quite look down on him either, tall as he is.
"What about tribes?" Unconsciously echoing James as she shifts her attention back to the young Skald.
(luc)
"Cuz I'm Anglo-Saxon n'all.."Okay now he feels uncomfortable, it was one thing to talk to James, but to talk with Rune there [sex-sex-sex-sex.] is might distracting. He straightens a bit still picking at the leftover deli meat after the sandwiches are gone--eyes not meeting any of them, really.
"But..y'know I damned good with the fuckin computer."
(james)
the microwave dings
two plates pulled out
(how the.....? oh, must've stacked 'em with the little non-splatter cover thingie)
one of leftover Italian handed to Rune (with fork)
and he nods towards the counter for her to sit
knowing that it's easier to talk to him
but since she's Beta, the kid's gotta get used to it
one of leftover Chinese handed to the bottomless pit... er... Skald (with fork)
which puts the Gnawer closer to his line of sight
just to make it a little easierhe'll fix his own food later
pack always comes first
a brow lifting through reach back to reclaim his beer"Ya mean Skalds can't be good on the computer?"
just because Germans aren't reputed for being much more than blistering assault war-ma-cheens
doesn't mean it's not possible(rune)
In lieu of staring down Luc, or something, Rune's going to let the Gnawer handle it. Her head tucks down toward the plate of baked ziti, fork twirling through the cheeeeese that makes the dish so good, pulling it hither and yon so it stretches and distends until the long thread breaks and she can slurp it down.Well, not slurp. She actually twists the long thread of melted cheese around her fork by twirling it around and around and around until there's a mouthful (and no more) easily eaten.
(luc)
"Yeah but I ain't seen Erik or Deck EVER go near the damn thing.."He's been a bit annoyed, it was a sort of love/hate relationship to be sure. Where he wanted to ignore it and look at the girlie mags, and then remembered -- all the chicks he had met online. Well shit..
"You don't think its -fuckin- weird?"
(imogen)
She's not hungry. It's rare that she is, it seems. She doesn't particularly seem inclined for such things as food, though James (and Decker) can attest to the fact that she does eat. From time to time."...don't forget the fingers..." uttered somewhere as the Bone Gnawer putters around, making food for the Skald. The conversation turns toward Luc's view on tribes, and the kinwoman's attention flickers off again, dividing it from the conversation. Her beer is nearly finished, only a scant inch resting at the bottom of the bottle, splashing along the sides as she dangles it between her thumb and forefinger. On the television, Lucy re-runs have become some random television show she doesn't recognize, some comedy of some sort. Rune likely has more channels than the kinfolk, and anyhow, when is she ever home.
Her leg untucks from beneath her and she straightens, lifting to her feet, taking the last swallow of beer, tipping the bottle back.
(james)
there's a moment of even consideration
then his head slowly shakes"Not at all, Luc. Not all Walkers are hackers. Not all Gnawers are street trash. Not all Fenrir avoid computers like the plague. Don't let yourself get drug into Tribe stereotypes. If you're good on the computer, we'll make sure you'll get better."
the fridge sucks open behind him
he hadn't even looked away from the Skald
but he's holding out another beer for Imogen
(luc)
He settles back and drains the last of the beer (that better but a nice stunt in the growing thing..) and with a small prep-aim he tosses the bottle (..light touch for such HUGE mitts..) in the recycle bin. Luc' ain't much for introspection. And his nostrils flare briefly and he nods."Works. Awright I'm out--" halt. "Rune?" heh, dah money.
(rune)
"You can change tribes, Luc." Some portion of then ziti devoured, Rune rests her fork against the curved edge of her plate and allows her attention to fall fully on the young Skald again. "...but you have to start over from scratch, and I don't think you want to do that. Tribe isn't just what you do, it's attitude and philosophy and everything else. James is right, there are a helluva lotta Walkers who can't hack, and who don't bother to get online, but..."Okay: end speechifying. Rune's nostrils flare in a half-amused snort as she crosses to the counter and puts her plate aside, then digs into her pocket for the cash. Forty bucks she hands over, without a thought.
"Have fun, Luc."
(imogen)
Her attention flickers toward Rune as she speaks, leaning across the breakfast bar, a flicker of a smirk touching her mouth as she reaches out to take the beer. The subject of tribes might be an interesting one for the kinfolk. It's different for her. According to Garou society, she's already changed tribes. It took all of five minutes, and one claim.Luc? Would have to start all over.
On the other hand, tribe may be just that much more important to the young Garou than it is to the educated kinwoman.
Fingers close around the bottle's neck, her other hand reaches out, snatching up the bottle opener, cracking the cap off with a twist of her wrist.
(james)
a grin for Imogen
then he just nods this time around
finally getting to gleaning the leftovers for his own plate
bit of a smile tossed at the Skald
something for him to think about
(should he ever stop thinking about girls long enough)"Take it easy, bro."
not kid, not son, not anything else like that... just bro
(luc)
And he's up in a half-second.Dropping a kiss on Rune's cheek even as the money is pocketed, "Thanks Maw--." A wink dropped to James and those long legs are already carrying him out the door, his cellphone beeping to life even as he tries to catch up with Dan.
"I'm on my way--fuck you I had shit to do.."
-slam-
(rune)
Luc manages to get out the door without an elbow in the gut or a knee in the groin. The fact that the sleek Glass Walker is still standing there, hand open (money vanished) brows lifted in the most rich look of startled surprise that has ever graced her face. Even her mouth, usually curved into an ironic half-smirk, is in on the act: a circle of astonishment, jaw still hanging open."Tell me he did not just do that." Some drowning glance, tossed to Imogen, tossed to James, as she manages to get all parts working again. "Tell me he did not just fucking do that."
When Skald's start kissing your cheek and calling you maw, it may just be time to throw in the towel. Or, at the least, it may be time to go out and fucking kill something, reassert your man-, uh, warriorhood again.
Since nothing in the immediate vicinity requires quick evisceration, she lifts her free hand to her cheek and scrubs vigorously for a moment or three. "Jesus fucking Christ."
(imogen)
Both eyebrows sweep upward, an arch of surprise, muted as she takes another sharp swig of her beer, watching as the Skald leaves, slamming the door behind him, so hard the frame shakes, and they can hear the condo vibrate.A sweep of her attention back toward Rune, catching the tail end of the look, one shoulder lifting in a slight shrug, probably an action not even caught.
"Just... keep telling yourself that..." she says finally, her right hand resting flat on the breakfast bar, fingers splayed.
(james)
he.... blinks
he.... is also speechless
but not at what the Skald did
but more that it left his lover completely. richly. absolutely. fucking. speechlessly. stunned.
that expression is pricelessthe Gnawer
just
laughsit's draped against the counter has to hold himself up because if he doesn't he'll tumble onto the floor Gaia look out for the beer cause he's totally forgotten about it in stitches that's the funniest fucking thing he's ever seen howling on his way to sheer stitches he's SO gonna pay for this LAUGHING
(rune)
"I'll do that, and put in a reservation on that personal fucking time machine someone's gotta be developing." The rounded O of her red mouth slides into a sour smirk. The dark, dark gaze flickers sidelong to James (you're lucky company's here. you're going to pay for that.) before returning to Imogen. "Wanna go halves? We can stop the bridge in progress, too."Rune snorts beneath her breath, the only suggestion that she, too, might have found the situation amusing (if it had happened to someone else, goddamnit) as she turns to retrieve her meal. Plate balanced in one hand, beer bottle in the other, she slides into a stool at the breakfast bar. Before she digs in again, she lifts her head in invitation to Imogen. "Sure you don't want something?"
(cellphone)
::...just then Imogen's Cellphone rings.::(imogen)
A half smirk curls her lips as she steps back from James (disassociating herself from the damned), carrying the beer between her thumb and forefinger, dangling by her side, "She is going to kill you..." she informs the Gnawer matter-of-factly. Drily.Her head turns, to look at Rune, a lift of her chin a half nod, "Yeah. We can go around righting wrongs. Or at least stopping carpentry projects and ..." a flicker of her attention toward the shut door, "...wayward teenagers."
She begins to shake her head, an inhalation to answer, perhaps to simply say no, or explain that she'd already eaten. That she doesn't want to be a bother. But the shrill sound of a cell phone distractions her attention, her head turning toward the closet. Instinctively, her hand touches her hip where her pager rests, habit. She frowns faintly, a glance over her shoulder at Rune (If you're here... and Decker doesn't call... who the...), walking toward the closet, a half muttered word under her breath (...probably a wrong...)
She digs into her pocket, thumbing the send button, silencing the cell phone midring. "Hello?"
And as the cell phone clicks in, the caller only catches a brief "'lo", catching the end of Imogen's word.
(james)
eventually.... eventually the laughter ebbs to chuckling ebbs to little bursts of amusement
(that look did NOT help)
finally physically wiping the smile away
and retrieving his own plate from the microwave
sitting down on the stool on his side of the counter
looking at his food and beer and eating like a good boyhow long has it been since he's laughed that genuinely?
"Imogen. I have no doubts."
he is so going to pay and knows it
even in their company
he inhales his food like it's going to be stolen at any second
some habits he just can't shake(cell)
The voice is faint and scattershot. A reflection of an echo, and the smailiar sound of Shock. The voice -however- is somewhat Familiar to Dr. Slaughter, if only for its distinctive southern drawl.And breaks in mid sentence, "--even if ya' don't remember me you gotta c-cuz.." teeth chattering. "Ah' can't call anyone else and its YER job ain't it when pe- pe- " A ragged sigh.
Does she remember the southerner from WAY back?
(rune)
"We'd need costumes, though - " offered between bites. " - and secret identities. Librarian by day, crime fighter by night. That sort of thing." Rune read her fair share of comic books. She knows how the whole superhero-thing works, and with the comment, her smirk finds its usual level even if it is interspersed by dark and sidelong looks at the Bone Gnawer.Imogen is distracted by her cellular phone (at the glance, half a shrug. Dunno.) and James is concentrating on inhaling his food. It's a good thing she had a head start on her own plate, or she'd end the only one eating, awkward as that can be. Rune shifts her attention from Imogen to James - giving the kin privacy while she answers the call - suspecting it must be work-related. Instead, she watches the Bone Gnawer with a quiet, avid sort of attention, mentally ticking off the signs of worry that that bout of laughter wiped from his face.
(imogen)
The voice is familar, but shocked as it is, and sounding distanced, and without a face to match to the voice, she does not recognize it, or place it right away, a half frown crossing her features as she half turns toward the door, a shoulder leaning against the hallway wall. Her voice is low to begin with, soft and velvety, and she pitches it lower now, clearly heard through the cellphone. The digital age, and Imogen Slaughter gets nothing but the best."Who's this?" The second question had been 'how on earth did you get this number?', but at this point, she'll get one answer at a time. Chattering teeth, and certain words (remember me...its yer job...) have caught her attention, and her free hand drags through her hair, lifting strands away from her face and pushing them back as she shifts the phone against her ear.
(cell)
Teeth aare still chattering and blood had made her think of it, the immenient Dr. Slaughter. "Ah looked it up on th'internet--" So quiet that voice might be childlike, the caller sniffles briefly. "..its its.. Nina er.. Bernadette."
(james)
he doesn't even look up as the cell rings
he doesn't look up while the Kin takes the call, either
but, feeling the eyes on him?
after that last bite is swallowed
(plate clean)
the Gnawer quietly looks up
catching the dark, avid gaze
a little grin works its way onto his lips
(you don't know how much I needed that)soon enough, long body unfolds to stand
empty plates grabbed
sponge retrieved from it's little dish
and the plates are washed as quickly as they were plucked from the cabinet to be prepared
he's turning back, hands dried on the towel hanging just to the right of the sink
the Kin's attention is turned away
so as he's passing by
fingers trail over the Walker's arm
he leans in to let his voice carry low to her ear
presumably, it's just so he doesn't interrupt the business (?) call
not just so he can find a way to touch her with warmth
just a tickle that stirs fine inky strands of hair
since, with a guest, he cannot (should. not.) do more"Gonna see if I can get a hold of Tristan, see what that message is."
now it's his turn to meander up the stairs
heading up to call from the privacy of the line in her room(imogen)
Long pause, long enough that perhaps Nina thought that the doctor had hung up, only the faintest sounds of life on the other end of the crystal clear cell phone proving otherwise. "....th'woman with the scrap book?"Assumedly the question is rhetorical, because the woman's memory is good, and she trusts it, more or less. Another question follows on the heels of the first, more important as the southerner on the other end sniffles, her teeth chattering. "Why are you calling?"
(cellphone)
"Cuz--" Oh oxygen so precious and so fleeting. "A m- man just killed himself in St mary's witha scalpel an.."Last time something like that happened, you were there.
(imogeN)
A twist of her wrist, a glance at the watch on her wrist, eyes flickering toward the ceiling. "Alright. Where are you?" She's taking a step toward the closet again, now, diggint into her jacket pocket, searching for something. "Why didn't you just call the police?" Finding her number could not have been easy. Even with the kinfolk belief that all things human can harm, it seems drastic.(rune)
While James washes the dishes, Rune slips off the stool and tosses her beer bottle into recycling, then retrieves yet another. Three, maybe four, tonight, despite the hour. She doesn't drink the way she used to drink, though she can still drink most everyone under the table, with possibly two exceptions: Erik and Imogen.Instead of walking into the living room and sitting down on the couch, she remains in the kitchen to allow the call to continue uninterrupted. Snippets of the conversation drift through her mind. With Luc gone and the television turned down low, the usual wall of noise is lacking.
James walks past, drifting his fingers across her arm, leans in to murmur to her, his breath hot across her ear. The short strands of her fine, inky hair scatter and dance in the minor whirlwind created by his breath. Her hand curls upward to catch his trailing fingers, drag them beneath the level of the bar and thus out of eyesite for a brief squeeze, before letting them go again.
"Gotcha." She nods, faintly, as he draws away and watches him circle through the living room and head up the stairs.
Posted by james at March 07, 2003 12:00 AM
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