April 25, 2003.04.25.03. - ana kozireski at the motel 6 [ana][newark ave diner]
(ana kozireski)
Spring rain: a bright, refreshing blast of the strange half-musk that accompanies such sings and slips and slides and loops and whorls through the bright diner, carried on the crest of the nightwind, mingling with the usual scents of good strong coffee and burgers sizzling on the griddle. The strange, subtle music of rain against pavement does not drown out the tinkling of the bell against the glass, but it distracts one's attention from the sound and perhaps from the slight figure framed by the door stamping the wet from her body, conscientiously wiping her feet on the welcome mat in front of the door.A girl, though her sex becomes clear only when she pushes the loose hood of her nylon jacket back from her head. It's the hair one notices, of course, and the hair that clinches it when her features are half-shadowed. The hair: thick loops of silvery gold twisted heavily onto the back of her head and secured with a plain plastic... pen, of all things. Bic, to be exact, the smooth blue cap peeking up from the mass of her hair.
She lingers a moment in the vestibule, breathing deeply, and then walks into the diner, slipping into a booth before the front door has swung all the way closed. Winter rains are dreary affairs, bitter cold and bleakly gray. Cool showers on a warm spring night, though, clouds gathered overhead and flooding the whole damn city: there's nothing better in the world.
(james)
sometimes you can just feel it
that subtle barometric difference that rides the waves of warm spring showers chasing the chilled winter's airs away
that little pull and tug which screams there are others about, maybe you should pay attention, boyo
soon enough, one deep umber eye crawls open and peers about
focus begins on the table right infront of himthe still steaming coffeemug clasped between rough and calloused hands, wrists resting on the edge of the table, long arms reaching back out of his field of vision and disappearing into the short sleeves of some t-shirt that Rune bought him (far too clean, far too.... nice... to go along with the rest of him, but he wears it anyway) then the tips of worn and badly needing polish boots peeking up from beneath the other edge of the table where feet are propped up on the opposite bench of the booth, climbing up over the patchwork trench spread across the back of the benchseat to leak over into the next booth (vacant, of course) to attempt some semblance of drying even though only halfway through the process now it looks even worse for wear as some patches have dried to their faded glory and others are still richly dark with moisture, then those dark eyes swing out on a voyage across the diner
there's the couple seeking shelter from the rain just as he, quietly conversing over meatloaf and potatoes, a few truckers and doctors scattered here and there, all infront of the darkened night background provided by the big windows along the front of the diner, the rain slipping in serpentous rivulets down the glass prisming and distorting the lights eeking in from outside
keeeeeeep looking, Jamey-boy, that can't be it
though soon enough he's rotated his head far enough around to catch sight of the blond
(that's silver and gold, you fool)
brow lifting just a tad
Hello there(ana)
The waitress glances up, and sees only a fraction of what James might. A kid: some high school junior or senior, some college freshman, pretty in her way, but still painfully young. A kid who catches her eye and offers the half-edge of a smile before burying her attention in the menu, one foot propped slyly on the benchseat of the booth opposite, a position achieved only by slouching down an inch or two in her seat.Her mother would never approve.
The girl's clothing is unremarkable, of course. There's nothing to catch the waitress's eye, nothing out of the ordinary. Somehow, the girl fits in. Worn jeans, boot-cut, the hem of a white t-shirt - untucked - visible beneath the bottom edge of a nylon jacket in drab navies and grays, a worn black satchel - leather, most likely, slung across her narrow torso.
Give her five years and she might be lovely, but for now the prettiness of youth, the smooth skin, the rounded cheeks, the flush of pink from the cool night, is all she can claim. She has fine bone structure - high cheekbones below wide-set eyes, a high brow and a decisive little chin - hidden by the remnants of babyfat rounding and smoothing out her features. Perhaps she feels James' regard settled upon her, senses the lift of the brow, the skeptical attention. Perhaps she has simply made a quick decision as to what she wants. Either way, the girl lifts her head from the menu and catches the edge of his glance and offers a brief, quicksilver(burn) smile before her attention falls back to the menu.
The babyfat does nothing to hide her breeding, to be sure. This is the blood of kings, the blood of madmen, the blood of squires and knights and lords and ladies, the blood of heroes, a silver flame lifted (...flickering...) against the long black night.
(james)
give her five years she might be lovely
give him five seconds he may make the wrong conclusion
she's from the lines of king and queens and squires and nobility flooding like silver veins through muddy earth
he's from the paupers and indentured servants who slogged away in the fields ankle deep in that very mud
supposedly, never the twain shall meet
but here they are, perhaps a few yards away in a dinerluckily, the moon has been reducing itself to a cheshire cat smiling sliver in the sky
but things have been going on in Eagle's territory that leaves that itchy feeling crawling up his spine
and while this isn't his main stomping ground
it's still well within jurisdictionhis first reaction - after returning the quick almost smile - is to lift that mug to his lips
sloooooowly taking a long sip of the caffeinated beverage
letting it coast across his tongue in cholocate brown wave before disappearing down his throat in swallow
then weight shifts a bit, to pull feet off the other bench
still damp dreads cling to the vinyl backing of his own seat before falling to settle across strong (scarred) back
fingers fall away from the cup and drum a little tattoo on the linoleum covering the table
just enough to get her attention back from the menu again
and rather than just a singular smile, he offers her a sentence of body language
animals speak in a language comprised of very few words
and without getting the message to everyone else within earshot
he composes a little ditty that invites her over to his booth(ana)
The rhythmic beat of his fingers upon the linoleum is enough to catch the girl's attention. Her eyes (sunlight slanting through blue-gray smoke, pale and bright, translucent and opaque) rise and a quirk of curious attention lifts a single corner of her mobile little mouth.Then her fingers open. Then the menu falls soundlessly to the table. And then - with a quick glance over her shoulder (the couple enjoying their meatloaf, the waitress filling a plastic tumbler with ice and water, her reflection, faint, against the black reflection of night beyond the window) - she slips from her booth leaving a smear of raindroplets on the patched red vinyl of the benchseat and approaches his.
"I'm Ana." Straight as she stands, with her shoulders square and her spine rigid, she seems like she should be taller. It's strange, really, how the sly slouch melts away and years of training replace it unconsciously, half-felt. The satchel now hangs from her shoulder, and the strap is so long that the worn leather case swings heavily, dislodging a few beaded droplets of rainwater from the nylon coat as it collides with her thigh. "Join you?"
(james)
he studies the way she moves
it's the musician (predator) in him
walking and sneaking is little more than an off-beat dance"Please."
his hand went from drinking to drumming and now it's gesturing again
offering the other benchseat to her...
.... then he seems to remember himself and stretches to retrieve his jacket from the back
little bit of an oops type of grin climbing over his features
it matches the smile that never quite seems to leave umber eyes"Much of a cheesy pick-up line as this sounds, couldn't help but notice you when you came in." more than likely she'll understand why, even with the moon so thin above, that Rage is still palpable, some things just come natural-like when you're pack's going to be huntin' soon, and now that hand extends to shake "I'm James."
(ana)
The artificial light glances off the heavy strands of her hair and highlights the girl's (soon-to-be) proud profile as she turns her head to watch him snatch the patchwork coat from the seat. Some little smile - a sly thing, amused, twitches across her mouth like a fox - but is quickly supressed."Pleasure." Spoken as she takes his hand, in a grip that is firm, if not strong. Her own hand is slight, and soft, though there are faint calluses of course, a swordsman's own. The satchel thumps against the vinyl as she swings it off her shoulder, tossing it into the booth before following, herself.
"Your digs?" A glance outside - the night, the rain, the city streets gleaming beneath the amber streetlights, strewn with refuse, bristling with cars - speaks more than the mere words can. "I'm sorry I would have - " the suggestion of a frown, creasing her high brow, and a shake of her head that threatens to dislodge the pen securing the precarious mass of her hair. " - but, well," her eyes drift back to him, and she smiles again, a quick thing that dissolves too quickly, like cotton candy on the tongue. "I didn't know."
(james)
he could lecture her
he could chide her
he could do a great many things
but rather, the Bone Gnawer smiles
nice and easy
waving it all off.... wait..... was that an apology? from her?
"Northern parts fall under Eagle's own. No worries."
with the dreads, the demeanor, and that jacket
he must be some urban bohemian speaking in slanguage
because that string of words does little to translate to the other patrons
but to her it's loud and clear
North Jersey. Eagle Territory. You know now, don'tcha?
the waitress ambles over to refill (rewarm) his coffee
and James smiles up at her with a wink of thanks
waving for Ana to order something if she wants
(funny thing about Gnawers, even if they barely know who you are, they feed ya)
and only after she's done does he continue on"'Round long?"
past, present, and future plans wrapped up all nice and pretty into a singular question
(ana)
"Coke - " to the waitress, who receives the ending upslant of the girl's decisive little nod in response to James' declaration of territory as she refills James' coffee. Really, no more needs said on that. " - and a tuna melt, thanks."The other side of the bench denied her, Ana instead lifts her foot to rest it on the edge of her own bench seat. Shin against the table edge, slim arm curved round her calf, cheek and then chin pressed against the curve of her knee, she tips her head northwest. "Two days, at the Motel 6. I'll be there until the money runs out, or Noah works out his mate problems and fulfills his pinky-swear." The half-smile doesn't leave her face. It always seems on the verge of erupting into something full-grown, full-blown, winged, and is always supressed just before it blooms. She has an expressive mouth and a mild, detached air at odds with the weight of his rage, at odds, perhaps, with the silver song of her proud blood. "He said he had room," her shoulders rise and fall in an abbrieviated shrug. "...you know him?"
(james)
"Know of him." not exactly falling into the tale of the little clash of a few days ago which left that pretty and permanent dishonor mark on the Fianna - yeh, work that out with your mate "Some of the gang knows him personally, I've never had the pleasure, more familiar with Zoe."not much else needs to be said about territory, really
he's not the type to hammer something into someone once it's realized
subtleness tends to go a long way, sometimes
just like that subtle, almost smile that keeps wanting to find its way to her face
it keeps tugging at his own
but that easygoing grin is trademark, for him
and he doesn't think twice about hiding it"Something bring you here or just passing through?"
he's veered away from grilling, with that question
it seems more genuine curiosity than laying out the where's and how's
possibly, even idle conversation
but when kin are getting killed in your territory
it pays to be well-informed(ana)
"Zoe's his..." a glance up and over her shoulder, placing the waitress, the few patrons again in the map of her mind. Finishing the question with a little shrug, she looks back to him. "...girl?" What curiousity she has on the subject, if any, is muted, faint, washed-out pastel against more vibrant and interesting possibilities. "Someone named Billy said she was sick."A moment then, reassessment, redacting, looping back from her question to his before she responds.
Wryly, "Marriage." Ana says the word too quickly, she says the word because it amuses her, now that she has escaped it. Because five days, one questing stone, and fifteen hundred long miles through the wakening spring has lifted the iron weight from her spirit. "He was a mouthbreather." Once more, her private little smile appears, flits across her lips, and melts away.
"So, really - " another quickling half-shrug does nothing to dislodge her chin from her crooked knee. Comfortable as she is, she doesn't move that leg, not even when the waitress brings over her coke. She's had enough of sitting straight, you see. " - I came because I knew Noah, and because I needed someplace to go. I'm not sure, yet, whether I'm just passing through."
Arranged marriage at seventeen: it's enough to make anyone run.
(james)
a brow lifts a little bit
marriage? why wou...... ooooooh
he gets it
the veritable light comes on in the Gnawer's skull
arranged marriages are a very foreign thing to him
he comes from a place that allows Garou to marry Garou
structure is something people like her deal with
not him"Makes sense.." a pause, to drink again from the cooling coffee ".... some wicked voodoo with the zombies been going on around here, wasn't sure if that brought you."
(ana)
"Zom - " It is Ana's turn to be confused. Puzzlement wrinkles her brow and lowers her eyes to the table between them. Her view of the linoleum is interrupted ten seconds later by the sudden eruption of a pale into her view: tuna melt, oozing cheese, decorated with a scattering of thick-cut potato chips. " - bies?"The crease between her brows disappears long enough to offer the waitress a meager, dancing little approproximation of a smile. Half-measure, that. She's chewing on her lower lip, and then she's unwrapping her slim arms from around her slim leg and picking up the sandwich, to chew - thoughtfully - on it instead.
"This isn't really my milieu," between bites (brief and precise, each chewed at least ten times before she swallows.), an apologetic shrug. " - but if there's anything I can do - " because we all have obligations. That, too, is the heritage of her blood, the burden of a great weight of history always carried on the squared shoulders of her kind, for all that she seems too young. Like every last one of them, she is too damn young for this war. " - I'd be happy to help."
(james)
"Walking dead." offered with dismissive gesture after Sandy moves on to the next table "Blood-sucking, brain-eating, using some family for target practice." muscular shoulders roll in a shrug beneath the thick fabric of the tee "Zombies."too young for this war
too jaded for this war
too hurt to carry on any longer for this war
yet they all. slog. on.
a whole bunch of veritable kids recruited from birth to a destiny none even whole-heartedly understand
though the choice of words may or may not be helping the understanding of the situation
in this day and age of Resident Evil, Zombies is a lot more casual fair than Vampires in a public place
she doesn't look like she's out of her teens, and with a birthday last month, he's not that far ahead of her
so if they were overheard, at least it can be passed off as the talk of teens, and not the Apocalypse"What's your specialty?"
(ana)
In response, a sly little grin that dances sidelong across her mouth. Soft with youth, the curves of her cheek and the quicksilver movements of her mouth do something to hide another truth: how easily those features could turn arrogant. She need merely set her jaw and lift her brow, she need only look down the long line of her patrician nose. And then there is that bow-shaped mouth: turned it down at the corners, add a mild twitch of her upper lip, and it could be downright cruel. One step, perhaps only half a step, in the opposite direction, another destiny beckons, the darker side of that fine heritage waits to be fulfilled.The girl sets the remnants of her tuna melt (she has eaten her way through the triangle'd half, leaving only the crusts) atop the remaining triangle. Rocking forward, she reaches to the far end of the table and plucks the salt shaker from beneath the gleaming dark window, where their ghostly reflections play at silent conversation.
The sly edge of her little grin lingers on her twitching lips as she unscrews the cap of the salt shaker, widens as she tips the little glass jar and spills a river of salt onto the cleared portion of her plate. Soft, full cheek against her knee, now, golden hair sliding heavily with the movement to rest langorously upon the slender nape of her neck, she watches not him, but her hands, as they dance across the plate to push the salt into a lobular circle. Her mouth twists, secretive, as she plows her finger through the amassed salt, displacing the crystals in a long, thin crescent, like the curve of a Cheshire smile.
Ana's eyes drift upward as she pushes the plate across the table to him, turning it so it is no longer a smile, but a reflection of the stranded, eaten moon slivered silver in the sky.
"This." The precise tap of her index finger on the edge of the plate displaces a few salt crystals, further distends the approximated circle. "but not here. I'm not -" her hand rises, her fingers ripple in a little wave toward the city beyond. " - familiar with these landscapes."
(james)
he watches - rather intrigued in the capturing of the salt soldier standing by the window keeping eye on the rain outside
the crystaline particles flow like bleached time into a little pile
then smooth and plow and divide themselves to form the slender crescent that smiles in the sky above
and a brow lifts, slightly....that's innovative
chin twitching in a nod of understanding
when he reaches to slide the plate back towards her
the edge closest to himself is tipped up
collecting the salt back together into the singular almost circle
(show me yours I'll show you mine)"Not too sure what I can ask of you, but I'll let my boss know, keep it in mind."
(ana)
Galliard or Ahroun, or some Bone Gnawer Elder, she had guessed, in the secret little inner bubbles composed half of monologue, half of impressions morphing liquid, one into the next, that float around in her head. The shining circle of salt certainly tips the scales.Pale eyes half-close in consideration of the spilled salt. Then, she reaches out again and traces a series of glyphs in the circle, tipping the plate to erase each one before beginning another.
Cliath
Gleaming Eye
Then: a question mark and a tip of her head in his direction.Her regard is serious now, serious and clear-eyed, cast from beneath a fringe of lashes so pale they recede to nothingness, little more than a faint gleam of gold against her skin, pale from the long, long winter.
"Ana Kozireski at the Motel 6," she reminds him, "Or Noah's, but I've a favor to ask in return. I can't think my father or brother would look for me here, but - " another shrug, abbrievated and taut, somehow, jerks through her shoulders. " - if someone were to ask, don't say anything, yet? I need some time."
Ever one for superstition - for real she knows so many things to be, breath given physical form, the remnant of sigh become ephmera upon the umbral wind - she steals a pinch of salt from the circle and tosses it over her shoulder before pushing the plate back to James.
(james)
most people would play a game of tic-tac-toe in a diner
or perhaps hangman, or another game scrawled out on napkins to pass the time
however, they aren't most normal people
when you come down to it, they're not really people at all
whatever was remotely human in them was bred out generations ago
now it's just some skin shell that helps them blend into the majority societyCliath
Bone Gnawerhe recognizes her house, but he's not about to give his camp
so Tribe should suffice since hers was obvious, especially with the Gleaming Eye tossed in
his chin drops in a thoughtful nod"No worries, this state tends to collect those that need a little time." the smile is kind, knowing, seems he's familiar with situations such as hers, at least generally "We're based out of Hibernia, boss is Blood Eagle, should probably meet'n greet if it takes awhile for Noah to get things settled with Zoe. At least appraise him of the sitch 'cause my word only goes so far."
plus, he already kept one Garou under wraps because of family looking for them
so far he hadn't paid any price for that, but he's not taking his chances again, plus it's just the way things are done
why tempt fate?
speaking of.... he mirrors that toss of salt
he may not be the most superstitious, but he's taken a walk through Wonderland, might as well cover all bases
at least there's noone in the booth behind him to get showered in salt(ana)
"No gathering place," she nods, murmuring against the worn denim of her jeans. "...that's sort of my reasoning, I guess. Or, well. No gathering place, and I know someone here. Helps to level out that loneliness."He will know what she means, of course. Pack is more than instinct, it's a nigh-physical need. Wolves are social creatures, after all, and sundered from their shining spiritual half as they are - "...but thanks, James." If her smile shades shy at the use of his name, it could well be a trick of the light, for the shadows reach long across her face and her mouth is half-hidden against the summit of her knee. "Could you arrange that for me?" Some minute, self-effacing shrug. "I don't like to violate the rules."
Humor quirks through her mouth as she extends her hand to brush away the last threads of glyphs pressed into the salt granules. "Though you might want to warn him, if he wants the full introduction, well - " her eyes, which had been resting on his face, though not quite his eyes, fall to the table and the corners of her curving mouth crest into what could well be a tiny little smirk. " - it might take a while. My father's been known to put even other House members to sleep with his recitation..."
(james)
"Sucks traveling the lonely road."half spoken, half just murmured idly
yeh, he knows that road all too well himself
he meant to keep traveling it, too, but look at where he is now
(and wouldn't be any other place)
again, there's that affirming nod"I'll pass the message on, see what he wants to do." then the grin quirks wry "He's not one for frills, so you may not have to go that far."
then his head tips, a bit, as if listening to some far off sound
(and maybe he is, and maybe that wry grin seems to soften a bit)
attention returning to this timezone, he plucks a napkin from the holder
pen produced from seemingly nowhere scrawls a number onto it"Just in case something happens before then."
that's when the Gnawer unplugs himself from the bench with a slow stretch
(been relaxing a liiiiiiittle bit too long)
pockets explored to grab enough cash for both their meals, plus tip
that's pinned to the table beneath his empty coffeemug
and he's gathering up the trench and the pack it covered beside him
once more tossing that easy, lopsided, friendly grin at the young Fang"Take care of yourself, 'Ana Kozireski at the Motel 6'" winked, as reminded "I'll catch you round, letcha know what's cookin'."
and with that, it's time to roll, one Bone Gnawer making his way back out into the rain
Posted by james at April 25, 2003 12:00 AM
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