May 16, 2003.05.16.03. - bring it [imogen-decker-kennedy-eva-dire][noje]
(james)
one thing you can't do is keep a Bone Gnawer down
even when he feels like he still has more bullets in him than organsluckily, the Theurge was somewhere to be found last night
so after he was carried in from the Tacoma in the early hours of this morning
most of said bullets were quickly removed
a round (or three) of healing later, and even the difficult ones were pulled
but he still feels like he's carrying them around
we're not even going into the agony of taking a shower
(the... upstairs... shower, since Decker's decided it was going to start leaking yesterday)
but he wasn't going to lay in a pool of crusted blood any longer
(that would be the second set of the Modi's sheets he's bled all over)that was about an hour ago
he's finally worked his way out to the front balcony
the majority of necessary bandages are hidden beneath a very, very soft t-shirt
just so he doesn't bleed through the cotton upon movement where bullets gathered to tear away chunks of skin last night
the rest of his flesh is patterned with healing bruises and still offended pink skin
long legs have been carefully tucked up in an strange Xing pattern of camoflage
this is not a time to stretch outdark eyes are watching the distant cover of clouds
watching the sun set behind the shadowing gray
the vestiges of fire remnant along the outskirts of billowing black
his chin rests on the raised knee
upon the more parallel to the ground other is settled the base of a half-full glass of orange juice
(hey... whatever helps)
it's a slow.... slow.... system of movement that drains the glass down to a quarter(imogen)
She does have, perhaps, a modicum of experience with wounds. Not just the mark of them, the pattern of them across dead bodies, the mark of them across flesh that has long lost elasticity. It is also simply the way a body holds themselves as they are injured, the way they sit, the way they breath. Whether it is from Decker, who is no stranger to wounds himself, or some other experience past in days before, or even just a doctor's intuition (thought she is not one for compassion) she has a sense for injury.So, as she walks up the walkway, another long day, though not as long as some, she does see James, and perhaps the way he holds himself draws a momentary pause, a faint flicker of an eyebrow. Garou are no stranger to injury, which may explain the lack of concern, as she walks up the steps to Rune's condo rather than her own, a brief glance of attention toward her own condo, glancing at the windows, and for some reason taking comfort that they are dark.
She pauses before the topmost step, lifting her chin, not in greeting but to gesture toward the Gnawer, as one hand slides into the pockets of her jeans, the other hand reaching up to tender back hair, pulled away from her face in some attempt to keep decorum. "Have a good night, last night?" She inquires mildly, setting one shoulder against the balcony's pillar.
(james)
there are a lot of things that would speak to the good doctor of injury
the presence of orange juice instead of the normal beer
the lack of a Camel held between his teeth
the way he's curled in on himself (protectively) instead of sprawled so easily across balcony width
the way he's so slow to react to her approach on the balcony
following her with those dark eyes, waiting until she's actually found a place of rest, before his head lifts from where it found place again upon his knee to flash that trademark grin back at her
or, at least, a wry representation thereof"Peachy."
the word is soft and harsh
several of the bullets tore a glancing path across Chrinos throat
the damage has been mostly healed, but his voice is still recovering from the insult"Something show up at work?"
he has no idea how last night ended
when he regained consciousness earlier - that wasn't exactly the topic of conversation
by the time he woke up again after a few more hours sleep, the condo was empty(imogen)
A moment and she considers him, a slow regard of dark eyes that rarely reveal anything beyond the fact there is life within. It is much like that, as she observes him, in her own detached manner, in her own way of simply gauging his injury. If a Garou is still alive, he will not die now, and perhaps the good doctor has some knowledge of this. It's only when a Garou falls and stays down, is there a problem. And then, there's no point to worrying anymore, in any case.She shakes her head briefly, "Not that I 'eard of. In this county, were you?" A tilt of her head gestures behind her, the streets beyond, meaning the county within Hibernia. Where Imogen technically covers, but appears to go much beyond that. "Or were you somewhere else?" said as her attention returns to him.
The skies are cloudy tonight, better than the rain, for some, though at least if it was raining, the clouds would have some purpose. Now, it is only that it is cloudy for the sake of, the moon and stars blotted out for no purpose.
(kennedy)
Today... was better than last night. Two hours of preening in the same bathroom at condos..(no stuff missing this time) clean, and showered after being shot, puked, and squished by a bloody 'Gnawer on the ride back to the condos, Kennedy had managed to slip away once more without a line of questions.She returns once again to the condos, lugging a big greasy bag of fastfood with her. The wide hems of baggy jnco jeans drag along the concrete, scuffing the fabric even more. The dirty, once white tops of her converse peek out every few steps. A white men's tanked undershirt, stretched across her lean, muscled torso. Small patches of red markings blistered across her upper biceps and forearms, skin rubbed raw and red (like a really bad sunburn) from putrid juices spewed in the explosion of the blob-thing... She didn't walk with quite the same bounce in her step as she normally did. Pale blond hair pulled back at the nape into a ponytail, dark fathomless eyes, like twin pools of obsidian, hold an attentive gaze on the stairwell that led up to the condos. A half-thought filling her mind if anyone would remember last night. She knew there would be a line of questioning... You just don't quite forget a Caaaawck!Blob.. screeched at you from a giant feather duster.
(eva)
Mostly empty condo.
Some days, being “protected” is much worse then being ignored. Even so, and ignoring the pregnant swell of the moon that hides behind brewing storm clouds, the bitch is still around. Where there’s Luc, there’s Eva, even if she’s suspiciously quiet. Still sleeping, of course, though now there’s a stretch and groan and search for the lanky Skald. Finding she’s got the whole bed to herself still…well this leads to the always fun game of “find articles of clothing that – even if not yours – may due until laundry can be done” as lean, limber form rolls from the bed. After the check of all piercingsof course, and then we come up with…. His socks, her jeans (he’s are too long and fall off slender hips) his wifebeater, and a bandanna to pull back the disarray of braids back from her face to fall over her shoulders and down her back. Her boots, his pack of smokes, her lighter, and a quick trip to the bathroom to reapply make-up and she’s good to go.
It’s only then that lazily thumped steps can be heard, down the hall, stop in kitchen and grab a beer, a brief search finding a box of lucky charms that is grabbed as well, before she opens the door and heads out to the balcony. Breakfast of champions – cigarette, cereal and beer. Yumyum. Arched brow at James, something of a nod to Imogen, and lean form finds a chair normally sprawled in by the gnawer to sink into and stretch out herself. “Mornin.”(james)
"Newark."said with the smallest of negating shakes of his head
half-sighed for comfort rather than the normal smooth tones
this is probably the first time he hasn't done something to offer Imogen a seat, either
but knowing she's picked out that he isn't in top form tonight
he figures she'll forgive him this tresspassdark gaze swing as far towards the door as he can look without actually turning his head
okay, not so empty, but at least quiet
the nod up greeting to her is subdued, as well"Morning Eva."
(imogen)
Imogen tends to stand, in either case, so the labsence of James's usual gallantry may not even be missed. "I'll check on Saturday," she answers simply and without inflection. "I'd not worked Newark at all, today."Her gaze flicks upward toward Eva as she steps out, with her breakfast in hand, "'Lo," single syllable answer, easily offered. Her back to the parking lot, facing the condo door and the opening of the balcony instead, Kennedy's approach is not yet noted, the girl too far away to be heard.
(eva)
“th’fuck happened to you?” dark eyes narrow slightly, studying James carefully. Not like the question is one that really needs to be answered, as there are those afore mentioned signs of injury. Perhaps she wonders instead if he got the brunt of it. If that’s why luc wasn’t in bed yet/still. Not that she’d notice if he came in last night, she was pretty wasted by the time she crawled between the sheets herself. So maybe it’s just that – an honest question, and an inquiry if he’ll be allright.
Course, he’s Garou. If he ain’t dead yet, he’ll survive.
The beer is propped between her thighs, unopened for the moment as nails slide under the flap of the cereal box, opening it, then the back inside to grab a handful of sweet crunchy goodness, offering the box to James afterwards. Yeah – fuck you too, she’s got manners. Sometimes. And he’s all right. For the most part.
Imogen’s greeting gets another nod, but no further reply. Women of few words, they are. And eva’s few tend to be cuss words. Sometimes she fits right in, don’t she?(rune)
Cloudy, cool spring night. Still, it's spring, and it's not raining again, so throughout the complex, folks are coming out onto their balconies, enjoying the night air, the last shreds of sunset in the sky.Everywhere except for Buildings 22 and 23, facing each other across the parking lot. It's instinctive, really, by now. The other residents go out back when the Garou are out front, and stay inside when the Garou are out front and back. Daylight's usually pretty safe, early mornings are the safest: remnant memory, curled possibility, the lingering darkness of the distant past that still impinges upon the human brain. Prey.
Headlights - the familiar silvered shine, too bright, a collective fuck you to the mass of commuters and everyone heading the other direction. Yeah, you. Fuck off. Headlights, and then the finish of the little Beemer, gleaming beneath the streetlights.
(james)
there's a breif drop of his chin in affirming nod
amazing, how much is contained in that simple little movement
if Imogen wasn't called to Newark for any reason
then the... issue... was wrapped up nice and neat
yet it always pays to keep an eye out for details that surface after the fact
and he appreciates she's going to check tomorrow"Felt like a gatling."
he didn't bother to ask how many bullets they pulled out of him
that's for the Galliard to know when he tells the tale later
the Ahroun doesn't care - all that matters is he's still breathing
he only remembers that the fucking thing sounded automatic
and most of that automatic firing was aimed at him
least he was able to drop the TV on the bastard
(heh.... SPLATTER)
there's a slooooooooow stretch for a handful of cereal
(they'd know something is wrong if he refused food)
and an equally slow consumption of one lucky charm after another
(he's eating slowly, there's definitely something still wrong)
he doesn't say his thanks, it's just nodded, seems he's fitting right in with thee of few words tonight
it'll be at least a few more hours before he can speak normally again
let us not push our luck(kennedy)
By the time she manages to meander her way up, the occupancy on the front porch as grown. The small figure can be made out now by anyone when it broaches the bottom of the steps. A glance upward to look at James, Imogen and Eva. Fingers of her right hand still curled around the top of the greasy bag of food. She steps up, taking one step at a time. Alittle drained, not so tired, but with sore muscles. A simple "Hey, folks." greets them from the bottom of the stairs.(imogen)
It seems the balcony has become a central again, as Imogen';s head turns to glance toward Kennedy as she speaks, shoulder rolling away from the balcony column, standing more at the point where the stairs open up into the balcony rather than actually stepping onto the balcony. It's a brief glance rather than a greeting, as her attention flickers beyond to Rune's beemer gliding into its parking space near her own benz. The greeting is belated. "'Lo," before her attention flicks upward briefly, toward the sky and it's covering clouds."Would you have," She speaks again, assumedly to James, an assumption that is answered when the redhead turns her dark eyes back and glances toward the Gnawer, "A copy o' that nazi symbol found in Newark?"
There was more than that found in Newark, of course, but this appears to be all she's intending to ask about. The faintest arch of an eyebrow lends weight to the question.
(kennedy)
After james gets his handful (s.l.o.w.l.y) she offers the box to Imogen as well, before tucking it back in her lap and glancing toward Kennedy. A nod of hello in reply “morning.” Before she’s occupied with lighting a cigarette before munching on another handful of cereal between drags, long legs stretching to brace ankles on the railing, slouching down in the chair into comfortable sprawl.(kennedy)
She reaches the top of the stairs, sliding along the banister, opposite of Imogen's position. She holds up the greasy bag of food in offering to anybody on the porch. " 'allo... Food if anybody is hungry.." a slight grin spreads at the corners of her mouth. Dark eyes flicker over to the 'Gnawer, looking him over briefly. "Nice to see you live after last night"(rune)
The Beemer pulls into the usual parking space. The lights flash - flare briefly - die. No dusk, here. The door swings open and the Glass Walker swings out: long legs, lean body, leather and silk. The usual, really, and apparently none the worse for wear after the adventure last night....apparently.
No hitch in her long stride, not even the suggestion of one. Not as she swings out of the Beemer, not as she climbs the stairs, not as she approaches the group. The Glass Walker offers a nod up to Imogen, James, Eva before settling her dark eyes on Kennedy. The nod up follows a moment later, edged by the slow quirk of a half-smirk.
"We need to talk sometime."
(james)
then there's the approach of the blond to the stairs
the blond he doesn't recognize
so a dark brow shoots up
in that "who the fuck are you?" sorta way
but since she seems familiar with the others, he doesn't speak up quite yet
not to mention the burn marks on her upper arms look freshthen dark gaze slides past
up to where the Beemer is pulling into the lot
he wouldn't have had to hear it to know she's coming
pack
but some sights are great for sore eyes (and bodies)
and there's some imperceptible relaxation through his shoulders
maybe most would take it as the sudden comfort in having pack closeby
(maybe one kin in particular would know it was for more)
then his attention swings back to Imogen with a small nod"Yeh... inside."
there's an invitation somewhere in there to retire within and they can go over it
but right now he's waiting for the wave of pain straightening to put his feet on the ground caused to pass
it's followed by a softly huffed bit of laughter, glancing up at Kennedy, the past to Rune"I concur."
(imogen)
A nod for Rune, a vague glance toward Kennedy, seeing as both packmembers need to speak with her before her head turns toward the Gnawer, completing the fractured conversation. Her hand combs through the loosened strands of red, dark and burning in the night, strands catching in stray beams from the street lights beyond, the ambient light flickering against blonde and roan, auburn and true red. She does not effect to notice much the pause of pain of the Gnawer, as her attention flickers toward Kennedy as she speaks, and the greasy food she sports, a brief flicker of what might suggest a smirk touching her mouth, before she turns to speak to James, some vague pause before she speaks, "Whenever you've a moment," she says dismissively, a slight shrug of her shoulders.(kennedy)
Dark eyes alight with humor for the moment. She remains on the steps, pressing her back into the rail to allow room for Rune to pass. Her head moves from James to Rune, speaking to her in reply. "I... had a feelin' you'd be saying that.. Kinda why I stopped back by.. heh.." a cheesy grin offered up to Rune, before her head tilts at the usual odd angle to stare at James once more.. "Does... caaawwck. Blob ring a bell." a smirk at that.The startled look on their faces was amusing, as was her beginner's luck. The ol' Manhattan watering hole was a bustle of conversation earlier this morning as Kennedy was definitly strutting and bragging to her fellow avarian cohorts. It was nice to have the big apple only a quick flight away.
(eva)
The talk goes on around her – such as it is, and she remains silent but for the poisoned breath that’s broken up with continued handfuls of sticky sweet cereal, a pause to lick sugar dust from fingers, before finally opening the beer still propped between thighs. It’s a delicate maneuver, managing her there vices at once, but it’s made to look easy as same fingers that slide around beer bottle neck also hold smoke, leaving the other free to continue the much the cereal.
Rune gets a nod in return, and a brow lifts as James and Rune both want to talk to Kennedy, and a notch higher at the blond’s comment… seems she decided to fess up after all but what the fuck does ‘cawck blob’ mean? Silence is maintained – always a good way to gather more information on what the hell’s goin on.(rune)
"Let's go." The Beta jerks her head briefly toward the interior. For the moment, her eyes don't leave Kennedy, and though there's no threat there, there's nothing particularly akin to warmth, either.There rarely is. Last night was last night, worthy of a ride back, at least. This evening is this evening, and the stranger is in her territory, at the mouth of her den, with clear view of her kin and who knows how much information about her pack.
"After you." Leaning back against the railing, she offers Kennedy some twist of her mouth meant to be a reassuring smile and sweeps her hand in a gesture toward the door. Standing there, she waits for James and Kennedy to precede her inside, dark eyes briefly flickering toward Eva. The purse of a half-thoughtful frown, awareness, recognition, nothing particularly readable beyond that, "...wanna talk to you, sometime." before her eyes flicker back toward her packmate and the...
...whatever the hell she is from the night before.
(james)
the other brow joins its partner
so that.... wasn't some hallucination
(and they do exist)
for a fleeting moment
that would be a look of fascination on the Gnawer's face
he'd only heard stories of other shifting breeds"Fancy that...."
he takes the momentary distraction of the fact to shift weight forward and stand (ouch) hand moving to press on the t-shirt covered gauze along his flank because he's more than aware that particular wound started leaking again in the movement
"C'mon."
the last shot towards Imogen
he's always time to help out the Kin
somehow, they've ended up partners in crime, as it is
she might as well join this little powwow, too
and he's heading inside to find some place softer to sit than the damned deck chair(kennedy)
A mirrored voice of the Deckmeister's "Think we oughta have a talk." echoes their same words. She was able to avoid it a night at least from the Fenrir. Though, last night was a bad night probably.. So compliance would be the smart deal when in the presence of a few full moons. No sense in ending up the stuffing for a pillow. The knowledge of her secret was slowly spreading those she wanted to be know. The wolves were cool in her book, and anything she could get out of an odd relationship with them might be beneficial to her.. Besides, they provided a perfect resource for one small delicacy she liked... eyeballs.Kennedy waits for James to stand up, moving towards the door of Rune's apartment, but she would wait to let James head in first. A quick glance over to Imogen with a curious brow raised upward. "Yea, fancy that.. I'm technicolor myth come into focus finally." some of them had been led to believe one thing about her. A partial truth hiding a bigger one, it was the reaction of the rest of the Fenrir that had her curious. One already was wary of her as it is... course the woodland pups weren't quite like this motley crew.
(imogen)
She had caught the look of surprise across James's features, perhaps the dawning realization that followed, and a singular eyebrow arches in vague question (after all, Kennedy's memory jog meant absolutely nothing to those uninvolved), the eyebrow resettles however, the only flicker of reaction across her face as Kennedy walks past her, and James tells her to join.The slender kin glances up toward the tall lanky Gnawer again, from her half recline against the pillar of the balcony. Motion finds life in her form and she straightens, easily and smoothly. She is not prone to slouching, and being her height as she is, it may not be surprising that she stands relatively straight, the kind of posture given to athletes of some of the more choreographed sports.
Technicolour myths come into focus... her flicker of a glance (only moments after Kennedy's glance toward her), is quick and untelling as she joins the exodus and goes inside.
(eva)
And it seems the little party is dispersing, and then Rune turns that caustic gaze on her as well. Thoughtful, aware, recognized, whatever. And a shoulder shrugs and lips curve into something of an answering smirk and a nod. “Ain’t got no where else to be. Just say the word.”
James gets up carefully, Imogen is invited to join.
(does a part of her wonder what the redhead did to gain such acceptance to the closed meetings of pack? Even that blond bitch ((lexi)) is sewed to the bigwig’s hip, and she? Hanging out with nothing better to do until Luc sees fit to drag his beat up ass back home. The question is unanswered, however, because it’s simply unasked. And it doesn’t look like she really gives a fuck.)
everyone adjourns inside, and this leaves the pierced bitch sitting alone on the porch. A shift of sprawl, slight, just enough to ease the press of chair against shoulder blade and there’s the continued munching of her ‘breakfast’ before box of cereal is set aside, and arm stretches up over head, hanging over the back of the chair, nails clicking against wood as dark eyes under lowered lashes watching the stormclouds gather.(decker)
Everyone heads on in.He's just coming up the stairs. Tacoma's parked in the lot, nice and shiny and black again. Those handwash places sure were nice. You sit inside and girls in wet t-shirts and soapsuds crawl all over your car for ten bucks. Which isn't a sum to yawn at for him, but he had Luc with him, and Luc just got an allowance from...whomever he gets allowances from.
Carwash. Ten bucks. Late spring sunshine.
He almost felt human for a minute there.That's since passed, though. 11pm and the moon, one day past full, is in the sky again. Coming up the stairs at his slow thuggish pace, he glances at Eva. At the door. Back.
"They havin' another fuckin' meetin' 'r somethin'?"
(rune)
Inside, the Weaver's wet dream. If, of course, the mad-web-goddess would allow something so random to happen to her (let's assume not). The Glass Walker's eyes flicker over Imogen, then Eva as she follows the trio inside, wordless for the moment, without particular comment on Kennedy's mimicry or the technicolor myth comment.Wordless, of course, until it's time to play hostess with the mostest, or at least with the fridge and the sixpack of Stoudt's Gold inside.
"Have a seat," a sweep of her head toward the leather couch, the easy chairs alongside. It's surprisingly quiet in here tonight, and she doesn't turn on the music, or the television, as is her wont. This is a little more serious.
While everyone's milling around inside, Rune cuts through the small group and heads for the kitchen. The fridge sucks open (let there be light!) and then slams closed. From behind them, the clink of bottles and creak of cardboard as she carts the whole six-pack back out to the living room and sets it down on the lacquered coffee table, a bottle opener clattering down alongside.
Rune grabs a beer and takes a seat on the couch. "So - " great opening there, tinged by the presence of her peculiarly self-deprecating, caustic little smirk as her gaze swings unerringly to Kennedy. "Let's start with this: what the fuck are you, and what do you know about us, and what the hell do you want?"
(james)
Imogen's been around for a long while
Imogen's been in the shit with them
that could be why the lanky, dreadlocked Gnawer basically considers her pack
it's a common thing among his tribe, to draw kinfolk in with the Garou
when things get sticky, sometimes doesn't matter who's at your back as long as they're on your side
the redhead is definitely one he trusts at his back
(he grows teeth and claws and she peels flesh with but a glance - it's the amazing duo!)
and as involved as she is with their other "missions" - she might as well know about this one
because he's pretty aware of the reputation those flighty, (now-not-so) mythical shifters have
(anyone taking bets on whom he's pegged for painting Decker's truck?)
if there's even any consideration of how Eva feels about the situation in the Gnawer's brain?
it doesn't show
she can earn her way in as welland never before has he appreciated the overstuffed leather of the couch SO much
there's that certain braingasm of a momentary absense of pain before everything starts aching again
dammit he'll take what he can get
(eva)
And enter the thug. An amused smirk as she takes in the shiny blackness of the once bird dropping covered Tacoma now all springtime fresh as shoulders lift in a shrug. “’parrently.” A moment, two, and then a jerk of head toward the door. Six words and he probably knows exactly what’s going on, but it’s all she knows so it’s all he gets from her. “Kennedy and Nazi something or another.” Dark painted lips wrap around filter of cigarette, inhale deep, nails lead the decent of hand to now rest against thigh, as grayish cloud is exhaled.(kennedy)
Oooh, nice interior. Lots of shiny things. Anything metal, chrome, or even the faintest bit of polish snares her attention for the briefest of seconds before she has to snap herself out of staring at it. A slight swaying bounce sneaks its way into her movements once more. The head continuously turns at all angles the neck will allow it to stretch in this homid skinsack to peer around the main room. She's been here before.. a few times. Loves what Rune does with her bathrooms...She finds a perch in one of the easy chairs, the bag of fastfood set down somewhere for anybody to access. She offered it out, wasn't going to take it back. She flops back into the chair, settling down back to get somewhat comfy.
To young to drink, the beer is forgoed for now. Her head tilts up, to look at Rune when she speaks. Eyes, attentive, curious, unblinking to small details of body language and facial expressions. A small grin plays across her mouth, before she answers. "Corvis Albius. Corax. Fenrir..." a slight pause, a soft roll of her shoulders in a shrug. "used to be anyway before I graduated into the Mile-High Club." another cheesy smile offered upon her teenage face. "What do I know... Depends on the subject. Many things and very little about Eagle's Pack. Name's been tossed around the ol'watering hole across the river. Know ya got a few kin and two fenrir that almost trashed me upon first meeting.. Ya'll hang out in the city unlike the others and have a fairly big stab of turf in the city. S'bout it for the most part.." she thinks for a moment on the last question. "I really have a hankerin' for some pickled eyeballs right about now.. You wouldn't happen to keep any in the fridge would ya?"
Well.. Rune did ask what she wanted...(rune)
"I have sushi. Will that do?" This, the Glass Walker's sardonic reply. Her expression is largely unchanged, beyond that. She doesn't respond to the cheesy grins or the tilts at humor. "Too much information and not enough, all wrapped into one. Let's start with smaller chunks. What the fuck is that? A name? Something else that's supposed to mean something to me? And how the hell are you Fenrir, too?" "There's a glance toward James, largely blank, but the dark eyes settle back on Kennedy soon enough. The girl is young, attentive, distractable and curiousp; Rune is none of this things, but she watches right back, like a fucking hawk.
(decker)
Decker frowns at the door for a moment as though it held some secret tidbit of information that he just couldn't crack. Then he shrugs. Hooks his foot around the leg of the nearest patio chair, drags it on over, drops down.Whump.
Chair joints creak.He stretches out, settling in, hands busying themselves in his search for the usual: cigarette paper, weed, matches. He'll get the important bits across totemphone. Too damn crowded in the condo, moon too high, moon too round.
Night outside's cool and quiet, though. Other than Luc's girl sharing the balcony, it's almost nice out here.
"Luc did good last night." Total non-sequitor, out of the blue. Joint all rolled, he licks and twists, inserts and lights up. Shakes the match out and flicks it down the stairs, narrow grey eyes like a lightning storm rising to follow the trajectory of the match a distance before they lance out over the parking lot to scan the line of the horizon. Left and right, back and again. Joint between his teeth, sunk back into the chair, slouched and coiled, six feet and two hundred some-odd pounds of Fenrir Full-Moon might.
That, and every other fucked-up thing that made him up.
(james)
he was distracted outside by that methodology of movement
and soon as the fascination over the Corax wears off
he's focused on that bag of fast food
snagging a burger before returing it to the middle of the lacquered table
helping himself to a beer as well
(he was doing so well with the OJ, these new damned habits)
there's a bit of a pause in the rather big first bit(pickled eyeballs?)
swallow
allright, not all those legends are legends it's seeming
he was told a bird would pluck out his eye just as soon as talk to him
..... fancy that."Not to mention." slowly, still rough when his voice is normally so smooth "What's got your curiosity all focused on us."
he sincerily doubts her appearance at the warehouse last night was total chance
(imogen)
James sinks down, Kennedy finds a perch and Imogen would likely feel more comfortable standing, which is not completely unusual, but for the fact that to do so would gain nothing. Everyone takes their seats, and after a moment, sitting in the easy chair opposite to Kennedy. Her attention is not diverted from Kennedy, as she speaks, but nor does she stare.She has little to say here, and unlike Rune and James, she has a very good chance to have never heard of the existance of other Fera. It may be that the Garou do not often inform their kin of their shames, and the War of Rage, is one of such shames. She is here, however, and for better or for worse, the slender woman does listen.
(eva)
The thuggish asshole makes himself comfortable, and there’s something of a smirk of amusement, perhaps, the barest fraction of a brow lifting. Rune wants to talk to her sometime, and Decker would just as soon toss her over the fuckin railing, and there ain’t any love lost for either of them in the flicker of dark gaze. The redheads all right, the Gnawer too. And well we all can hear on a regular basis what she thinks of Luc.
A slight smirk. Nice and cool and quiet. Cept for the Moody Modi now slung low and content on a chair.
The modi who now speaks, and it’s fair to say there’s a flicker of surprise somewhere in dark gaze at not only that simple fact, but the words chosen as well. There might be a softening of that smirk too – but mostly it’s just a trick of the light as she turns her head to study Decker. Ain’t afraid to look down at the Ahroun, this one, but for now it’s just simple….study. Finally, chin falls into something of a nod, and cigarette returns to lips, inhale, exhale breathing a sound of acknowledgement. Half a second longer, then. “Good. James looks pretty banged up. Y’alright?” Concern? Hardly. Well. Not that she’d admit – but maybe he’ll finish whatever answer given with Luc’s condition too. Ain’t seen him since, really, after all.
(kennedy)
The grins and tilts of humor disappear quickly as her body tilts forward, elbows stab down to bury into the tops of her knees. Hands presse together to let fingers curl over one another. Time to try a different approach here. She clears her throat, "Corvis Albius is the scientific name for a Pied Crow. Corax is the name of my breed." She indicates towards James and Rune. "You all are garou. Warriors of Gaia. I am Bird woman. Corax. The Eyes of Gaia." her voice drops its humor, remaining casual."I am Kennedy Krähe, or Sun-Spottin', born of a Modi of the Fenrir and Corax Kinfolk. I am Thought and Memory in the eye of a god. My.. family has come of past and present dealings with the Fenrir tribe through the ages. We serve as their messengers their scouts, their eyes..." a slight push as she sits up, glancing over at Imogen for a moment to see how she takes this and then to James.
(rune)
The Glass Walker expells a long, sure breath, and her body language changes, subtly but surely. That seems to be the answer she was looking for, or at least, a satisfying answer for the moment. "Thought your kind were all extinct." Dark eyes flicker back toward James, then return to Kennedy. Another half-smirk, a slow, singular curl like smoke on the wind. "'bout a million fucking years ago."That's as much curiousity (...weakness) as she'll exhibit for the moment. "You're gonna hafta talk to Erik." Tipping back her beer bottle, the Glass Walker takes a long, satisfying drink, and her eyes half-lid in contentment or thought as she swallows. "Now, what's this about a watering hole?"
(decker)
One eyebrow wrinkles upward. Lazy slide of eyes sideways. A snort. He says nothing for the time it takes him to take a hit off the joint, hold it, and release it.A cloud of bluegrey dissipates. The haze clears and the horizon sharpenes again, black treeshapes breaking into the blueblack bowl of the sky. A smirk. "'Course."
The arrogance (confidence: they are not one and the same) implicit in the word is all-encompassing. Of course he's all right. Six humanoids, a blob and a batboy. Of course he's all right.
He's still here, isn't he?
Ash the joint. Bite it between his teeth, the tip dancing with his words. By necessity grit-toothed, "Fuck d'you care? You wanna know 'bout Luc, you kin ask me 'bout Luc."
(james)
"Spies. And damned good ones."mused as he's tossing the wrapper back onto the table to clean up later
(where'd.... that burger go??)
and polishing it all off with a slow swallow of the beer
the way he said that, it's nothing personally aimed at Kennedy
it's more of an addition to all that he's heard rumored about the breed itself
sorta like the Sewer Rats that dealt with those leeches that made Erik look like a beauty queen
some worked with the "Eyes in the Sky" and never really answered a direct question about it
tales were spun to instill a healthy amount of respect and fear into young cubs
these supposedly extinct creatures that still keep an eye on you (or take yours)
but one thing a Gnawer can do is accept
and he seems to be taking what the Bird Woman is saying all in stride
(and probably with a grain of salt)a brow lifts, casually, as Rune's questioning continues
there's something in deep umber eyes that says what his earlier tone didn't
he may feel like one-hundred ninety pounds of swiss cheese
but should she answer that question (or any) unsatisfactorily
they'll have roast chicken for dinnerwhen he clawed his way to conciousness earlier, the story of the corax helping them out didn't make the list of things discussed during that breif interlude granting five minutes of clarity, and even if he did know about it, he'd still wonder exactly whom she was helping out there
the moon's still full in the sky above
he still feels like hell
can't really blame him for being a bit wary(imogen)
Kennedy glances at Imogen, then James, gauging reactions, and from the petite woman there is little more than a regard back and what is likely taken for veiled interest. Whatever reaction she may have had in regards to a long dead breed of shifter (should she know this to begin with) or a new breed of shifter is suppressed and controlled, though a flicker of her gaze straifs toward Rune as she speaks of dead breeds and a million years. All here are dark eyed, and in the vague light, Imogen's eyes are blue, some dark shade, remnant of starry nights, deepest oceans.(kennedy)
A slight smile curls up on her face. "The greatest trick the Devil ever played was making everyone else think He didn't exist..." her nose crinkles, leaning back in the easy chair. "The Big Apple, small island across the river from Joisey... Billion people. Too many fucking pigeons.. Wolves in the Park. Mah home town, baybee... all sorts of talk comes and goes. Gossip mostly. Heard a whisper of trouble was brewing in these here hills.." She shrugs her shoulders again. "Where there's trouble.. there's dead that like to talk..."A flicker of unblinking eyes over to James at his comment. "Spies like us. Make the KGB, CIA and British Intel look like a bunch pansies in tutus. James Bond ain't nothing on us."
(eva)
She smirks slightly, amused. Of course. Not like he’d be anything else – fuckin full moons. Ankles uncross, and long legs slide and switch positions, re-crossing the other way. “Th’fuck I don’t care.” Automatically argued, though shoulders under wifebeater lift in a shrug. “Ya might be a fuckin asshole and no better then dog shit under my shoe – but ya still better’n some out there.” Hell – that’s practically a speech for as quiet as the bitch has been lately. A final drag, and butt is ashed in nearby tray, fingers lifting to slide nails between braids, scritching lightly at her scalp before lifting further to fall back behind her head, nails a tattoo along the chair.
Finally, a nod, watching those stormclouds boil while inhaling a bit of a second hand high. Stingy fuckin bastard. “S’he allright?” not like he didn’t know the question was comin.(rune)
"You said you heard about us there." It's no suprise that a Glass Walker can keep things on track. What were the first iron horses, after all, but Old Grandmother Spider's veins? Nice and precise, forward, ordered: on track. Straight ahead, courtesy of conductor Rune. One plucked, shaped brow rises precipitously and her body language changes again: taut and humming as the strings on a well-tuned violin. "You talk about us there, too?"(decker)
Another snort. He pulls the joint out of his mouth again in a short, reined gesture; throws a look at the braid-haired teenager. Decker has two responses to compliments. One is reserved solely for comments on his combat prowess. It goes something like 'yeah. I know.'The other applies to everything and anything. It goes, "Cut the asskissin' crap."
Narrow gaze held a frozen second.
Then motion again, that slow never-quite stillness of his. Always moving somehow. A roll of a powerful shoulder. A flex of the fingers. A tilt of a head. Or even just the steady slow rise and fall of chest in breathing; just the insistent insidious wave-form of his rage ebbing and flowing just beneath his skin.
Perpetual motion, even in repose. It's a good thing. It's when he goes still and silent, cold and dead-eyed, when his rage crystallizes into a deadly spear of destruction, that you should be afraid.
"Luc's fine. Got splashed with a fomor's battery-acid pus. Burnt his fuckin' hair right off, but other 'n that he's all right." Flicker of a smirk. "Jus' too damn ugly to come home right now."
Another hit off the joint.
(james)
this is the one he was waiting for
(nice and orderly, he knows his Beta well - inside and out)
and even though his grin is still nice and easy
(damn skippy y'all make James Bond look like a kindergartener)
and his body feels like it's about to fall apart again
(isn't he supposed to have these supernatural healing powers???)
his attention is narrowed onto the Corax
(more than just a little bit deadly)(kennedy)
"Heard a passing word there was a functioning pack in the city with large turf while a few stragglers huddled up in the woods vying over land disputes. I can't talk about something I don't know about. And dirty laundry doesn't benefit me without an ounce of truth behind it." She focuses her attenions on Rune once more. The Glass Walker was good. Interesting, but good. Brows tilt upward in a slow arch at the subtle shift in Rune's body posture. "You do things worth talking about? Handle ya'selves pretty damn well last night... Wouldn't mind bragging about it to a few of the boys back home."(eva)
There’s a snort of amusement as she meets that narrowed gaze steady. “Wouldn’t kiss ya fucked up ass if ya was the last fucker on earth, asshole.” Wasn’t no compliment either, was a fucking comment for crissakes. But that’s fine. Back to the normal caustic Eva, quick as anything and just as smooth.
Stillness permeates other then the ever-present sneer, the smirks, accompanied by the tattoo of nails against plastic.
A nod as the information is passed on. And a slow smirk crawls across darkstained lips and she arches pierced brow at Decker. “At his ugliest he’s a damn sight better’n you” But there’s a nod, and finally that beer is lifted and partially drained.
(rune)
"Here's the deal we make right now," her attention remains sharp and sure on the Corax, now. She sits up, leans forward, a certain luminal intensity behind the words that never finds expression otherwise on her face. "...and these are the conditions, before you even talk to Erik. You let our seer check you out, for taint or anything like it. If he says you're okay, you talk to Erik. If Erik says you're okay, you get to hang in our turf, sometimes, if you do us favors in return. And if you gossip about us, you keep the specifics out of it. I don't want anyone to know where we are, where we live, what we look like, what cars we drive, anything that could be used to identify us, now or in the future. And you don't say a fucking word about our kin. I'll get a contract fetish to enforce that if I need to."(kennedy)
She leans foward again, resting her elbows on her knees once more, listening to Rune.. Black eyes, fathomless, knowledgeable of deep secrets, even those whispered in Death. Her thoughts mingling inward...(the skies are my playground.. and they are everywhere...) "I'll let ya shaman check me out. Ya won't find a stink of taint on my bum except a bad odor from dumpster diving. I'll leave it to your alpha's decision." her head shakes only slightly. "Ya ain't no good to me dead if I was out prattlin' to every Tom, Dick and Harry about ya'lls personal lives.That's your soap opera. I just like to play voyeur. As for personal favors, you keep me fed in eyeballs and information about the baddies in this town. I'll take you through the Umbra, pigeon ya love notes, or point ya out to the next dirty next I come across. You all fight'em.. I just dig'em out for ya. S'way I like to do things."(imogen)
Rune does all the talking. Imogen, for her part, appears to be listening, as James does, because if anything, if she's here, this deserves some form of attention. At worst, she does it simply because there is no where else to look, and she does not want to know. At best, this has caught some interest, and this is something the kinfolk will catologue in her meager mental box of information on shifters, for use at a later date.(decker)
Smirk. "Yeah, whatever." And he rolls his weight out of the chair, putting the joint out atop the balustrade. Another glance cast over the parking lot: call it sentry duty. Then he tucks the joint behind his ear and heads for the door.Hinges squeal as it opens. He turns back briefly, one hand on the edge of the door, and considers the girl. A beat. Then, "Why don'tcha wait inside fer'im." Nod up at the surroundings, flicking a glance around like a stone, like a net casting all the world into scop of his words. "Bring down the fuckin' property value, sittin' on the porch like a bum."
He's really one to talk. All those late nights smoking outside. All those late nights loitering on Imogen's porch. Neighbors probably thought he was her stalker. Neighbors probably thought she had some sort of stockholm syndrome, letting him in all the time.
His skecher-knockoffs squish wetly on the threshold as he heads on it. Been puddle(curb)stompin' again, obviously. A nudge of the heel backward keeps the door open for the kinfolk if she felt like joining the herd inside.
(ma in black)
Slowly the dark sedan drove the length of the interstate from southern jersey... specifically from the areas surrounding and embedding the entirety of Atlantic City. It wasn't by chance that the car was here, nor was it any matter of discourse that he had to come to this place...
It had been nearly a month and still the hunt was on for those of the ilk. It was time to set things straight and to settle the old score that had to be put to rest.
Pulling forth into the parking area the sedan finally came to a rest. Opening the rear passenger door a man slowly emerged from the interrior darkness. Thin rimmed, mirrored shades adorn the spanish tan of the man. Long black, raven in color hair hung loose tonight and down the length of his back. Black, thick, dark trench fell across his shoulders and down to just above the cuff of his boot. High gloss SAS jump style, shined to a high sheen and extended up his shin to where the black cargo pants were neatly tucked and cuffed.Moving toward the place where the murder happened he paused and surveyed the scene of which surrounded him.
(rune)
Rune holds Kennedy's eyes a split-second longer. "Alright. It's a fucking deal." The particulars filter through the totemphone, information packed as images, discrete thoughtlets, followed by general advisory. Keep a fucking eye on her.For a few half-moments, her eyes are unfocused, focused on the inner totem bond, as she communicates with her pack, and then she's back in the land of the living: up and across the living room to the breakfast bar, where she retrieves her cigarettes, lifts herself onto the breakfast bar, lights up. The Glass Walker's dark eyes track toward the main door, and she mutters something half-beneath her breath, through the cloud of smoke, unheard.
(eva)
Modi stands and her gaze slides back out to the parking lot. Sentry duty? Nah. Boredom most likely. Not a sound, reply, until he pauses a beat, and his gaze rests heavy on her once more. Moon just one night past full and his rage still crackles over skin, his gaze a weight of its own as it compresses the air around her and she continues to ignore it. Then he speaks again, and pierced brow lifts a touch, and dark eyes slide over to him, braids traipsing over shoulders and chair and then in a slow concert of movement, muscles flexing and relaxing, sleek in a far more careless way then the walker, less animalistic then the Modi, less…. Collie-ish then the Gnawer, but graceful non the less in the careless sling of teenage form up from the chair. Cereal box grabbed, beer bottle in the other hand, before pack and lighter are grabbed as well. “Yeah, whatever.” Mimic’d perhaps, or just agreed, as foot catches the nudged door, and she follows the Modi in.(james)
there's a simple nod up
Will do.
then eyes rove over towards the Modi making his way inside
followed by the Fenrir kin
yep, another nod up(man in black)
Looking across the scene the developments of what had transpired here. The childlike banter, the playing with the 'toy' of their fancy leading up to the eventual and untimely death of a young woman."Who would of known that she was of the ilk of the damn moon beasts. Oh well... this aught to get the bastards pointed in the right direction."
Reaching into the confines of his thick, black trench, pulling forth a thick manilla envelope he stood and looked around.
(decker)
One, and two.
Garou, and kin.He stomps the shoes off his feet, shucks his coat and steps out of the foyer area. Into the living room. Regular fuckin' pow-wow here. Nod up in return to James. Catches Rune's eye but doesn't disturb the Walker's in-depth discussion with the birdwoman.
Cawwwwck!! BLOB.
Crazy fucker. He heads for the fridge. Fishes out a Jose Cuervo. Fingers pass over the little white takeout boxes: eeny meenie miney moe. That one. Slide it out, turn around, pop it open. Kung pao chicken. It'll do. Pop it into the microwave and set it for 2 minutes. While he's waiting he pops the Jose. Rune's fridge had the crappiest selection of actual produce and meats around, but it was always crammed to the gills with alcoholic beverages and fast food.
(mib)
Looking off he saw the home from where the victim once lived. Probably her... what was the damned word... 'Mate', lover, screw toy... whatever, he didn't care much.Moving up toward the door he placed the envelope into the mail slot and slowly turned and headed back to the car. Whoever would find it would be in for a good time he was sure.
Entering the sedan once more he spoke in a gentle tone...
"It's done, get me away from this accursed place. Leave the rest to the Moon Beasts."
(eva)
Inside, and after a wipe of her boots -even if she didn’t go farther then the porch – steps head toward the kitchen. There isn’t a word, and perhaps only the slightest incline of head for the nod up from James as gaze slides over everyone there. Deep in conversation, no biggy, ain’t none of her business nohow.
In the kitchen, there’s movement around the modi, some unconscious grace that keeps her from being too near at any point in time. Cereal box put away, beer in hand slammed, and bottle tossed into the recycling bin and the door to the fridge closes, half a second later it’s opened again, another beer grabbed and opened, as the refrigerator door is hip-checked closed.
A pause now, as bottle is lifted to dark-stained lips, first couple of swallows taken as she awaits the word. Decker may have invited (in the most loose definition of the word) the kin in, however don’t mean she’s welcome at the powwow.(rune)
Decker and Eva walk in. The Glass Walker watches them through the smoke drifting from her cigarette: robin's egg blue, but darker, carribean waters, a color not found in nature, at least, not in New Jersey. Her attention drifts back to Kennedy. "Be here Monday afternoon to meet Erik, you got that?" Her attention remains long enough to be assured some response (and what the hell else does she have to do? Build a fucking nest?) before it shifts back to the Modi in the kitchen, and then the Fenrir kin grabbing another beer."Eva." Having already settled on the breakfast bar, Rune pushes herself back to lean against the framing wall. The rest of the Glass Walker's lean body is coiled, taut as a spring. Somehow, in the small space, she does not seem confined. "How old are you?"
(kennedy)
Eyes meet Rune's and she nods her head to the agreement. She settles back down into the chair once again, her head tilts up when the door opens and a smile spreads on her face..NYEOOOWWWW... There was a sudden urge to bite down on her lip, to resist making the airplane noises at the Deckmeister. Her legs begin to sway, sneakers bouncing up and down beneath the wide hems of her jnco jeans. Quiet for the most part, more interested now in shiny things to tempt the eyes on.
(*tags on to rest of post*)
"Sure thing.. High noon after Judge Judy." She nods her head looking back at Rune.
(decker)
"She ain't old 'nough," smirks Decker from the kitchen, "but then I ain't neither."BEEP. BEEEP. BEE--
--Decker's fingers slam into the microwave Open button, jetting the door out. Christ, that noise was aggravating. Taking the carton of kung pao out, he circles around to the breakfast bar, food in one hand, Cuervo tequila in the other.(imogen)
A flicker of attention toward the open door, Decker and Eva enter, both heading to the fridge, Rune stands and prowls to the breakfast bar to smoke, and conversation moves, somewhat further into the condo, leaving James, who likely would prefer not to get up, and Imogen, who at least doesn't appear to have reason enough to leave.After a moment she shifts forward in the easy chair, and after a moment, she does stand, a hand reaching into pack pocket of her jeans, pulling out a package of cigarettes, and a sheaf of papers, folded and crumpled against the framework of the packet. She discards the cigarettes, for once, on the table, leaving the crumpled packet on the edge as she opens the pages, and leafs through them, unfolding them between long slender fingers. She discards a page, two, careful to refold them, the words obscured by themselves, dropped by the abandoned cigarette package. Two papers are chosen now, carefully unfolded and flattened against the coffee table.
The incessant beeping of the microwave catches her attention, her eyes flickering up, her fingers stilling over the paper, a glance as Decker speaks, before turning her attention back to James and the papers she smoothes out before him.
A tilt of her chin, eloquent gesture subtly rendered as she notes the pages before him, "Which one was th'symbol, d'you know?"
It might even take a minute or more for him to notice there's a difference at all. The hammers are different, though the gist of the symbol is the same. One is a claw hammer, the other a war hammer.
(eva)
Hand tucks into pocket of jeans, pulling denim just a touch farther down on the curve of hip as she stretches slightly. Feet are slightly apart, weight balanced evenly. Not fighting stance – she should be so lucky really, Luc put a damper on the kin kicking ass at the ‘fight club’ after all – but easy and ready for movement. After all – Decker’s still in the kitchen. Might blow something up or some such shit.
Pierced brow lifts, and she smirks. “Old enough to know better young enough to do it anyway.” The first reply. What th’fucks coming next? ‘your underage, lets not be drinking here.’ When there’s more ‘kids’ then not around here. Sure sounds like the beginning of the same old fight though, but she actually answers not even a full beat later – just on the heels of Decker’s comment that gets a snort of amusement. Yup. Her thoughts exactly. “17.”(rune)
"Yeah?" The Glass Walker's dark eyes flicker up, down, up the kinfolk's almost ready stance, then settle back on the girl's face. The Glass Walker's own features are inscrutable as ever. Dark humor lurks somewhere in there, accompanied by a faint roll of her eyes toward the Modi and a quiet snort. Underage drinking was pretty low on her list of possible sins. In fact, it was something closer to a sacrament. "What the fuck do you do all day?"Rune takes a drag from her cigarette, exhales the smoke into the miasma of the room. Full moon again, or close enough to it that she breaks her own rules all over the fucking place. "You in school?"
(kennedy)
Eyebrows drift upward, turning to lean over the arm of the chair, staring up at those in the kitchen. "Isn't it a fact that if you stand in front of a microwave while it's runnin' it can give a guy testicular cancer.... errr. somethin'like that." the words come way out of left field, directed at nobody in particular and yet towards Decker since he was standing in front of the microwave. She surmised she was the youngin' of this group, younger than Eva even.(james)
dark gaze traveled to watch his packmates
but now that the inherant conversation seems to be over
and attention has turned to the Fenrir kinfolk
(half here aren't old enough, half here are younger than him)
he's staying the hell out of this conversation
focus swings towards the kin unfolding the papers before himit may take him a moment or more to see there's a difference
if he sees one at all
he's only seen a sketch of the symbol anyway
and by the furrow of his brows, he's not trusting his memory exactly
more than a little weight goes onto the arm of the couch as he's climbing up from the depths of the overstuffed pillows
(hold the gauze before getting up and we find the wound doesn't rip open again, whoo)
making his way into the dining room turned hacker's wet dreamfairly safe to say he's not going there to mess with the computer
he'd do well just to turn it on much less do anything productive
he is definitely not among the more technologically inclined of the pack
there's the rustling of a few papers on the low table turned desk
and ten short steps later he's flattening a piece of paper next to the two Imogen's lain down
he, himself, flopping back down onto the (blessed) couch"This one."
a little rearranging, lining up the identical clawhammer sketches
(eva)
Well then – that was a little different argument, but still ain’t one she ain’t fought before. A slow smirk as she lifts the bottle in something of a toast and downs a swallow or two. “Same thing you do all day. Fuck’n’sleep.” Now that could be taken a couple ways. Ain’t telling which way she meant it of course. But she chuckles and leans a hip against the counter, hand still tucked in pocket, ankles crossing. “Nah. Dropped out last year, got a GED.”(decker)
Decker shoots Kennedy a scowl. "Fuckin' Garou, birdbrain." Oh, clever, that. He could be a writer for a comedy club. "Don't git no cancer."A slug of Cuervo. He glances at Rune as she brings up the dread word: SCHOOL. Nah, he ain't gettin' in on that either. Back to the breakfast bar, the tequila in one hand and the takeout carton set on the stooltop between his legs, he picks at his food with his fingers. There ain't no more chopsticks since the last time Dire raided the nearest Chinese fast-food and stole about fifty of those little break-apart wooden utensils. All the forks were dirty and in the washer, too. That reminds him...
"You shit all over my fuckin' truck?"
(kennedy)
A chuckle ebbs in her throat, shaking her head slowly at Decker. "I have no idea what ya're talkin' about officer. How was I to know she was only thirteen..." A hand comes up to her chest, looking up innocently at Decker. "Nope. Not me.. Probably a couple of pigeons out to get revenge."(rune)
"Alright then," equanimity from the Glass Walker, this mild response. One elbow rests on her crooked knee, the other is curved against her side. One hand holds a beer bottle, the other a cigarette.Something about the way she holds them makes it seem like either one could be a lethal weapon. "Everyone's moving to the packhouse next week. You can stay there, have your own fucking room if you want, but there's conditions. You're gonna do something useful. That means you're getting a fucking job, or you're going to school. I don't care what for. Welding, paramedics, study fucking physics in college, whatever the hell it is. That work for you?"
(decker)
Narrowed eyes. Long silence. "Uh huh," muttered. "Saw yer fuckin' white-ringed neck flappin' 'round." He clips the box closed in a surprisingly adept turn of his hand and throws it at her. Whether it's meant to be an offensive gesture or a kindly(?) offer of grub is anyone's guess. "Next time I take the shotgun to yer ass, hear?"(eva)
Brows….lift as she watches Rune and whatever’s flickering through her gaze real quicklike is pretty unreadable. But lets just start with “Don’t need m’own room. I’ll stick with Luc until I kick his ass to the curb, after that.” Ah – feel the blush of young true love. A smirk, and lean shoulder lifts into a shrug, before that smirk slides over her lips. “Sure thing, Ma… guess it’ll haveta be a job, ain’t got no cash for school even if I had the inkling.” Not exactly clear if she’s gotta inkling or not. Course, not sure who’d hire her anyway looking like she does with the attitude she gleefully portrays. Whatever.. it’s a place t’crash that ain’t got her parents in it, Luc, beer, food, drugs… what more could possibly be needed…(imogen)
Half are younger than James, and so far all are younger than the good doctor, who glances down at the sheet of paper that James indicates, one absent hand reaching up to push back several loosened strands of hair, curls escaped from the loose braid that had barely contained it.She taps the same paper as she picks up the other one, to not be confused, "S'a neo-nazi symbol for a German chapter o' a group called The Hammer Skins. The American Chapter's been based in Newark f'r years, but they recently noticed the German symbol showing up too. For sure, since three weeks ago, but it could have been sooner, because nobody paid attention to the specifics." She speaks simply and abruptly, lays out the facts without emotion and without opinion.
"The other thing I noticed was there's a been a strange amount o' missing people in the Newark area, lately. Mostly homeless, though there was a few high profile ones, too. Heard of April Tower, have you?" she names one of the more high profile missing persons lately, who lived actually with a rather well to do family. And in case he didn't read the newspaper, since she didn't, "A girl from a fairly decent family who went missing lately. She spent a lot o' time in Newark. No bodies, though.
"And that's..." pager. Shrill. Her hand moves abruptly, immediately, her attention jerking downward as the sound silences (loud noise. Many ahrouns. Full moon. No good), her mouth forming a poignant curse, lost beneath the sound of her breath, as she pulls the pager from her hip, and finishes her sentence to James as she speaks, "... all I've got." Information's been passed. One might assume Decker had either told her, and she had taken the initiative, or he had asked her to do such a thing. The dark eyed kin apparently has no compunction on whom she should give the information.
She squints, as her steps back, one hand holding the pager, as her other hand reaches out and grabs the cigarettes and the other papers, "'scuse me."
Jacket is grabbed, reaching inside for the cell phone, as she abruptly heads for the door, some word muttered under her breath which is probably not meant for polite company (this is not polite, but still)
(decker)
(kennedy)
The smell of the food hits her nostrils as he pulled the box out and tosses it her way. Attentive eyes focusing on the box's movements through the air. Muscles coil up as she moves out of the chair with adept quickness to catch it. Best not to waste it. "Danke.." Fingers peel open the lid, looking over the food, she picks at it with her fingers, immediately popping a bit into her mouth... "Wait... this is chicken.. ah, fuck it. It's food." walks into the kitchen licking at her fingers. "Gotta fork?"(decker)
"Yeah." After tossing the food at Kennedy, he's dismounted the stool, heading over to James and Imogen. Some word or other had caught his attention. "In the washer."Well, she didn't mention clean forks. The hand that had been picking at the kung pao chicken wipes itself clean on his shirt, leaving streaks of grease. Chewing that last chunk, he looks over James' shoulder at the paper. Grunts - some sort of affirmative sound, thoughtful sound, whatever.
"Luc's been askin' 'round on the streets. Heard'a some neonazis holdin' fight clubs. Might be the same thing." Eyes on the paper, brow knit faintly, he brings his hand up and sucks his thumb clean. Wipes again. "If it's whitepower shit, though, might be good if it's jus' me 'n Luc."
Growing up down in the south, the racial lines were split clear and even. The Klan was just the most obvious manifestation. Racism breeds like a nest of vipers, insidious and insinuous. It ain't something you could nail down or avoid. It seeped into the air you breathed, became a part of you. But he ain't getting into that just now. Ancient history, fucker. A step back. Call across the room, interrupting the other conversation, "Rune. Luc 'n me's gonna go check out some nazi faggots. You in?"
(rune)
Posted by james at May 16, 2003 12:00 AM
"You're kinfolk, Eva." Some small humor, dark now, and faint. "Luc's Garou. That's why
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