May 25, 2003.05.25.03. - 7:10 ratio [imogen][noje]
(imogen)
It wasn't work that had her out tonight, or if it had, it was a detour, somewhere between other requirements, as the mercedes finds it's way to the parking spot. Whenever she's seen, mostly, it seems to be coming or going. Home, to work. The hours she follows seem to follow no pattern, except that they are chaotic. Ever changing. And that month by month, they seem to grow longer.Quarter past ten at night, she opens the car door, shutting it behind her, her hand reaching up to tug the identification badge clipped to her jacket collar (she was working, after all), walking around to the trunk, pushing up the lid and reaching in to grab a gym back with one hand as the other hand reaches up behind her head to tug free the elastic band from her hair, letting half damp strands fall to her shoulders, tendrils still holding some of the waved shape of the bun that it had been trapped in.
It's no surprise that it rained today, though now at least it's paused, the sky almost cleared, stars peeking through gaps in the cloud cover as she walks across the parking lot toward the walkway, the condominiums beyond. Fingers comb through the flame kissed chaos of her hair, snagging in the mass, as she walks, attention flickering forward toward the buildings. Many of them are dark, all of them equiped with motion dector lights rather than anything less expensive. All for safety and all for protection, but now, when there is almost no motion in the balconies, many of the occupants having gone to bed (or in the case of some, having gone out for the hunt), most of the plaza is dark, shadows chased away only by the odd path light casting it's yellow timid glow across the walk way as she moves.
(james)
all the surrounding balconies are dark
even the one that houses the Eagle pack
maybe it's because the motion detecting light is buster
maybe it's because there's nobody on there
or maybe it's just because he knows how much movement makes the damned thing go offsometimes, you just want to sit in the dark and listen to the rain
but the glowing ember is a giveaway
especially when it's coupled with the hazy smell of pot
but that's simply a slow, mellow burn
nothing enough to catch attention
only if one was looking for it, reallyhe's stretched out, as always
boots up on the table
back of the chair tucked into the corner with the darkest shadow
dreads seem to make it even darker the way they pool around his shoulders(imogen)
She may not have even seen him, as she walks up the stairs to her own condo, the motion light turning on abruptly as she approaches, eliciting a faint wince as the light lances into unprepared eyes.Keys slide into the lock, prying the lock open, and she steps inside, the distant thump of the gym bag hitting the floor of the hallway.
Moments pass, before she steps out again, a beer bottle in each hand (because she did see him, after all, the impression, or perhaps she felt his rage), heading down the stairs, crossing the damp lawn to the path leading to Rune's own condominium. She hasn't lept the space between the balconies since the wooden aparatus that might very well be a bridge had been set up, to be left leaning against one of the walls, waiting for use that will never come. Stubborn pride.
She mounts the stairs, a step at a time, and her attention flickers toward him as she makes it to the top step, entering the Glass Walker Ahroun's domain, and the Bone Gnawer's vicinity. Silence is simpler, as she extends a hand, offering him a beer, common decency or olive branch, either or, from the smirk that traces across her lips.
(james)
when the redhead came up the walkway, he didn't really look
when she keyed the door and flicked on the lights, he still didn't really look
it's only when the halo of fire comes up the stairs and into his vicinity that the dark eyes shift their glance to lookand a brow lifts
but it seems the silence is golden, as well as simple
he doesn't break it
one hand reaches out for the beer
the beer is used to gesture towards the chair next to him
the other hand, then, is offering the joint in return
common decency, an olive branch, or perhaps just habit(imogen)
Her fingers slide through her hair again as she meets his look, and is more or less unperturbed (it's all in the set of her features, and that it is dark enough that even if there was something, her eyes would not give it away), before reaching out with her now free hand to take the joint, holding the hand wrapped toke carefully between long slender fingers.A beat passes, and she steps away from the balcony balustrade and toward the chair, folding herself in to sit, one leg sliding up to rest on the edge of the seat, the other stretching out before her. The beer bottle rests on the edge of her knee, as her other hand raises the joint to her mouth and she finally takes a hit, holding it in, as she passes it back toward him, silence still unbroken.
(james)
she brought him a beer
she accepted his offer of a seat
just because he takes the joint back without missing a beat doesn't mean he missed that
he's just.... not commenting on it
see how quickly he learns?
just. don't comment on anything.take the joint, hit it, pass it back, and don't say a fucking word
(imogen)
There are many sorts of silences, and this is not what would be considered a comfortable one. Her attention has turned toward the pathlights and the reflection of light against the rainsoaked pavement. Water has accumulated in the dips within the path, forming small pools that from time to time ripple, from a stray rain drop falling from the sky, from a droplet of water, freed by the cast of the wind.Shadows leave them both in profile, his hair an inky pool of jungle vines spilling of his shoulders, features defined by lack of light rather than light, and she with hair of flame and fire that half falls into her face as her attention drifts down to beer bottle twisting off the cap with a hiss of trapped bubbles, and had there been light on the balcony, they could have seen the escape of mist into the humid air.
Imogen is easiest in her silences, though she is never easy to understand, it is by her silences that anything can be gleaned. What she doesn't say rather than what she does. What she doesn't show, rather than what she does. The pack cannot be the first to consider her cold, and unlikely that they'll be the last. She takes the joint without drinking any of the recently opened beer, taking a hit instead. Pass it back. A beat, exhale. "Rohl gone off again?" silence only lasts so long, though it may be out of place that she was the first to speak.
(james)
as the zigzag wrapped green leaves his fingers
he's twisting off the cap of his beer
so used to the darkness by now
perhaps he gleans a little of that escaping mist into his attention
he's not watching her, by any meansquarter of the beer has found its way down his throat by the time she's passing back
and he just lets that silence linger
there's nothing but the sound of water weighing concrete
there's nothing but the sound of leaves crisping on inhale
there's nothing but the feeling of hazy smoke burning within his lungs
simply. nothing.not even a reaction to her breaking the silence first
just, after a while, a slow nod"Somewhere."
truck isn't there
should answer it well enough(imogen)
An inclination of her head an acknowledgement of his word, that is echoed somewhat in a faint sound in the back of her throat, an acknowledgement without words. And silence again, because really, there wasn't much else to say on that subject, even if she was inclined to ask more.A swallow of the beer, deep long pull of the liquid before the silence is broken again, but in a different way, in her getting up, unfolding from the chair, coming to her feet, fingers sliding through her hair, tugging through the curls and knots, casting commentary over her shoulder, "'m going in. Enjoy y'r night," spoken as she heads toward the condo stairs.
(james)
dark eyes slide over as she stands
as if he were following the miniscule noises
the plastic that flexes with lack of (slight) weight
the gentle scrape of feet across the tile
the pad of shoe soles following soon after
just as easily, his gaze swings away"Thanks for the beer." seemingly said more towards the clouds on the horizon than in her direction "Night Imogen."
Posted by james at May 25, 2003 12:00 AM
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