June 06, 2003.06.06.03. - street music and primal dreams [spots][atlantic city]
(spots)
Back at the boardwalk.
Night spent in the offered tent, next to the Children of Gaia.
He thinks he likes her, even if she i so different then the Walkers, and gnawers of the recently past years.
he brings his 5'11 form, to that slow gait, heralded by the thump of a little heavy boots. Black jeans, worn into perfection hangs from hips.
A simple white tee hanging from skinny shoulders, swaying with his walk, to reveal glimpses of tattoo's.
A pack slung over his shoulder, holding the only thing the small get treasures. his alteration gear.
A single gold hoop through his ear, dared a few years ago, after his exodus.
Reaching up, he draws a thin hand through the mop of his white striped mohican.
He is simply watching the people now. Yesterday still burning bright in his mind.
Confusion still apperant, yet, the walk is a little easier still.
Garou are not meant to run alone, and even less, they are meant to be alone.
A small comfort in finding others here as well. So now, he watches the crowd, his posture demure, subservient almost.
Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulls a half crumpled pack of marlbro's, and a bic lighter from them.
Staring at the pack for a second, before the slightest shake of his head announces a smoke beeing fished out, and lighted.
Pack, and bic vanishing back down the pocket, as he drags on the smoke, only to release a cloud of greyish mist from nostrils and lips.
A mist that struggles for a few seconds in the spring breeze, before it, is gone.(james)
they called him Jukebox because he could play anything
give him something that can hold a semi-reasonable facsimilie of sticks
combine it with something that can create a unique sound
and he's good to gohe took a little more time this afternoon, though
since the weather's been getting nicer
and the day itself clear after all that rain
he hopped the bus down to AC to earn some petty cash
and, honestly, the performer in him missed the streets
so maybe today's gunning is as much fun as it is work
(is it ever work?)it took a little bit of effort to find the proper supplies
finding the 'cans is one thing - finding clean ones is another
and he's not about to search down a hose, as well
so after about a half hour of wandering the streets
several steel trashcans were rolled out of the shadows and to the mouth of an alley
a few minutes later cardboard boxes stuffed in varying densities within to specifically damped the soundthat was three hours ago
but still the Gnawer plays on
this urban primitive drumming away in the concrete jungle
rebar wrapped in scrap strips of cloth hammering a tribal beat in offering to the city gods
muscular forarms seem to weild the heavy sticks with little to no effort
with the grin that's framed by heavy dreadlocks
he's definitely playing for the fun of it
though still tosses the gracious smile or wink at the coins dropped into his overturned ratty tophat(spots)
Beat of street drums...
Thump of boots...
That sound, that pure musical druumming.
Born mule, raised in a sept.
Raised in the umbra, he is still a city kid. 4 years in the city that never sleeps will do that to someone fresh from an enclosed life.
The walkers had their techno beats and rock and roll, blaring out from their clubs.
The Gnawers had the street music, and how unlike anything else it was.
And it draws him nearer. not long, before he spots the man drumming away.
To gracious, these beats. Spirit or man, music is the heart of the soul.
Digging into his pocket, he pulls out a few coins. not much, a bnunch of quarters and dimes, but its all he got on him.
Approaching the drumming man, head a little lowered, not looking to meet his gaze, as the coins are not only dropped, but given as an offering.
A chiminage, for allowing this unworthy to hear the music's blessing.
And the youth moves away again, with a flash of tribal tattos at one shoulder.
Moving just a little bit, he sits down on the ground, the pack shifted to rest in his lap.
The Mule listens.
Eyes half lidded, unconsciously, body rocking slowly, as if dancing in some unseen place. (his mind)
To let go of inhibitions... to raise arms in praise and honor of the earth mother, and city father.
And the skinny get suddenly misses his few gnawer friends back in new york. The moots in the park, the near endless gathering of old mcdonalds boxes for Larissa's evening meals.
Another place.
Another time.
And spots remembers.(james)
Spots remembers - but James? James creates
the rhythm thick and rolling off the steel 'cans
at the latest jingle of coinage that carried over the heavy thump against steel
deep umber eyes lifted from the make-shift kit to offer the next nod up and grin of thanksstrange, the kid doesn't look at him, so doesn't see his thanks
most people do, for some reason or another
but this one seemed to just shrink away
how odd..... hey wait, are those....?
and that's when the Ahroun takes a closer look
a closer feel - and there it is
that tiny inkling of Rage that crackles against the sphere of his own
almost non-existant, reallyand a brow.... lifts
and the beat .... changesthe tune that sings from the pseudodrums makes what he was doing before seem paltry
suddenly the rhythm seems almost. alive.
music is the heart of the soul and it pumps and thumps beneath the rebar
it's the lifeblood that flowed long before the Silver Record
it's the lifeblood that fueled the very first of their ancestors
there's something abjectly primal about the way the Gnawer plays
as if it were the animal in him, rather than the man
instinct and inspiration replacing the ideals and inhibitionsand through it all he watches the young Garou
breif glances towards the sitting form between the swift changes between the 'cans
because he knows how much the sounds will affect the other
and he waits until Spots takes the chance to look up
then finally offers that wink and easy grin of thanks before attention falls back to his playing(spots)
The beat... Changes.
And the get's smile widens just a a little.
Body reacting to that primal sound. This, is the beats of his heart.
the rythm of Gaia's power flowing through him.
And the glance comes.
But maybe, not as expected.
A dared glance up, catching that wink and grin, and the 'hawk covered head drops deep in acknowledgment, in respect.
In subservience.
He knew the player was Garou the second he saw him.
That rage burning through every pour of the player, with every beat of those drums.
Spots knows he is recognised now.
So the Mule keeps his head bowed.
The music still rolling through him, lifting him up. He knows that this, is the goodness of Gaia given sound.
His better is playing it, creating it, giving it life.
Breath of gaia in the rythm of steel cans.
And so, the godi listens, enjoy's, and waits.
All he can do really.
Except pray.(Oh great mother Gaia, please let this graceful son of yours know thy will.
Grant this dishonorable spawn, created by sin know your blessing through this, which your favoured creates.
May your spirits give me strength to do my duty.
Bless this body, for this music gives me Life.)Pack cradled gently in his lap, body still rocking with the music.
Only a wolf would understand the slow roll of shoulders.
Only Garou have heard the drums of the shamans during moots, that gives peace and frenzy, with each hammered beat.(james)
only Garou have heard the shaman's drums at moots
and James, even an Ahroun, joined the Galliards at more than one
music gives peace and provokes frenzy
it may seem exciting and exotic to the small crowd of humans gathered 'round
but to the two Garou - it means something else, it means something more
it is the breath that connects them all
this music is freedomand maybe that's why the Gnawer chose to play this particular song
the idea by the way the boy seemed to shrink as he walked past
confirmed by the way the kid ducks his head away now
to give just a few minutes freedom from whatever it is that chains them tonightand suddenly the beat stops
this is when the gathered would halt in their frenzied dance
every voice raised to Luna above in howling song
the roar that announces their loyalty to Gaiabut given this is a street corner in Atlantic City and not the ritual gathering of Garou - James opts for a little showmanship instead
"That's it for tonight folks, I'm glad we spent this quality time together." smoothly grinned on mellow, rich tones - coupled with a wiggle of brows at a very pretty young lady "I appreciate your attention, your pleasure, your sense of fashion.... oh and especially your tie, Sir... your fanmail, and, most graciously," the grin widens slyly "Your spare change. Next show is a quarter to three, this time yesterday, every third and sixth Sunday of the month."
there's a glance to the submitting Garou, hoping he'll hang around and not disperse with the crowd
(spots)
Freedom.
It is so evident in the slow rocking body, the lidded eyes.
There might be a great world out there, for anyone to see.
Can they see the world within the world?
A few minutes, that for spots might as well be a few lifetimes.
Lifetime to remember. to feel.
but every lifetime has its end.
so does this one.
And the Music stops.
It is a simple reaction to the crowd, that slight jerk of the youth's head upwards.
To James, it is a mirror of that feeling within.
time, to Howl.
But urge supressed before head is even level, only to sink back down, eyes opening slowly, to look at the pack in his lap.
The softest sigh, as the blessing of music, is replaced by the curse of reality.
And that pack is moved, slung over his shoulder, as the mule rises slowly to his feet.
To wait, head bowed, by the corner.(james)
the crowd, eventually, wanders in each separate way
now that he's not making a bunch of racket on steel 'cans - it's pretty easy for James to blend into the background on the boardwalk
there are far more exciting things to catch a tourist's eye than some 6'2 lanky white guy with dreadlocks
the change is quickly counted (.... good night) and funneled into one pocket of faded BDUs
the rebar and floppy tophat returned to their place in a backpack that had been hidden against the wallthat's when he looks to the little Garou patiently waiting
lip curls against his teeth to let a low whistle out (yo!) coupled with a nod up (c'mere) once attention is back on him
in the process of waiting for the other to get a little closer
he's tipping one of the cans over to put back into the alley like a responsible Gnawer"You like that last song?"
(spots)
Waiting, for that whistle.
How familiar that call is.
He doesnt look up, eyes on the ground as he moves slowly, approaching James.
At the question, the young man nods.
"Very much. Thank you for letting me listen."
Voice low, respectful, his gaze on james boot's.
Adjusting the pack slightly, he swallows, and waits.
(Do not speak until spoken to little spawn!)
voice from the past ringing in his ears. He knows his place.
He bears the scars to prove it.(james)
"My eyes are almost six feet North."softly
it's not a command or a threat
just a gentle suggestion to nudge that gaze at least towards his chest
don't get him wrong, his boots are pretty snazzy
better than normal quality one would find at surplus
but they do nothing for conversation
and the Gnawer waitsit's the type of wait the Metis would know better than he wants to
James will wait to continue speaking until the smaller Garou meets him at least halfway
yet, unlike previous experiences, there's no fist hurrying the Fenrir up"I'm glad you liked it, looked like you needed to hear it." still that easy grin remains, and a hand extends, slowly, open and palm up (no threat) to shake "Name's James."
(spots)
Not a command.
Not a threat.
So why does his neck look so strained, as it rises upwards, from james boot's, to his knees.
And stops.
Beads of sweat appearant on the brow of the young man.
Confusion clear on his face.
confuision turns to instict's.
His voice a whisper, low, as not to be caught by anyone, but the gnawer before him.
"i beg forgivness james-Rhya. I know my place..."
And that gaze goes down again.
But he cannot refuse the offered hand, and reaching, his skinny hand easily swallowed by the Ahroun's.
"I am Spots... My name is Spots..."
Voice still as low, as submitting as before.(james)
his grip is firm, but tempered
easy enough to see by the muscle through his arms exposed by the fitting black t-shirt and the way he handled that heavy rebar earlier - he could probably break Spots' hand without a second thought or much effort
but he doesn't
just a firm howd'ya do
though maybe there's a bit of an almost inaudible sigh
that the boy couldn't look up told him everything he needed to know
not all Metis are confident lunatics like the Skald
he's known more that have been beaten down like this one
(he can smell the instinctive fear)"Pleasure, Spots." that's a genuine remark, too, the way his tones are warm as the sun that shone just a few hours ago in the endless sky "And.... unless you're still a child.... I think it's yuff."
his brows lift automatically in question
it's habit, really, the body language of the wolves within them both
because he's pretty aware the kid can't see the expression
(damn those must be some snazzy boots)
but the gentle correction clearly states his mindset about Metis without lecturing on the streetcorner
even though they're mostly ignored by the passer's by
it never hurts to play it safe"Tell you what, help me move these 'cans back into the alley and I'll spring for dinner."
(spots)
The slightes shake of that strong hand.
James could break his hand without thought.
Could break his skull, without ever finding a hand raised in defence.
the gentle correction noted, and the slightest nod acknowledges it.
"Yes james-rhya."
Voice still low. And without another word, he slips, to grab as many steel cans, as he can lift, simply holding them, waiting for those boots to lead the way.
(they are quite snazzy.)(james)
one dark brow above deep umber eye lifts towards the hairline of tangled dreads
the nod was noted, as with the continued appelation - allrighty then
his own pack slings over a broad shoulder and the other two cans are hefted from the ground
things are always much easier with help
and while there's a part of him that wants to point out that the kid actually had a choice there
the other part of him realizes that would probably be a totally foreign concept
old habits die very, very hard
especially when they've literally been beaten into you
and for the way the kid acts like a robotic servant
he's a feeling that isn't very far from the truth
(calling a Gnawer rhya??)long, easy strides lead the way back into the alley
those (snazzy) boots setting a pace easy enough for the much smaller Metis to keep up without struggling
(that's not pity - that's simply being decent)
returning the trashcans to the exact place he borrowed them from
one, he's even replacing the Hefty bag pulled out in hopes it hadn't leaked"What're you hungry for?" and the lid that has yet to make it back to the can wiggles a bit in gestural point "And don't tell me anything or that it doesn't matter, because if it wasn't obvious I'm a BeeGee, and I'll eat things the rest of the Nation doesn't even consider food. My treat, so you pick."
the lid finally makes it home with no further flying lessons
(spots)
The trashcans placed carefully back in their place, and the lids replaced.
Robotic isnt far from the truth. not at all.
But turning back to james (Boot's), he listens.
And pauses.
"Forgive me James-rhya... I do not know what a BeeGee is."
Swallowing.
but he learned long ago, that it was better to admit not knowing.
then acting as if you did.
Acting left scars.
"I eat anything that is served up. Food is food. But I like Pizza."
ok, so it was not completely without submitting, but atleast, he said his preference.
Human preference anyway. Doubtful if they serve rabbit close by.
But he wonder's what a BeeGee is.
The way james talk's about food, it reminds him of the boneGnawers.
If only he would be so lucky.(james)
he's tempted to wiggle his toes since Spots is staring at his boots so much
but without the Walker's strappy sandals - which he would look ridiculous in even if they did fit - much less her extra-snazzy nailpolish, well, just won't go there
and there's a thoughtful grin at the preferred submission
it was the preference he was aiming for
no matter how he had to get it"I think we'll get along just fine, Spots, pizza it is."
there's a tip of his head towards the alley's mouth
and the Ahroun is strolling back towards the street
perhaps, there is something about his walk that Spots notices
everytime the Metis falls behind him to his supposed place
the Gnawer slows down until the boy catches up
it's subtle, for sure
but the message is clear: Rhya prefers you walk beside him. (As an equal.)
makes it incredibly easier to cast that sidelong glance seasoned with a lifted brow"The BeeGees were a band, actually, but it's raises a lot less questions to say you're a fan of them, or shorten the Tribe name, when in public than explain to a questioning passerby what the hell a Bone Gnawer is."
(spots)
As the ahroun turns to walk, Spots follow, moving behind james.
As James slows, so does Spots.
It wont take a rocket sceitnist, to figure out what would happen if the ahroun stops.
But as he listens, slowly, his head actually rises, to look up at james.
Not enough to meet his gaze, but he is looking at his chin atleast.
"You are BoneGnawer?"
Is that near exitment in his voice?
I tinge of surprise, blended with joy?
Could very well be.
"I am sorry james-yuf..."
And one step taken, just a abit longer then the previous.
another.
And another.
until he walks just slightly behind, and to the side of james.
"Ive just arrived from New york... from the Green."
quite a change in the young man. Still respectful (To a gnawer?)
But that fear seems to melt away.(james)
chin is better than boots
and a step behind is better than four
James will take what he can get
as much as he, and his tribe, LOATHE subjugation
he knows you can't change those that are trained to be so in the course of a single trashcan move
one step at a time, baby steps even, and lookie there - the steps are lengthening
there's that trademark, easy (kind) grin again"The dreads and drumming didn't give it away?" softly laughed, seems it was more a jab at himself than Spots' surprise, and his chin moves in a slow nod "Born and bred, come from Albany, myself, though spent some time with the Green a bit ago before I left New York." which explains his Yankee twang rather than the Joisey foible "Run with the Eagles, our territory's the Northern half of Jersey, skip down this way to take advantage of the tourists' spare change."
they're on the street now
and he's making a beeline to the Pizza Hut three blocks down
not exactly gourmet, but it's food, and close
he doesn't let the change of scenery ruin the conversation
he's just back to using slang again"Have you found the gangs that run these streets?"
(spots)
He walks almost beside the gnawer, hands going into his pockets, to feel the wrinkled pack there.
Not yet.
That grin met by a little, if genuine smile.
"Ive learned some time ago not to go by apperances..."
mother had thought him that.
The only Mother he has ever known.
Larissa.
"I cam from norway, a few years back, together with some... Family."
that would explain the trace of an accent, appearant now that voice is actually raised above a whisper.
A slight shrug, and roll of shoulders, glancing to the approaching pizza hut.
"But Mother took me in when I left them... stayed with them for nearly 4 years."
And once again, he looks to the ragefilled ahroun by his side.
Its strange, how some things can change so quickly.
"I ran into a few last night. A gypsy traveller, and a couple of others... One of them put me up for the night..."(james)
three blocks isn't that long a time when you've got strides that walk city miles with ease
and now that the Metis is keeping up, they cover the distance quickly
the reach for the door is automatic
he'd actually hold it open and shoo Spots in first
but then remembers himself and simply enters
moseying on up to the counter
and even though it's fairly late at night
this is the Boardwalk
and the pizza parlor is still fairly crowded
but for some reason, people just move out of the way when a dreadlocked Ahroun and his mohawked companion seem to have made their decisions about their order faster than anybody else - yet, James still does that little gesture/browlift silent communicado thing to ask if others would prefer to go first, but, when they decline (without truly understanding their prey instinct to step back from the predator) he doesn't fight it, just smiles and thanks them"Everything?"
head tipped in studying the menu
he doubts the kid would disagree
but it's the simple consideration of asking
and so the order is placed:
(one super humongous stuffed crust deep pan pizza with every. thing. on it, plus extra cheese, and two large drinks, for here, about how long? that's perfect, thank you.)
and he's digging in the pockets of faded BDUs
pulling out the money he just spent the last three and a half hours earning
well over half of it goes towards their dinner
and the Hood doesn't seem to think a thing about it
the little number thingie accepted, and one drink handed to Spots - those boots are leading the way to a booth with a low surrounding occupancy"I was up at the Green about a year and a half ago, surprised I didn't run into you." though not like James was the most social of Garou at the time, and even if the atmospheric music helps add to the white noise which keeps their conversation mainly contained, he's still careful about word choice "One of the groups down here's traveling, RoadRunners, in bodville at the north end of the 'Walk. Not sure if they still are. Clutch used to keep a place just off the mid-'Walk, but they had some unfortunate issues about a week ago and left. Been Northside for awhile, so not sure who else is currently hanging around."
(spots)
He follows james, to the parlor.
And in. Up to the counter, he doesnt even note the humans around them.
A nod given to James as he ask's.
Of course he agrees. he would have, even if the gnawer had asked if he wanted just the crust, no toppings.
He watches the gnawer pay, and he knows that the dinner was expensive for the man.
And they are walking again. Slipping into the booth, opposite of James, he leans back some, his drink placed on the table infront fo them, just sipped at.
"It was up there... Ruv Ra'gon was his name. Met him right outside the bodville entrance."
Reaching up, he runs a hand through the mop of hair on his head, those blue (intelligent) eyes on james chin.
"Then there were two others... They are hanging out down by the barrens. A woman named Cori even offered me to share her tent."
He sounds amazed.
After all, who would want to share their tent.
their sleeping place, with a spawn like him?
"Are there many BeeGee's here?"
well, the boy picks up quickly anyway.
and reaching, he grabs a small bunch of toothpicks from the tray beside them, and goes about breaking and bending them.
Placed out on the table, beside his drink, any passerby would find someone playing.
James would see the Garou glyph's taking form before him, as small, but skilled hands work the wood into shape, and words.
Atleast, if you know what you are reading.(james)
dinner may have been expensive in Spots' eyes
but James is used to bringing food home for the entire pack
nice to concentrate on feeding one Garou at at time
there's a nod confiming that the kid at least has found their kind
admittedly, his pack doesn't hold the RoadRunner's on the highest of pedestals
but it's better than him wandering around alone given what happened to the Clutch
though at the Fenrir's amazement, the Gnawer softly laughs"You'll find that happens at the oddest of times, Spots, not everybody shares the same beliefs the people you grew up with did. I wouldn't share my dinner with you if I did." then his head shakes a bit "Not really. Clutch had a couple, I've got some cousins and a little one Northside, but otherwise they mainly pass through."
dark eyes skim over the play with toothpicks
resourceful, this kid
and to keep the premise up of it being a simple game to pass the time
he stretches a long arm out and rearranges a few of the toothpicks
even if Spots already knows part of it
he wouldn't slight the boy by not returning in full(spots)
Watching those toothpicks, he leans back again, after scooping them up, and disposing them.
"I know... atleast, when it comes to BeeGee's, and the cityfolk..."
He shrugs a little, reaching out for his drink, to sip it slowly.
"Mother was a good teacher... Even if i mostly spent my time in the studio, putting ink on people, and piercing their skin."
Drink placed back on the table, he looks to the Ahroun.
"What's it like up north?"(james)
"Sounds like she was."you'd think a name like "Mother" would stand out in ranks
unfortunately, not in the Bone Gnawer world
but he doesn't pry for information about the Fenrir's past"There's a shop out on the 'Walk, Rosa's I think, dunno if they're hiring or not, if you're looking to keep that up, may be able to tell you who is."
Spots may be sipping
but the Gnawer's drink is half gone
old habits die very, very hard
(free refills, anyway)
and his innate wolfing food down would be one of them
scrapping for every single meal while living on the street tends to do that to people
strong shoulders roll in a slow shrug, pressed back against the benchseat"Not that bad, really, I don't mind calling it home." especially in comparison to some of the places he has called home "Don't know what you'd want to hear about it, scrap with the same nasty folks you'd find anywhere. More of your blood up there, though, half my gang's German. Coupla Gee-Dubs, too."
fingers drum on the linoeum tabletop
and when Spots looks down he's tracing out the appropriate Glyph to continue the kid's slang education
seems the cleaning staff hasn't been up to par
because the symbol lingers in.... some.... filmy.... stuff
with a little bit of a frown he smears it away with his thumb(spots)
He listens, watching attentivly.
Another sip of his drink, nodding.
But at the mention of his blood.
The little get nearly shrinks back into the backseat.
A weak nod given, as his gaze lowers some.
"I see... Ill look for the shop. Thanks."
Voice lower again.
It seems as if he is about to ask a question, but the arrival of that huge pizza onto the table set's him back.
He waits, until the ahroun has grabbed and started eating his first slice, before he reaches for one.
He might be small, but 4 years in the company of gnawer's teaches you a thing or two about eating with them.
you grab, or you dont eat.
And so, that large pizza vanishes quickly between the two garou.
but the first, and the last slice he doesnt touch.
The conversation, muted as it became by the food, seems to die down almost completely.
The young mule almost returning to the state he was in before he learned james was gnawer.
Finally, it is finished, and spots leans back, finishing the last of his drink with a deep nod of thanks to james.
"Thank you James... Best meal ive had in a while. Next turn around, its on me, ok?"
The most the Get has spoken since james mentioned the german blood up north.
"Ill drop by this Rosa's later on... with some luck, I might get some part time there. But..."
He sighs a little, glancing around.
"I should find some place to spend the night... you heading up north tonight?"(james)
he noted the little Get nearly disappearing at the mention of other Fenrir
but he'll let Spots decide on exactly why he chose to mention the fact
but there's something he does tack onto it"They judge on who you are, not what."
translation: you wouldn't be the first Metis Fenrir around
but any further explantion he was going to offer is silenced by the steaming pizzaeasiest way to get a Gnawer's attention, that's for sure
they're matching each other slice for slice throughout the entire pie
(do... either of them chew? must be a Gnawer trait)
up until that last slice: technically, with the pizza split in half, it belongs to the Fenrir
though there's the momentary consideration of how many ways it would take to convince the kid to keep it
or if it would just be better to rationalize he bought the damn thing, so has rights to it if he wants it
but one thing the Hood won't do is take from those that need
(others need, it's the Hood that provides)
so there's an absent wave at the slice and the other Garou"Stuffed." ... right, as if that's even possible. "They'd frown on me taking it onto the bus anyway." easily grinned - argue that one "My pleasure, Spots, that's a deal." then his chin drops in a nod to re-affirm the previous statement "Bus leaves...." a leaning peeeer to the wallclock across the parlor "... in an hour, and the last one an hour and a half after that." that little addition should seem strange as hell, though makes sense when the Ahroun shifts his weight to dig into the change holding pocket, various wrinkled bills and coinage clattering on the table. "There's.....twelve.... sixt.... eighteen here." a breif frown, and his wallet is dug out next, another bill - the only one in there - tossed onto the pile "Thirty-eight. That'll either buy you a bus ticket up north, or..." napkin's plucked from the little shining aluminum holder, and he's scrawling onto it as he speaks ".... get a room at this motel on 38th and Wiltern." the name and address appears on the napkin "Little hole in the wall dive of a motel, but this puts you two bucks over two nights with a bed, roof, and running water. This," scribble "is Rune's cell number, second potato, Gee-dub. If you opt to head up north tonight, tomorrow, or at anytime need anything, call it. She already knows who you are."
gotta love that totem phone
then, the entire pile is slid over to the little Metis
all the cash he earned, and all that he had on him
without. even. hesitating.
he's still got his bus ticket, so is good to go
an even if he decided to give that to the Fenrir, too
it wouldn't bother him at all
it wouldn't be the first time he's hitched from AC to Hibernia
that easy grin returns as the Ahroun snags his own pack and slides out of the booth
not leaving any room for argument, is he
he won't force Spots to go anywhere he's uncomfortable
the choice will be his own
but James will at least provide the means he can to make comfort available"Take care of yourself, Spots, I'll see you 'round."
like a damned beacon of hope and light, that easy grin flashes once more, plus one nod up, then the Ahroun is heading back out into the night and towards the bus station
Posted by james at June 06, 2003 12:00 AM
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