September 01, 2003.09.01.03. - two hours [imogen] *e[port newark - cont'd from previous scene]
(james)
he.... can't help but laugh"Gotta Cli'th I jus' met, 'nother that's packless, a kin, a cub..... 'n what'ver th' hell Grania is."
that's more mused out loud than actually expecting an answer from his Alpha
this should become rather interesting, at the very least
especially because he STILL doesn't know who this Barny guy is
though that thought's finished off with the last of his beer
empty bottles are gathered and tossed in the trash
(bachelor pad yes, absolute horror no)
as Erik moves off to get stuff gathered, he might as well begin, toothe heavy doors rattle on the chains and suddenly it's exit: one raggedy Bone Gnawer
tired as he is from being out and about for the majority of the day
(gotta do something to keep from going out of your fucking skull)
there's a bit of a smile on him
the reaffirmation of pack means something infinite to the Ahroun
the fact they may be walking into the apartment and thus falling into a WyrmPit or Wonderland or any other number of things really doesn't seem to dampen that one bit
it's the little things that seem to countso, off he goes
everyone he can think of is on a path between the docks and the ForestHill condo
but he's still trying to think of any others....(imogen)
Everyone he can think of is between the paths of the warehouse and the condos. And so is she, though not where expected at the condos (not that she's ever there, really), but on one of the streets, walking down one of the darker streets to where she would have parked her car.Two blocks down, one block over is a crime scene. If James were to inhale the air, he could smell the coppery hint of blood in the air, the sharper smell of gunpowder. A fire fight, perhaps. Some street war. Some sad day for someone. Nice end to the long weekend this: blood and brains and gun powder.
Despite the hour, the day, she dressed in a pant suit, charcoal and without colour, greyer now in the dim night, barely broken by the helterskelter street lamps. Some are working. Some aren't.
One hand is sliding into a pocket, seeking out keys as she walks in the cool night, or seeking out cigarettes, perhaps, as dark eyes, near black in the bleak, flick across the street before her. Her car is still a block or two away. Lord knows why she parks so far from crime scenes. Perhaps she needs the exercise.
(james)
blood, brains, and gunpowder
for some people that's a sad end to the holiday weekend
for some people that's a success....
to the Ahroun - it's nothing all that surprising
they set up claim on the busiest port of the coast for a reason
a nice and quiet retirement was not one of them
not that he's particularly concerned about what human does this or that to another
it's always nice to keep up on the local newsby the time Imogen rounds the last corner to come within a block of her car
it seems someone has taken residence on the side fender
the alarm on this car isn't quite as sensitive as the one on the zippy, purple Beemer
so he figures, with that knowledge, he can get away with this comfortable lean without hell breaking loose
boots are spread wide on the sidewalk, triangulating the balance of tailbone on fender
hands have shoved themselves into the pockets of faded cargos
dreads hang long and loose tonight, dangling towards the hood's plane
the way his torso is leaned back to look at the sky to pass the time
it'd almost seem like a picture save the way thick ropes occasionally swing in the light breeze wandering in off the distant water(imogen)
The car isn't the mercedes, as considering the area it was never a good idea to bring such a fine piece of german equipement out. Instead it is the black blocky state issued car, and it probably has no alarm to speak of. It is a car, however, that Imogen has brought home on particular nights, and is recognizeable for the Gnawer.One hand pushes back strands of hair from her eyes as the other one finds the keyring of her keys and pulls them free, with a soft clatter of metal.
She draws up beside the Ahroun with a brief glance upward; even slouched, she is smaller than he is, and she has to tilt up her head for that automatic glance to his face. Eyes, because it's her habit and instinct.
"Enjoyin' th'night are yeh?" she inquires conversationally.
(james)
one would think he's just passing the time star-gazing
but given the massive shipyard lights on top of the city's pollution.....
.... well.... he's doing well to study the clouds
(he still remembers the first time a night was clear and dark enough to actually see stars)
so whatever it is that he's gazing so contently at
the blocky state vehicle seems a good enough support
he recognized the plates, figured she'd be heading to it soon enough"Better'n las' night."
murmured, just loud enough for her to hear
there is an element of serenity that wasn't there last night
but it's only a step towards what's needed to heal these invisable wounds
from her angle beside him, she can see the swelled curve of cheek that would symbolize a partial grin
it's affirmed when he finally looks down
(her habit and instinct, his, too)
the darkness of the night on the streets brought by the haphazard lights makes the extremeties of their eyes seem to almost match in some unknown shade of near-black"Lookin' f'r you, hones'ly."
(imogen)
It had rained lightly for much of the day, and now the air spoke of more rain to come. Certainly, it is almost impossible to imagine the State of New Jersey suffering from a drought."That's good, at least," she comments, toward the fact that this night was better than the last. It might actually be surprising, that she meant it.
An eyebrow lifts slightly, a coppery arch of movement. She does not lean against the car herself, instead standing slightly away. The distance between them is slight, so quiet tones are easily passed. Should someone walk by, they would perhaps hear nothing more than a quiet murmer of voices.
Or even less. The arch of her eyebrow is the substitute for the question: why was he looking for her?
(james)
it.... did surprise him to realize that she meant it
it shouldn't, after all she is a human being and fully capable of emotions or sympathy or...
whatever that comment is categorized beneath
rare and miniscule, of course, as these emotions may be, as much as they're internalized
but apparently the lanky Ahroun still stings from where the flesh was so abruptly peeled away one day
and so the show of concern, even as cordial as it may be, does catch his attentionher gesture substituted question is answered in a substituting gesture of his own, chin dipping in a nod
the quirky grin may be because of the additional surprise this wasn't, for once, a chance encounter
it may also be because of the wry knowledge that whenever they do plan to meet - it's never for a walk in the park"Yeh. Blood Eagle wan's t' find out why Carmen an' her watchdog dis'peared to, 'r went wi'hout calling. Tol' me t' gath'r who I could" he doesn't explain that, she knows as well as he does the reason why backup is being sought outside their particular totem-phone family plan, shoulders hitch and roll in a slow shrug "Di'n'no if you were int'rested."
(imogen)
The previously arched eyebrow arches higher as he speaks. The longer James speaks, the more accustomed to the slur Imogen becomes and her untrained ear grows to associate the words slowly with the words to which she's used. That's not why the eyebrow lifts. "Carmen an' ..." she has no idea the name of Carmen's guardian, and what's more, she refuses to refer to her as a 'watchdog', so instead, the sentence shifts, subtly, "they've disappeared?"And then the question as to whether or not she is interested sparks surprise in dark eyes and the second eyebrow arches to join it's fellow. She is, after all, capable of emotion, and is capable of being shocked. She takes great pains, however, to keep such knowledge minor and disassociate herself from the normal view that emotions are felt by everyone (but not her) and everyone needs somebody else (but not her).
She'd mentioned during the flaying that she'd been psycho analyzed, recently, and by a professional. That would certainly be a report to be read.
The surprise, of course, fitting to anything that breaks through Imogen's detached surface, fades after a moment, and her shoulders lift in a slight shrug, "All I c'n do, really, is check the morgues, open cases, unless y'have a suggestion."
(james)
when listened to long enough, one can discover the pattern to his speech impediment
there are simply some sounds he hasn't yet, or may never, relearned to form
and so he simply leaves that part of the word out
it's a game of filling in the blanks, rather than the gymnastics of linguistic deciphering"'bout two weeks 'go." he noticed her surprise allright, but far be it from him to point it out "fr'm what Kemp tol' me the oth'r day, wa'n't worried 'bout it 'til Erik said he knew nothin'. Would.... 'preciate your checking things b'fore I search out th' others t' help."
now, perhaps, the reason for his particular choice of phrases may become clear
among the things he's simply not sure of around her anymore
asking for help is one of them
not often he has to ask, to begin with
normally they're thrown together and each pull their own weight
but a quick check of casefiles may save a lot of things having to be covered up later
and that's why he stopped and hung out at her car instead of pressing on to find others(imogen)
A pause and she glances away, the wheels turning within her mind exactly the best way she can go about this. It's not that she must consider that she will do this (because she will), but how, and the best way to proceed. She works this out in her mind before she answers.He may not have been sure about asking her for help, but her answer does not hold to the same lack of confidence. "Yeah, I can check int'it. Any latest jane does in tha surrounding counties, et cetera. We've databases for that." She speaks thoughtfully, before she adds, as well, "And if yeh give me the address where they live, I can try an' process the house or apartment, or whatever as a crime scene as best I can, see if anything shows up."
(james)
"Fourt'n thirty, Mt. Prosp'ct, fourt'n A." after a pause in which he distanced a bit in that particular way which tells Imogen it's a private call, he most definitely didn't know the guardian kin's name, and he was about as aware of the exact address "'bout how long y' think it'll take?" brow raised to relay back the information before deciding what to do in the interim(imogen)
A pause, and she exhales, glancing down to her hip, at the pager that is clipped there, briefly thumbing the LCD to check the time. "Tonight an' tomorrow night, provided I don't get called out fer anythin' important." A slight shrug, but it's not apologetic so much as explanatory. "I need ta get the equipement, get over there and work it room by room. An' it's not usually a job fer one person."(james)
another nod, seemed reasonable enough to him
even if he looks at her, those dark eyes seem to focus elsewhere for a moment"We'll prob'ly check anyway... cause if they show'p t' you, we'll wanna know why." finally, his weight pulls from the hard fender, a slow and easy rock of weight forward to his feet "I'll've Rune's cell."
one of them, anyway
some little confusing apparatus of digits and metal he seems to have inherited along the way
but it's far easier for the good doctor to get a hold of him than having to track him in the Port
or even anywhere else in the city, for that matter
he had looked away in the rise to stand
the casual, instinctive, search of the street
but finally the gaze swings back around to the firey kinfolk"Thanks Im'gen."
it may be her duty by blood and tradition
but he appreciates the effort anyway
(that... is... what he's thanking her for, right?)
and with another of those soft little lopsided ghosting grins
the lanky Gnawer continues on his mission(imogen)
A brief shrug dismisses the thanks. "Wouldn't 'appen t'have keys, would you?"
"T'get in."(james)
there's a pause and the Gnawer half-turns back
chin draws towards his chest in a nod"I c'n get in, if needed."
(imogen)
"It's me that I'm thinkin' of," a brief smirk, "Breakin' 'nd enterin' looks 'orrible on a medical examiner."(james)
there's a quirk in his grin
it says "well that takes all the fun out of it" when his words don't"S'a toy, I'd've t' get you in."
(imogen)
A pause, before she shrugs slightly, and there's a faint smirk. Irony, "If y'meet me there in about two hours, I'll be ready t'go in by then."Time to drive to the morgue. Time to get the equipment and drive back. "Fourteen thirty, Mount Prospect, fourteen-a, yeah?"
And she's already heading toward the driver's side, get this over with.
(james)
there's a nod and another flash of a grin
(the crime fighting duo has returned!)"Yeh.... two hours."
time enough to do what he needs to and get uptown
Posted by james at September 01, 2003 12:00 AM
the plan is passed on to his Alpha
and then he's on his way once again
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