October 09, 2003.10.09.03. - what's shotgunning? [tristan-phantom][forest hill, condos, sort've cont'd from last scene as that took two days....]
(james)
Imogen can give most Garou a run for their money in stubbornness
James, it seems, can be just as steadfast in the resolve to never give up
(never. back. down.)
because for some reason he keeps making the offers that he knows she'll refuse
one would think he'd finally have learned by now and paid attention to the flesh-peeling lessons
she refused help that night, would have if he pressed, and he figured she'd keep up the trend tonight
so perhaps that explains the light of surprise that finds its way into deep umber
a brow lifting that she actually accepted something (she... knows how to do that??)
with the musician's approach, however, the response is nothing more than the trademark noda chill tightens in his gut, though
for her to call and ask for help - it must be bad
for her to give in and accept his help - it must be bad"Bring it by, lat'r."
quiet response to her farewell
Tristan's still a ways off, but doubts Imogen would want him to know of her state of (dis)repair
the Gnawer can respect that
so instead, he sets to gathering the bottles and tray
knowing the last thing the good Doctor would want to do is bend and stretch and clean up
a journey down the stairs to dump each into the trashcan Rolling Meadows provided a bit down the path
by the time he's returned the glass tray to her table and reached for his backpack seems dinner's arrived
a look back down the stairs at his kin says more than words could - or would, at this point
brows lift a little, gaze slants away, breath quietly sighs, shoulders move in a (helpless) shrug
he's done what he can. what he's allowed. and that has to be enough for now.
at least she's alive, and that's what matters"Can' pass that uh'"
coupled with a nod towards the neighboring balcony and the shift of weight back down the stairs
(tristan)
That look says more then words, and the reply is just silent, yet meaningful. He’s glad, worried, but glad, but that seems to be par for the course when you fly with the eagles (fortunately, he’s just a weasle, and won’t get sucked into any jet engines. Tonight, anyway.) and it’s all said with just a slight nod, and curl of lips.Instead of asking further for answers that won’t be answered, can’t be answered, he just grins and hefts those bags, turning to head toward the other stairs, up familiar stairs, toward a balcony he hasn’t sat on in ages. “Didn’t think you could... but brought beer to sweeten the deal anyway, just in case.”
Head turns to look behind him, wink tipped to his friend, before he hefts and sets the bags on the table, violin finding a spot out of the way and protected, pack slipping from shoulder to fall to worn wood beside it. Only then does he start unpacking the little cartons, a couple picked out, set on his side of the table, the rest left for James to pick and choose or dispose of however he wants. Two beers grabbed, tops popped, added to the veritable feast before he even turns and settles to a chair.
(james)
brows lift as he's slowly climbing the stairs
the sphere of full-moon enhanced rage infringing on Tristan's own little bubble
he's frustrated (goddamned infuriating woman) and it shows
the way muscle moves over the mishealed bones of his jaw when it tightens
bones and teeth all but inaudibly grinding as he just tries to shake. it. off.he's a Hood
he wants to help
he's supposed to help those in need
especially when it's a dear friend in need
and to be turned down at every corner
sometimes, that can just get to a man
(especially an Ahroun on such a night)"So what the occas'n?"
asked with a casually lifted brow
lanky body turning to half-settle half-drop into the vacant chair
she moved stiffly and carefully
he moves with the energy burning flair of a tense animal
it's easy to see who came home fairly unscatched
and that just.... doesn't sit well with the mellow Gnawer
(that's his friend.... that's his packmate's mate..... there's got to be more he can do)(tristan)
He knows the feeling well. Perhaps better then he should, or others would, and the glance up at his friend as he sits down says exactly that. They’re hoods. They’re supposed to help. And it hurts to be unable too.Kinda the way Tristan feels about James recently – let alone about his own failures in helping/keeping/finding his own mate.
He chuckles, softly and lean shoulders roll in a shrug. “Was hungry, and haven’t had Thai for a while.” Since Diego disappeared, since he’s been staying the hell out of Forest Hill unless crashing on lumpy couch, since... forever it seems. “So it sounded good, and since I know it tastes just as fine the next day, figured I’d stock the fridge through tomorrow, at least.”
“Maybe” The last is mumbled around first mouthful that quickly turns into several more in true Gnawer style.
(phantom)
The runtish metis has ventured far tonight, tired of the urban sprawl and looking for something a little more pleasant, a little more green. He's walked quite a ways, stalking (hunting) through the night with his keyboard safely in a bag he'd found, clutched at his side, a security blanket so far from home. He's actually kind of lost, reduced to making random turns in hopes of getting somewhere he recognizes, somwhere from where he can find his way back to the theater. He pauses at a corner and looks both ways, trying to decide . . . and then he sees some remarkably familiar condos. Hadn't he been here before? Once . . . with Grania. And the Eagles live here . . . maybe James is around somewhere, maybe he can talk to the ahroun. He makes the turn, approaching the condos sumissively (always submit to those of higher station) especially once he's bathed in the rage of the ahroun, so close to the full moon. Pausing, he looks around to see where the feeling is coming from, not thinking to look up.(james)
easily enough, the lopsided half-smile that graces his features remains as Tristan explains
for most, it would seem a good enough reason
fair and true enough, taking it for what it is, and all that
but - blame it on the moon - there's more to it that the Ahroun catches
the heightened senses of the pregnant moon's wrath
finding the word that's hovering before the gaping mouth of a cavernous appetite
as the kin chews, he's lenient enough to spend the time with a soft chuckle"Ma'be, huh?"
unfortunately for the musician
Tristan isn't one kin that James won't push - at times, anyway
deep umber slides in a slippery glance across the food
the question narrated by the subtle lift of a brow
the reach for his share of the boxes interrupted by something else
attention strafes out towards the manicured lawns and half-empty parking lot
hand blindly closes around the bottle of nearest beer
a thoughtful moment brings it to his lips
(this is... three... already? easy there, Jamey-boy)
then the long torso is stretching to settle elbows on the railing
the bottle dangling precariously from fingertips over the flowerbed below
figure seems vaugley familiar
lips purse into a low whistle
(look. up.)(tristan)
Maybe. Maybe not. He knows James has no qualms about pushing, however subtly, he doesn’t even have to look up to know that brow is lifted and there’s a question during that reach... that stops. It’s his turn to look up as the whistle slides over senses, and that grin reappears.Even if he knows he won’t get out of it. He’ll have to answer the question eventually.
He waits then, angling a little to see who’s passing by underneath that dangling bottle, hoping whomever it is looks up in time to catch should James decide to drop instead of drink (which brings to mind the Fianna – not for any other reason then... he misses him. The look over is wistful, almost hopeful, but there’s not the slide of Purity to add to the Rage that already is thrumming under his skin a response to Full Moon that invades his senses...)
He makes sure a couple of boxes are sectioned out of the pile, ‘nother beer added to the table, just in case it is indeed someone known.
(phantom)
A whistle and the Gnawer looks up (nothing new for the vertically challenged Galliard; he's always looking up) to see the beer bottle held precariously above his head; a quick step (or two, or three) is taken, a graceful dance to go with the music both Garou and Kin have heard. Sensitive ears may pick it out now, a sign that the boy below is, indeed, known, a friend, but more likely they'd see the flash of moonlight on the featureless mask, the whiter than bone plate over twisted features, protecting the metis' small vanity. He speaks (sings) softly, as always, though his voice carries, a performer (always knows).
"Hi . . . I was just out walking, and . . ."
He's dressed better than usual, actually prepared (somewhat) for the elements that come with the latter portion of the year, though tonight is warmer than the most recent nights. A longsleeved tshirt, jeans (without holes!), boots, prepared.(james)
from the distance, he couldn't yet see the mask
it was only the feel and posture that reckoned recognition
fingers close more firmly around the bottleneck (be prepared, as the boyscouts say) and the pursed whistle spreads to a smile
dreads backlit by the porchlight tip to the side of the yet occupied porch
(don't thik he'd let Tristan sit by the open stairway, didja?)
the half-empty (already!) bottle tips oppositely towards the steps"C'mon up.... jus' eat'n."
friendly enough, for the full moon, comes the invitation to join
though there is still the underlying tension that bleeds off the Ahroun
weight shifts backwards to settle more comfortably on the plastic chair
he pointedly remains in the chosen spot - the remaining open chair tucked behind the table
it would put Phantom's back to the condo's front wall
even at a casual dinner, the Warrior raggedyman will protect his friends
put them furthest from where the danger would (could) comeas the Galliard is dressed up for the 'in town' occasion
the Gnawer is in what most would call laundry day digs
though, knowing him, this is regular wear
baggy surplus BDUs faded, patched, and tattered
the Cochran II's more in need of a polish than anything else
a black t-shirt that several weeks ago fit snugly to the tone of muscle on his torso
now, though, it's a little looser in the way it hangs
the cords of strength on his arms and beneath the cotton don't have the layer of fat the Beta had spoiled him with
there's a hollowness, found in the darkened circles around his eyes that aren't completely at fault of the night's shadows
but still, through it all, he meets the runtly metis with a warm - if lopsided - grin
bottle used to point to the table and the feast that Tristan thoughtfully provided"Two know each other?"
brows lift and furrow a bit in question
he thinks his kin mentioned meeting the organ player
but with the way past weeks have gone... he's not entirely sure
etiqutte amongst family, and all(tristan)
the song makes it’s way up toward them, floating about on air thickened by James’ rage and unanswered questions and there’s a warming of his grin as he leans over further, and waves down toward phantom. “Yup – met the other day.” Clarification of the last question, as he thinks he may have mentioned it as well, but days and conversations tend to meld when everyone is doing their damndest to forget things.He knows well why James is seated at the open spot, his own protected, the one offered Phantom even more protected. He’s always looking after his friends, and with Tris, it’s appreciated. Most of the time. Unlike other kin who can’t seem to bring herself to accept offered help.
Tristan is dressed much as he was before, though Phantom’s newer used clothing gets an approving look – he certainly looks warmer, which will definitely been needed in upcoming months. His own jeans are a bit threadbare, tattered in stratigic places, though torso is under a warm turtleneck due to the chill of the evenings as it breathes more and more of winters touch across any exposed skin. One moment it’s warm, the next it’s cold enough to see your breath, then again warm. Gotta love Jersey.
But he finally finishes the thought as the Metis joins and grins, nodding toward the Thai food and beer.. “’elp y’self” mumbled around another mouthful..
(phantom)
He takes the steps quickly, gracefully, sensitive nose already smelling the wonders of Thai food and mouth very nearly watering as stomach growls it's demand (why haven't you fed me yet?). He takes the open seat, not to up on tactical planning and having no real idea why he gets that particular chair, other than it's comfortable to have one's back to a building, nothing able to creep up behind. Food is offered and doesn't need to be offered again; the hungry metis falls upon it with vigor, eating like (a Gnawer) he hasn't in a day or more. And then he blushes, realizing his lack of manners . . . mouthful is swallowed quickly, beer grabbed to chase it and a quick face pulled when the taste crosses his lips; he's never had beer before. Another quick swig to make sure he can speak, this time no face.
"Thanks. This is good."
A smile offered to Tristan the (pretty boy) kin and another to James, the moody ahroun who looks like he's lost something of himself since Phantom saw him last.
"You a'ight?"(james)
once the small metis moves into the light proper
one more approving look is added to the reception of his new(er) clothing
(noooot too shabby)
the Ahroun should, by all means, be dressed more appropriately to the night
but it's that inner fire that's keeping him more than warm
the chill of approaching winter isn't quite getting through just yetunlike the two Tribal counterparts - James doesn't dig in quite yet
the Litany speaks of the privleges of rank
yet the Fostern is the highest ranked among them
and he makes sure the others begin warming their bellies first
(if you can't take care of one, take care of others)
careful ascertation in deep umber that Phantom survives his (first... apparently) beer
the same for Tristan though there's no need for real worry
boy is being sugar-daddy'd after allthe third beer is finished and the empty bottle placed on the table
only then does he reach for one of the still-steaming boxes
picking at some semblance of an eggroll in thoughtful chew
contemplating the answer to the sudden question"Think it depen'...." mellow to moody, not the normal drummer, is it "on yeh def'nition a 'right." shoulders roll the black t-shirt towards mane of tangled dreads, the roll lifted towards the half-hidden by porchroof sky "... 's th' moon."
(tristan)
The snort of... amused disbelief? Follows instantly on the last of James’ statements. He’s seen his friend on a full moon more then once, and knows well that he’s full of shit. Luna swells, rage rises and burns with an inner intensity that keeps his friend warm.Unhappy. But warm.
He chuckles at the reaction to Phantom’s apparent first beer, but he just winks, toasts him with his own bottle, downing more then one of them. “How ya been, Phantom?” Murmured around a bite that scrapes the bottom of the first carton... “You should see it when the whole gang is around here on the full. Gets... interesting....” boyish grin flashes, unrepentantly.
(phantom)
Watching James, Phantom has his doubts but he doesn't air them; he, too, has seen the Fostern during and around the full moon (though only once) and knows this isn't the same. But he nods, accepting the answer; if James wanted to share, he would, and there's no need to press an issue that's none of his business. Toast is offered back to Tristan and another eager swig is taken. Phantom is sixteen.
Phantom has been alone for an indetermined amount of time, and when he did have company, it apparently wasn't of the nicest sort.
Phantom is broke.
So, Phantom has never had beer, though he enjoys it immensely now. Bottle is set down and carton is taken back up, another (too large) bite crammed into the boy's mouth. He chews quietly for a moment, reflecting on Tristan's statement.
"I was here at full moon. Once."(james)
there's a wry grin as Tristan nearly chokes
he's well aware he's full of shit, too
a bit of the Garou's inherant bitterness is leaking out
and the grin turns apologetic"Half th' pack Ahroun." Rune. Decker. James. Now Tucker. "Even I can' take it s'metime."
not to mention half the pack is Get
which is a trouble all of it's own to a Gnawer
sometimes it's hard to realize three of them aren't Germans
then toss in the icey kinfolk next door....."'n ta'e is slow." this time it's chuckled, gently "Else ya drunk 'fore yeh know't."
weight slips further down into the cupping welcome of the chair
boots spreading to triangulate his balance
dreads form a pillow against the thin plastic backing
and deep, dark brown eyes gaze past the edge of the roof and to the glare-hidden stars above
or at the very least where his education says the constellations should be
the meager dots that are poking through at the moment
after a few moments, those eyes close
and the silence (save their chewing and drinking) is spent in a thoughtful aire
the personable streetcorner ruffian showman suddenly deeply instrospective
it's a fairly well known fact that James doesn't have the alcohol tolerance of his packmates
and the quick succession of beers on an empty (!!!) stomach begins to show
a level of the invisable tension begins to slip away
the steel bands of his shoulders relax to a minute degree"'m sorry, Phantom." his eyes are still closed, not looking at the young Gnawer quite yet... though it must be strange for an apology to be issued in any event "... was rude." head lifts, now, giving the Galliard the respect of looking at him when speaking to him. "Guess th' shit I been through lately been gettin' to me."
(tristan)
Container, empty, is set aside, and mouth wiped with the back of hand, as he looks at James. And really looks at him again. One bite. The Gnawer took one bite, went back to beer, and goddammit if he isn’t sinking farther and faster then Tristan can haul him out. Hands slide through mismanaged curls, blunt nails sliding against scalp before fingers fall to rest on the table and lean form leans forward, elbows on the table, hands lightly clasped as he chuckles at Phantom. “James here is famous for his intolerance to alcohol... of course, i’m not much better. My..” hesitation. Sigh. Switch. And apologetic grin. “...Diego once got us to kill off a bottle of imported tequilia from Mexico where he’s from... we felt the after affects to that for almost a week. Learned to stick to beer to be social.”And that said, he drains his bottle, and grabs another with a grin. Do as I say, not as I do, s’what Momma Grace always said. There’s another pause after the light(er?) story, before the container that James picked at is lifted, and set more squarely in front of the Ahroun, while dark gaze remains on him. “Course, Momma Grace’d skin me alive if she knew I was letting you drink on an empty stomach, even if on the Full.”
(Whatever you do, Jamey-boy, don’t make me have to call Momma.)
Others need. Gnawer’s supply. By brute force if necessary. (oh that’s an amusing picture considering just boxing lessons ends up with Tristan bruised and cracked and laughingly pathetically whipped like the mutt he is...)
(phantom)
Eye brow raises at the offered apology and piercing green eyes widen just a little at the offered appology - strange, indeed - and he nods, mouth too full to speak. He chews quickly and takes a slower, smaller sip of the beer before him; he's seen what the drunks do to his (half) block of halfway decentness in the scab (there's no place like home).
"'S'ok. I heard a little."
Eyes move to Tristan artist's appreciation (and boy's curiousity) taking in the tousled curls, the apologetic grin, the lean form curled in its seat.
"Never had it before. But it's good."
He's relaxed enough, now, to let his baby down, to set they fabric wrapped keyboard down beside him as he sits there, eating and drinking with friends. It's an odd feeling, that, and one he's never felt before. Good - he could definitely get used to it - but odd.
"Who's Momma Grace?"(james)
there's the chuff of soft laughter - knowing Phantom would be surprised
not the norm for a Fostern Ahroun to apologize, is it
for a moment, the knowing, teasing glint reappears in deep umber
then the gaze slips away to the sound of paper grating on the table
next sound is a slight clearing of his throat
seems the mighty Full Moon has been put in his place by a meager kin
there's a mock growl aimed at Tristan
in any other situation it would be terrifying
and, perhaps under the full moon, it could still be
but it fades on the wings of a ghosted smile"Yes Pa."
shot back in arrogant tease
and he makes the monumental effort to pull himself upright
pivoting on the axis of his hips to sit properly at the table
doing his best to force himself to eat the spicey Thai
when all he really wants to do is slink away or find something to take his swelling anger out on
it's slow, methodical, not the trademark inhalation they've come to know and love
but at least he's eating"His ma." chin jerks up towards Tristan "Kin t'be reckon with up'n NYC. Only bunk wi' 'er a few week couple year 'go.... don' mean she won' make th' trip t' tan my hide 'f I misbehave."
(tristan)
He doesn’t seem terrified at all of that growl, in fact his grin just widens and with a wink and slightly lifted brow he counters with “Tease.” And then brings it one more step further with a rakish grin. “That’s right, boyo.... who’s your daddy.....”Before relaxing back in his chair, satisfied to see him eat, no matter the methodical nature of the trip of the fork from carton to mouth and back again. He nods with a fond grin and shifts his gaze toward Phantom with a warmer smile. “Yeah, she’s my mom, but is also the same to every Family member in the tri-state area. She’d take you in too and treat you every bit the same as she does us... Fast with the discipline and switch when it’s needed – and never when it’s not, and just as fast with hugs and love. But never too much adoration because that would get you’re head all swollen and she can’t handle any child who’s too big for his britches.” And it’s perfectly clear that he loves his mother with all he is....
“And she took a shine to James in that week, and he knows damn well he’d best behave or I’ll have her down here on the next train.”
(phantom)
A nod, family ties. (What's it like?) The metis finishes up his carton of food, then takes up his beer, drinking slowly and enjoying the warmth the alcohol carries with it through his body. And the brotherly (he thinks, he's watched enough tv through store windows to hazard a guess) banter . . . he lets it flow around him, a different sort of song.
"Lucky, then."
Never have two words conveyed so much about one person . . . lonliness they'd only guessed at (that pushes the boundries of despair at times, wolves need pack), a desire, no, a need for something akin to what they have, a normalacy in the rabbit hole.
"She sounds nice."(james)
"S'what most Family like."interjected between a few bites of food
with Tristan watching his consumption like a hawk - he's not giving up just yet
but it gives him an excuse to stop forcing food into a stomach that doesn't seem to want it
(full of shit, Jamey-boy, you know you're hungry even if you don't feel like it, you're a damned Gnawer)
and allows for a glance up at the young metis
there's a fondness in the Ahroun for the kinwoman, too"Should take y'up one weekend...." his words are a little slower, that slurred accent thickening with the alcohol, and as he reaches for another bottle to twist the top off, seems he's not ready to stop yet - low tolerance be damned! "... in'tr'duce y' to s'me other. Show y'what bein' Gnawer all abou'"
yeh, seems the Ahroun is more than aware of how desperately lonely Phantom is
wolves need pack
Gnawers need Family(tristan)
the stomach wants it, even if the mind does not. Have to be some pretty bad shit to see a Gnawer starving himself to death. Not the best of ways to go no matter who it is – but for a Gnawer? That’s downright.... wrong.But the suggestion brings a grin, and he shifts his gaze between the two of them.. “that’s a damn good idea, actually. Momma’s been hounding me for another visit as it is... seems Andrea has herself a ‘boyfriend’ and Momma’s aiming to scare the boy to death. You’d do perfectly James.”
Again that flashed grin, before he looks over at Phantom, and nods... “Momma’s always got a full house, and the more the merrier. Always food on the stove – seems she has this 6th sense of when one of her ‘boys’ is going to come home to visit, because obviously we can’t take care of ourselves.” Rest of his beer is tipped back, finished, and another grabbed... the level on Phantom’s checked, and another offered... “Drink the second slow – keeps the warmth without getting you too tipsy just yet. I’ll probably have to carry James in later.”
They’re banter is indeed friendly, even brotherly. Family.
(phantom)
"I'd like that."
He tips back the last bit of his first (ever) beer and sets the bottle neatly somewhere out of the way, then accepts the second, nodding his understanding at the instructions.
"Thanks."
A (long) slow sip and he rests his arms on the supports of the chair, letting the beer dangle between his fingers as he'd seen James do, trying desperately to fit in, despite the part of himself that says he never will.
"Is Andrea your sister?"(james)
there's another look shot towards Tristan
carry him in.
though at the rate he's going - the kin is probably right
soon enough he finishes the rest of the box and shoves it aside
leaning back in the chair to nestle the current beer on his lap, loosely held by calloused and strong hands
moments pass as the next question is proffered
then the full moon is digging into a cargo pocket for his pack of smokes
it's not a Camel that he pulls out, however
insted the mysterious thing is a conspicuously self-rolled number
by the scent a Garou would be able to catch - that's not tobacco eitherbattered bronze Zippo is pulled free
zipCLACKing open to set flame to the joint held between James' teeth
the inhale is looooooong and slow, rolling fragrant and tasty smoke over his tongue
holding it deeply in lungs it will never blacken
it's plucked from his mouth and held in offer to Phantom
seeing as it's his first beer, he probably hasn't been exposed to weed before, either
something of a staple at the Eagle's condos, however
brows lift if instruction on how and what would be neededseems as much as Phantom's trying to fit in and become a part of the group
James and Tristan are waaay ahead of him
treating him like he'd never been apart in the first place
it's what being Family is all about
(tristan)
That look brings perfect wide eyed innocence to his own face, marred by the devilish glee in dark gaze, though he relaxes easily enough and answers Phantom’s question. “Yeah, not by blood. Momma adopted her a couple years ago when her folks passed on. She’s just turned 11, and starting to realize the affect her young pretty looks has on the neighborhood boys. Momma chased out a 15 year old neighbor with her wooden spoon just last week. Andrea seemed oblivious for the most part of why momma was upset – according to her she just invited him in for cookies.” Lean shoulders roll into a shrug, and curls tumble as he chuckles. “momma has infallible record on reading any boy’s intentions within a 3 mile radius. To this day I’ve never figured out how she knew of my escapades before I had them.”Ah, the Eagles on the Full moon = liquor and weed in large quantities. Got to love that. The pack appears, the self rolled, the battered lighter, and soon the air is filling with that sweet pungent scent. He just grins, apprecitively – always get the good shit too - and waits his turn in the rotation.
(phantom)
Shooting a glance at Tristan, he reaches forward and takes the offered joint; and James assumption that he's never tried it is correct. He'd watched what the Ahroun did, and he does his best to imitate it . . . but. he. chokes. Lungs unaccustomed to smoke reject the sweed acridness of the drug on the first try. He has to set his beer down for fear of dropping it; it wobbles once, twice, before finally stopping upright. Blushing furiously, he shoots quick glances at each of them, then passes the whatever-it-is to Tristan, who hasn't had it yet.(james)
there's just a knowing glance to Tristan's explanation
even he's not sure how any Momma does it - Ruggs, Grace, or otherwise
but they just seem to know"Easy..." a momentary panic to caution the novice Galliard, but hell, if you ain't chokin you ain't tokin, as the saying goes, but seeming as it's a little too late (or the caution simply in vain) the older Ahroun simply chuckles softly "Take it slow nex' time.... n' hold it in a bit." nodding towards Tristan's example "Weed's harsher inna join'... nex' time I'll find a bong for yeh."
(tristan)
He can’t help the sputtering laughter as he reaches to rescue the tipping bottle and help right it, as well as take the offered J. “Easy there..” And with a shake of his head he waits till Phantom watches, takes a hit nice and slow, and holds it in as he passes on to James again.He leans back into his chair, and with a chuckling exhale.. “just whatever you do? Don’t accept any weed from Livingstone. That shit’ll fuck you up for DAYS...” Oh yes, the stories of the bluntling run rampant around here.
But there’s a nod to James’ suggestion of a bong. “Got one at my place..” offered easily as breath that there will indeed be a Next time. Phantom’s family, after all.
(phantom)
"Who's Livingstone?"
Reaches for his beer again now that he can breath, clearing his throat with a long, too fast swig from the bottle. Rage that had been a nearly overpowering buzz (in his ears) is slowly mellowing to a managable hum, thank goodness, and he thinks he could handle another hit off the J when it comes back his way, after watching what Tristan (pretty boy) did.
"Thanks."
A little slurred, and unclear exactly what he's thanking them for . . . but somewhere along the line, he picked up a decent set of manners, and it feels like time to say thank you as far as he's concerned. (Family. So this is what it feels like.)(james)
the grin to agree with the warning is rather... wry... and knowing
fairly apparent that James has borne the brunt of Livingston's stock
more than once
... for.... daaays...."S'ar Theurge." offered in clarification for the galliard, the explanation paused for a long, slow hit "Bob Ma'ley inna GeeDub suit."
the last offered on a plume of heady smoke
if the neighborhood watch were brave enough to complain
the resident Garou would have been kicked out by now
the endless supply of weed the least of their 'community' infractionshe takes a moment to inspect the joint
expertly fixing a bit of the paper that had come unglued from the heat
then it's carefully offered to Phantom once again
the crackling aura of Rage has lessened incredibly with the addition of the sedative"Sho'gunning it less harsh..... but dunno if yeh up for it."
there's a sly look shot to the kinsman
figuring Phantom would blush himself right under the table to find out what that was
though would doubtfully accept it from either Gnawer present(tristan)
He chuckles at the first, he listens and watches throughout, but at that sly look? Oh our pretty boy kin has the decency to duck his head (evil, evil, evil little thoughts dancing behind those eyes) and chuckle with a shake of those curls...Call it payback for the who’s your daddy line, huh?
He looks up and grabs his beer, that grin boyish and full as he toasts james (take your shotgun anytime, boy, and you know it) before slamming a good portion of it back. And retreating to the Livingston topic. Safety and all. “He’s a reputation for... oh... enhancing natures recipes...”
And its no mistake he doesn’t even TOUCH the shotgunning line....
(phantom)
Ah, if he knew what shotgunning was, he might blush . . . but would accept it from either Gnawer present, actually, should the opportunity present itself.
"What's shotgunning?"
Much more careful, this time, with his hit, only a small cough and most of the smoke held in for a few seconds, slowly blown out as he passes the pot along. Another swig and his beer is gone and . . .
"I have to . . . um . . ."
He stands unsteadily, turning towards the door, then the stairs, unsure which way to go.
(james)
"S'plain it nex' time..."chuckled as the young Galliard wavers
(that's good Jamey-boy, contribute to the delinquency of a minor)
his own beer is settled on the table and a hand shoots out to wrap around the metis' upper arm
it's easily to discern his grip could break bone if he wanted to
(and don't you doubt it, it has)
but this time it's more of a gentle guide than anything
carefully turning wobbly Phantom towards the door of the condo"... crash'n the cou'..."
he makes sure the Cliath can balance on his own before letting go
keys retrieved from a pocket to unlock the thick, oak door"Kemp may still be here.... else I'd offer yeh th' spare room."
there's a nod for the organist to follow him inside
both Rune and Decker's rooms are also empty
but he won't offer those for various and opposite reasons
the condo is EXPENSIVELY furnished
from modern furniture to the plasma television to the aluminum fridge to the dining room full of electronics (gathering dust, since Rune's been gone) James would be hard pressed to identify much less actually use
the wave towards the plush, leather couch is absent
and he disappears down the hall to return with a thick, soft blanket and pillow
obviously, the place must belong to another packmate, and not the guttermutt Gnawer
(he's mated to the owner, even if he can't really share that, the place is as much his as Rune's at this point)
but the easy half-grin on his lips speaks that Phantom's welcome to stay as long as he needs"Bathroom down th' 'all on yeh left, raid th' fridge a' needed.... I'll say upstair t'night 'n be here come mornin'. Night."
normally, he'd retreat to the warehouse to sleep
unable to cope with the empty bed that smells so much like her
but he wouldn't leave Phantom alone in a strange place with his packmates liable to show up at any time
soon as he's sure the young guest is comfortable
he's heading back outside to the balcony and jointPosted by james at October 09, 2003 12:00 AM
[in progress, but just for you, Damon]
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