drums-on-skulls: .10.14.03. - food. clothes. shelter. [tristan]

October 14, 2003

.10.14.03. - food. clothes. shelter. [tristan]

[port newark]

(tristan)
He’s avoided the condos. He’s avoided the warehouse, he’s finally avoiding the drink. There for a few days he certainly wasn’t avoiding the later, that’s for sure. But the smell had finally washed from skin, he was clean, sober, and Kemp would find his breath recently re-acquainted with scope. Well, before the current introduction of philly cheese steak, that is.

Rain sheets down, washing the streets free of grimy residue that will accumulate again in seconds once the clouds pass by overhead. The scab can never been completely cleansed, no matter the continued efforts of Gaia’s warriors. The rain forms distorted view outside of the relative dryness of the overhang he’s folded into a crouch under, sandwich in hand, being devoured in true Gnawer style. There’s a soda sitting between his feet, elbows rest lightly on knees, as steamy treat is enjoyed.

(james)
there seems to be a fairly consistent theme in the scope of Jersey weather - rain
cleansing rain in the springtime
sweltering rain in the summertime
chilling rain in the falltime
and for once, the Ahroun was heeding the weather
the tails of the patchwork trench flip and flap around his ankles with each ground-devouring step
Cochrans shiney not for polish but for the rain that keeps drizzling down

cold. chilling. a hint at the ice to come.
where in a few months making rounds of the territory like this is gonna be real unpleasent
course... not like he has anything better to do
the feeling of pack is closeby
but still a bit too far North for his comfort

head's not bowed against it, really
he's using the deep sockets beneath brows for cover
dark lashes squinting against the errant drops
the tilt of his head's probably more to protect the joint clenched between his teeth

(tristan)
There’s no missing that stride, the way the Cochrans beat against the cement, making way through the territory that soon will be miserable with snow and ice. He watches as he nears, the set of shoulders, the protection of the joint, as finger are licked clean. The coke is grabbed and held as lean form unfolds, shoulder blades pressing against the bricks behind him.

Half a block and closing, and fingers lift to slide through curls, pushing damp strands back from his face, before hand slides into his pocket. He’s not been obviously avoiding his friend, just... well. Ok, just a little bit. After the run in with Decker, you can’t really blame him...

Finally, the fast walking Gnawer comes within hearing distance, and after a thousand greetings are considered and tossed away, he finally just tosses out a soft, yet carrying, “hey.”

(james)
it's not like James hasn't been avoiding... well... everything at the moment
the Modi may be at the condo, but that's not enough to make him go back to that place
the musician kin may have been just as easily found, but the moon's still been too close to full

besides, there's a thousand things one can find to do down at the good ol' Newark Port

James has gone through at least fifty in the past few days alone
and thus preoccupied, he's not distant enough to miss the greeting
low and soft and last-pick as it was
his chin picks up a little, exposing the J to the rain
seems to defy the falling water with a flare of inhale's ember

in leiu of a greeting, when the Ahroun stops infront of the kin, he just holds the weed out

(tristan)
The joint defies the splash of rain with a inhalation that brightens ember – but the pretty boy isn’t watching that, instead catching preoccupied gaze that lifts when the warrior stops. There’s no verbal greeting, just an offer of the weed, and grin appears, slight and lopsided, as fingers pull from his pocket and reach to take the offered joint, nodding to his small area of almost protected, almost dry corner. “pull up a wall..”

Joint to lips, long slow inhalation, and it’s offered back while he holds quick gaze taking stock, checking to see that James is in one piece – just as he always does, though he doesn’t quite hold his gaze, or know exactly what to say, so finds refuge in watching the continued sheet of rain fall from small awning overhead.

Slow exhale pours grayed smoke curling from his lips before he finally turns to look back at James. Again the shift through possible comments, again settling with something seemingly mundane. “y’allright?”

(james)
lungful of smoke plumes exhale when his back greets the wall
whooshed in forced offer to the moist and drippy night
there's a moment of consideration
and in fact, he's primarily silent until the joint is handed back
that's held in cupped professionalism for several more thought-provoking moments
head even tilting in a rather canid query
then his chin drops in a slow, measured, nod

"More worry 'bou' you."

inhale
hold
pass

(tristan)
He waits for the long moments he takes in contemplation, watching the way he too seems to go through several possibilities, and then the slow measured nod. The words that follow bring something of a huffed sound.. amusement, as fingers wrap around the joint and held for a few. Finally, grin slides lopsided as he lifts the weed to lips, just before inhalation... “funny, I was more worried about you. Guess we’re even, there...”

There’s even a wink, as he inhales, holds, passes. It’s no mistake which hand he’s using, though it gets better by the day, there’s no mistake that hand was chosen to hold the soda, dangling at his thigh, as he rolls to face his friend, shoulder pressing against brick supporting the lean of lanky frame.

Another few seconds, and upon exhale... “I’m ok. Nothing my 3-day drunk couldn’t cure...” or a fight with an Eagle packmate, but well. Heh.

(james)
"Funny." parroted beneath the amused lift of a brow "Tha'nly got me more tro'ble."

the smirk is.... wry.... at best
a little bitter self-depreciation thrown in for garnish
but the course of smoking events including but not limited to: inhale, and exhale
whatever it was is simply smoothed away on heavy smoke
then discarded with a flick of the roach into the gutter's river
...to the gods!
that's when dark eyes glance down at the pointedly hidden extremity
then back up again, and hold, even given Tristan's proclivity tonight to look away

"'m sorry 'bou' yer hand."

(tristan)
That brings an actual chuckle, as tension seems to bleed away from him in a slow ebb “Yeah, well. Me too, it be honest... Decker’s back.” Yeah, he knows James knows he’s in the area, but in that there’s an admittance to the confrontation. If James wants more, he’ll have to ask.

Gaze flicks to the flying roach, before back where it is caught and held.... and this time, he doesn’t look away. A shake of his head sends damp curls into movement, strand catching against strong jaw, sticking slightly before fingers push it away again. “I shouldn’t have pushed – was too close to full. And it’ll be alright in a day or two” or three or four “no harm no foul.... unless...”

And it’s that grin slides a little more normal with the tease... “you’re offering to kiss it and make it better.”

(james)
there's a nod
and... a bit of a grin
it's really what's growing into a chuckle
a part of it is because pack is so close again
another part of it...

"Yeh... won'er how long it'll ta'e 'im to fin' out I mouth off t' Im'gen." a moment's distraction, sly glance to the side "Depen'..... anythin' broke?" but the tease passes as quickly as it came "What happ'n?"

(tristan)
Brow.. lifts... “Imogen too? Damn boy, you are on a roll.” Chuckled, amused. “She didn’t look none the worse for wear. Didn’t even mention it, really.” Hand tucks into pocket, digging out battered pack and lighter, cigarette shaken out, propped between lips, before offered to James, only after it’s tucked away does he flick the battered bic, ember flaring.

That grin slides sly... and brow arches “Hm... which answer would get a yes?” he chuckles, and shakes his head. “Just bruised, nothings broken.”

But it passes, as does another moment or two, before softly. “Was told to keep my mouth shut, that I didn’t know you, and I should leave any talking to you to the Garou as it’s not my place to attempt to even help. Told him that now that he’d graced us with his presence that’s an option.” Smirked, slightly.

(james)
"Jus' tol' 'er t' fuck off. Learn already what I get f'r roughin' up a packmate girl." a beat "Did'ja lis'n to 'm?"

he's not watching the kin now
hasn't been for a few minutes, really
dark eyes drawn back out to the rain

(tristan)
He chuckles softly and arches a brow. “I’m talking to you now, ain’t I?” He shakes his head slightly, curls tugging along his skin before he watches his friend his family. “Told him to fuck off, actually. He said I don’t know him – he’s right, and I don’t want to any more then necessary, really. He’s your pack, which makes him part of my life, but doesn’t mean I have to like him any more then he does me. Fucking German assholes. But then he said I don’t know you – and he’s wrong, and I told him as much.”

his hand lifts then, touching James’ jaw with a little nudge back to catch his gaze. “He’s your pack, and I’m just a kin... your kin. Your family and I know and understand what you’re going through. Decker will never see kin as anything but kin – even the one he fucks. And he don’t like me staring at her ass, so I’ve already got strikes against me in that respect, but that shit don’t matter to me. What matters is that you needed me, and you still do, and until you no longer need or want me around, right here is where I’m staying. Decker can talk his shit until he’s blue in the face, and I’m not going anywhere. Told you when you helped me get the apartment – you fed me. Clothed me. Gave me a place to stay – you ain’t never getting rid of me now....” the last, of course, is said with a soft chuckle.

(james)
he doesn't resist the gentle nudge
and, in face, he doesn't resist the grin or chuckle the explanation inspires
the hell is with their pack and cocky kin?
not that he'd have it any other way
(he knows, already, he can't protect them)

"Good." a hand comes up, tugging on errant curl "Makin' sure you 'member diff'rence 'tween them Get, 'n' us Gnaw'r, no matter how much the line blur un'er Eagle. C'mon.... owe you a pizza."

by the drink, the Ahroun would probably guess Tristan just ate
but it doesn't seem to matter - pizza it is
easily as he arrived, he steps back out from under the shelter
just beginning to dry dreads darkening in the moisture

".... 'n' a dry change a clothe'....."

tossed back over his shoulder
the further addition doing nothing to explain the initial offer
just strolling steadily away down the night deserted sidewalk
leaving the mystery of the Fostern's enlightenment on what exactly true pack is to the whisper of the rain

".... 'n' a dry place a stay 'n' change...."

well, maybe the response is a little clearer now
cause even if Tris can't see it
he can hear the smile

(tristan)
He smiles. He chuckles, and the tug on errant curl brings answering grin and laugh to his own lips. He nods, he remembers. Confrontations like the one with Decker pulls such differences into bright light, for sure. Sides, cocky kin keep life interesting. Can James even imagine what a bore kin who just agreed with everything would be? Tristan can – has seen it, knows it, has never been it though, and isn’t likely to ever be.

Brow lifts at the offer – but there’s no way he’s turning down food. Momma’d skin him for sure, and he’s a growing boy after all. Thus, James step into the rain is followed mere seconds afterwards with the pull of lean frame from bricks, stepping into the downpour just behind the Ahroun.

The comments come.... and the smile just grows. Hearing the grin in James’ voice he actually laughs, and a step brings him even with the shorter man, arm hooking over his shoulder and whispered tease. “Don’t forget the kiss it make it better part – that’s my favorite...” before hand ruffles wet dreds, and falls back to his side as he walks with James toward yonder promised meal and shelter somewhere in the darkened distance.

Posted by james at October 14, 2003 12:00 AM

Comments