October 18, 2003.10.18.03. - won't let it be any other little girl [darby-phantom][port newark]
(darby )
Port Newark.
The time is just after midnight, and clouds hide the fading moon, as well as lead the wind chimes dance in the slightest wind, above the door in the little alcove where she sits. Or rather, where she holds court, like someone of [purity] royalty, the intensity of her gaze settling on each passer by, as if weighing them, judging their very soul, their very worth.Of course, that is rubbish. She sees what she sees, but she is not the one who is to judge another. She is not the one who must see the value in their own soul – instead, she is merely one who sees, who knows, who often times when no one else does, the one who understands. By the very blood that runs within her, however, she is pure, she is royal, she is something to be feared in some cases, underestimated and misunderstood. It does not seem to bother her, these misjudgments, but rather amuse her.
Tattered jeans, and a tanktop with crocheted lace-like over top with flowing sleeves adorn slender frame, though tonight this is under a thicker shaw as well, due to the dropping temperature. At least the rain has stopped. Dark hair hangs straight and dark to her lower back, with highlights of red and purple throughout catching meager light from dirty lamp nearby. She sits on a woven blanket, legs folded under her, wrists resting lightly on her knees. Her back is ramrod straight, her posture perfect, clearly comfortable where others would complain of the harshness of cement under them, and the brick of the wall against her back. She watches. She waits. Silent.
(james)
half moon was covered by clouds high above
so the shadows cast from the strolling figure were by streetlights alone
a constant shift and flux of axis as he moved down the sidewalk
the cement on which the stranger is perfectly comfortable mostly absorbs each footstep
thick, heavy soles creating an even, slow drumbeat to his strollit forms a strange, absent harmony to the distant windchimes
but he doesn't pay that any mind
the few and far-between that live down here do what they can to make the place bearable
most aren't your run of the mill Garou able to live just about anywhere
not like him.... hands shoved into the pockets of baggy olive-drab cargos
sleeves of the dark grey sweater bunched up around his elbows
dark eyes on the sky - or what there is of it
Camel long clenched between his teeth
smoke lazily coiling towards the skymakin' rounds, or something like that
(phantom)
Port Newark, just after midnight . . . an interesting time, in an interesting place. Phantom is making his way home after a night of singing (playing) for his supper, belly full (a rarity). His path will bring him past Darby, as if he could resist stopping to say hello to the (pure) royal kin who had been so kind to him, so generous. He has a present for her - a trifle, really, nothing important to anyone but him - and he'd been hoping their paths would cross again sometime soon; lucky that it's tonight, after such a good time and good meal.Runtish form is clad in his new thrift shop accquisitions, scuffed and sturdy work boots, jeans without holes and a long sleeved tshirt protect him way better than the rags they'd replaced.
(darby)
There is little that she misses from her somewhat unique vantage point. There is much to be said for looking up on those that pass rather then looking down to those you move by, but then again, it’s all within the eye of the beholder. The distance steps of the smoking warrior pulls attention that way – movement on an otherwise still night. Head tips slightly, and lips curl into something that might have been the beginning of a smile, but it’s unfinished, and slides away again.Shift of perception mirrors the slight shift of weight, the slide of hair over shoulder as something else captures her attention and all the intensity therein. Phantom approaches, and there is no denying the runtish boy, who looks far warmer this night then before. Again, the flicker of something (Warmth? Satisfaction? Amusement? Something... more... or less?) across full lips, sliding away into comfortable patience as they close the distance.
Ground eating strides bring the Ahroun into speaking distance first, and the first vestiges of his Rage becomes less the idea, more the palpable force over slender frame. She inhales, slightly, and dark eyes travel from boots to dreds to boots and back up to his face again, before voice slides over the slight distance... “Evening...” a pause, a tip of her head, careful consideration, and addition... “...sir.”
(james)
Evening
the voice crossing distance soft
a hitch in the forward momentum
brows lifting a bit to strafe to the side
.....sirallright. brows really lifting
James actually takes a look around - hey, there's Phantom down the way
before his attention turns fully to the woman (girl?... yeh... teenagerish) sitting inthe alcove
both brows hiking up again as if to ask who... me? before a grin thinks about forming on his lips"Eveni."
(phantom)
Steps slow for just a moment as he sees someone else approaching from the opposite direction, but keen eyes quickly recognize the gait, the posture, the dreads (James, out and about. Good.) and he resumes his former pace, stopping close enough to be in the circle, but far enough to give the Ahroun and the kin space for conversation.
"Hi Darby, James."
Speech, as always, a song, lilting and melodic. A constant performer.(darby)
That seems to be the standard reaction to her proper dictation and respect offered to those of higher (fullblood) rank around here. It is enough to pull lips into something almost resembling a full smile, leaving no doubt that the glint in dark gaze is amusement.Teenagerish, though beyond a girl, almost a woman, enough to be considered such in the society they both live in. She remains still, though her gaze finds rest upon his own, meeting, and holding soft umber with an intensity that suggests she sees far more then he thinks he shows. (and that assumption would be correct.)
Finally, a moment or two passes, and arm lifts from where wrist rested against knee, palm turning upward, finger crooked (come here) slightly to entice him closer within...“Yes, you.” Answering the unasked question by hitched brows. In the course of the movement, the shawl falls from her arm, pulling the crocheted sleeves away from pale skin beneath. There, in the semi-light of the dirty lamppost, is the reason for such a gesture, the skin along forearm puckered lightly in branded scar, the glyph of her tribe. The screaming purity of her blood leaves no doubt that she is... related? Either.
Hand turns then, in offer of simple shake. “I’d wondered how long it would be until I was found.” Not that she was hiding, and the warmth of her voice as she turns to Phantom speaks of such. “Good evening, Phantom. I trust you are well?” Words, as always, carefully chosen, spilling as if some gift from the fullness of her lips, consideration always before thought gives way to voice...
(james)
Yes, you.
fair enough
good enough to get him a step closer anyway
even, in a moment, dropping down to crouch
just because he's ranked doesn't mean he'll make her look up to him
that's just not the Bone Gnawer we all know and love
the Camel is plucked from between his teeth
held in the loose cloth-wrapped fist furthest from her
chin tips up towards the runty metis"'m 'is big broth'r...."
mostly in response to the shown glyph
big brother and mellow as he may seem
he's still got that underlying tension that's lava beneath his skin(phantom)
Galliard follows Ahroun's lead, after hand dips into the ever present bag that holds his keyboard and a few other found treasures . . . he pulls out the gift he'd found and places it on Darby's knee, not touching but warmth felt all the same before his hand retracts. It's a cloisonne pin in the shape of a palm tree on what looks to be gold backing; does the metis know the worth of what he's found? Likely not, nor would he care if he did; the antique was under one of the seats in his theater, found while working one day.
"I thought you might like that . . ."
Words trail off to (not) silence, the boys constant, quiet humming taking their place. Eyes move to James (big brother . . . family) and a nod is given. acceptance.(darby)
He drops to a crouch and that, as well as the consideration of keeping camel away from her, leads the faint suggestion of a smile perhaps grows just a touch, before sliding away once more. The added comment soaks in as she watches James, the way he moves, the mellow outward appearance that does little to hide the aching seethe of fire under his skin.The gaze lingers. Intense. And when she looks away it is almost as if a weight is released, the connection severed, leaving questions of what she sees behind the outward exterior. She watches Phantom, and when he reaches for her knee, and places the offering there, there is the birth of a full smile as slender fingers close over the pin and lift the beautiful pin. She studies it, and then checks to see the fastening works before she pins it to her shawl right away, and reaches to take Phantom’s fingers in her own, squeezing gently. “Thank you, Phantom. It is beautiful. I’ll treasure it..”
She leaves it at that, so as not to embarrass the shy metis, knowing from previous meeting how easy that is to do. Instead she turns to look at James again. “Darby” in way of introduction.
(james)
her gaze lingers - intense
and his doesn't shy away
the weight that lifts when visual contact is broken heaves from both sides
but he does not only judge the strange (purebred) kin
rather he watches the young metis, too
weighing carefully how he treats the girl
knowing that his trust and gifts are given anything but lightly"James" carefully spoken in response, to not slur at least that word "Ju'box... Drum' on Skull'. Fos'ern a Eagles. S'our terr'try.... but guess y'alrea'y know 'at." chuckled, wryly "Been wai'n long?"
(phantom)
Trust, indeed, not given lightly; it takes quite a bit to get to the boy, so seperate yet so longing to be a part of things. He rocks on his heels, crouched quietly, and listens to the exchange between kin and Garou. Waiting to be found . . . he knows the feeling.(darby)
“James.” Repeated, softly. To memorize perhaps, or simply to label all that she gathers in the closeness of the Garou. Add to that the way he watches Phantom, judging their connection, trusting the instincts of another before laying judgment complete on his own impressions.Grandmother would approve.
There’s a slight dip of her chin in affirmation, amusement lending a softening of her lips. “Mr. Bedlam mentioned it, yes. He offered me a place in the Barrens, but comfort is in the city.” It seems a lot, these few words from the quietly sure kin. Less, more. Seen, unheard. Confident, un-conceited. “A couple of weeks. Not long.”
(james)
there's a breif nod and chuckle
weight stretches to flick the ashes off the tip of the Camel into the gutter"Know how that feel'." almost smirked "Can' smell an'thin' when 'm out in'a Barrens f'r any amount a time."
(phantom)
The Barrens, that forest reserve or something south of here . . . he's never been there, but can't imagine ever being anywhere other than the scab, a city wolf through and through. Can't see the forest for the trees . . .
"Never been out of the city."(darby)
The chuckle is soft, and perhaps more remarkable that it escapes at all rather then for any special property held within. Hands are loosely folded in her lap, the bricks painting little lattice work designs in pale skin for the hours yarn covered shoulders have pressed against the wall behind her.She rests the warmth of her gaze on Phantom first, tilting her head slightly, brows furrowing... but there is no comment on what she sees, merely the reach of her hand to touch his again. “I only retreat to the forests when I am in need of more herbs for Grandmother – it is difficult for her to gather on her own.” Little snippets of her life in another place another time, before returning to the question at hand.
“James..” fingers lift from Phantom to touch his arm instead, the jolt of the contact shows in the widening of her gaze, the sharp inhalation of breath, the slow measured release of the same where calm center is found again. She doesn’t mention it, exactly, instead asks.. “Should I move on, or is it safe to remain in Eagle Territory?” She will not encroach on another’s claimed land.
(james)
"Not all it crack' up t'be"offered in a chuckle
the forest is nice and all
it's what they fight for, for Gaia's sake
but it's just not his cup of tea either"Tris'n I 'll take y' there if y'wanna go s'mday."
the touch sends a whipcrack bolt through the kinwoman
but the Garou? he watches her reaction passively
the widening gaze
the sharp intake of breath
.... interestinghe doesn't mention it, exactly, either
though she can be sure he noticed it"Yeh." chin drops in a bit of a nod, then features move into the slightest frown of inhale before the butt is flicked to the gutter (all hail the great trash heap!) and attention turns back to her "We don' mind extra eyes 'r ears round the place, long as y'keep yer nose clean 'n' us appraise'"
(phantom)
A nod in appreciation of the Fostern's offer; it'd be nice to go with Family, at least for a little bit. Steady rock increases for a second, puny form uncoiling from its crouch to stand, looking towards the theater.
"I'd like that . . . but I should get home."
Eyes fall to Darby, liking the pin on her shawl, artist's eyes appreciating beauty where ever it's found.
"I'm glad you like the pin. G'night Darby, James."
A nod at each and he's off, hummed song following behind him.(darby)
The reaction was noted which does not surprise her, though it is not addressed for the moment and instead the offer to remain is tendered. There’s a nod, slight, the barest incline of her head as fingers fold in her lap again. “Thank you. I’ve no contact information other then finding me here for the time being, perhaps a number where I could reach you...”She leaves it at that, before turning to Phantom and watching the way his body unfolds to full stand, fingertips touching the pin as lips curl into a soft smile. “Thank you, I do. Good Night.” There is no warning this time in parting, there is only the assurance they will see each other again. Unsaid, other then by the intensity of dark gaze.
(james)
seems that nod up is a trademark
cause that's what's offered to Phantom as a farewell
then his attention turns back to the strange kin"Yeh, gotta pen?"
(darby)
There’s a slight nod, and dark gaze falls from him to the bag at her hip, half hidden under the shawl before it is pulled into her lap, A moments search brings a small pad of paper and a pen to light, both of which are offered to the garou before her. There is almost a hesitation for fear that she might touch him again, steeling herself for what she may see this time while debating speaking of what has already been revealed.In the end, it is offered none-the-less, ready for whatever the brush of his fingertips across her palm may set off. “Are there many Eagles?” It could be an idle question, but the quiet intensity with which the question is asked suggests more.
(james)
he reaches for the pen and pad
boxer-wrapped hands making the transition a little easier this time
at least this time there's more the chance of hitting linen or cotton or whatever that is instead of the flesh covering the corded muscle in bared forarms"'nuff...."
absently
while a number is scrawled - neatly - across the pad
it's the number for the cell that Rune left him
but nobody else is at the condo save Kemp
and nobody else has a cell
that'll have to do
though as he hands it back
his head tilts
it's safer now that Phantom's gone
just him and the kinswoman
and her idle intensity".... wha's on ya mind, Da'by?"
(darby)
She takes the pad back, glancing at the numbers left, before the pad and pen are tucked into the bag again, sliding the tattered crochet back under the shawl at her hip before hands find way to her lap once more. Question posed, there must be an answer, though the slight furrowing of her brow suggests that the answer isn’t easy, or clear. Finally, a murmur... “Pain. Everything about you circles in pain.”This is spoken toward hands, before dark eyes lift again to capture soft umber, the lava-like burn of tension clear in the minute twitch of muscles here, there, the set of his shoulders. Perhaps it is safer, perhaps it is not. Then again, Is it ever safe for Gaia’s warriors?
Tongue moistens lips, and chin lifts, slightly. “You ache now, but it is not physical, though it manifests as such sometimes. There is something looming in the near future. There is something...vague. but it will appear to your left. Do not turn from it, turn into it. It may be just a branch, a gesture something, I don’t know. I just know that turning right brings pain.”
Brow creases with further furrow, before head shakes slightly, the brief flash that is left does not leave enough to be explained clearly enough.
(james)
he listens
Mamma Ruggs taught him better than that
but at the end of the explanation the Warrior snorts"Tell me sum'n I don'o. Vision..." sitll that canid tilt to his head "... 'r it still that obv'ous?"
seems she's not the first to say something like that
(darby)
Something in what he says clarifies a lot of what he doesn’t, perhaps, but she lifts her eyes to his once more, and hand lifts, palm upwards. “If I may see your hand?” Already bracing herself for what will come of the touch.She continues, with another softening of her mouth into that absent almost smile that never quite materializes. “Some would say visions, Grandmother called it insight. Part of it is obvious, though a lot is well hidden.” She treats it as commonplace, this ability that’s been nurtured in the young woman since she was a child. Something done without thought, though with some measure of control when focused.
(james)
something in the way he chuffs a laugh....
a lot of it has to be hidden
there are some things you just can't admit in public
especially to those of the Nation
missing your Beta cause the bed's lonely at night sure ain't one of 'em....christ
the breif amusement at the thought gets cut short
(maybe you shouldn't think about that, Jamey-boy)there's a moment's hesitation
he's hurt enough kin in the past week
and her reaction seems a bit more obvious than others
he saw the underyling fear and aversion she had to his touch
but after that linger - she did, after all, ask - he unwraps the cloth from his right hand
offering it calloused palm up to the kin(darby)
The thoughts race behind his eyes as he contemplates before giving up his hand. There is no withdrawal, no jolt at first this time, having been prepared, and fingers slide cool and soft around the burning heat of his (rage) hand. A long moment before she drops her gaze to his palm, her other hand lifting to slide fingertips gently slide in tender caress over the lines and planes of his hand.There’s a soft sound, almost of amusement, though there’s something lingering underneath it, and it is followed with a slow intake of breath, held, and released the same. “The little girl... she aches to see you in pain. She tries to bring the...” a hesitation.. before... “Beta home.” There is no condemnation there, any hesitation only in trying to be clear, as he asked, and she offered, and she does not like being wrong. At all. Ever.
Thumb caresses over his palm before following lines up to wrap around his wrist, the pulse within strong, so strong, before so softly. “I cannot see if she will return for sure. I can only see the depths of your ache the longer she is away. Part of you is certain she will never come home, the other holds on because she might, and around it all weaves the agony of the constant war between the two halves.”
She lifts his hand a little, and shoulder blades pull from the brick, folding limber form over slightly as full lips press a kiss in his palm (it gives the feeling of an intimate ritual, something that marks him for later, though without malice... just another oddity about the intense kin), her fingers then closing his hand overtop (hold it close), as she returns to her lean and simply lets his fist rest between her hands. “I am sorry that I cannot give you the answers you seek. Perhaps in time it will become clearer. She is a very lucky woman to have inspired such loyalty – be careful that it does not overpower your common sense.”
(james)
James stills
watching as his hand is inspected
listening as she quietly continues
and something in him seems to... stophis hand is pulled from her grip before full lips can touch it
it's nothing personal
he still allows her to close his fingers
he just could not bear another's touch
not like that
not if it's not hersdeep umber drops away
his hand finally returns to his space
running through the tangle of heavy dreads"Give Ca'm'n my thank'...."
barely murmured as he straightens and walks away
(he won't let himself think it's any other little girl....)(darby)
His hand pulls away, and she simply takes it back to close his fingers, waiting as he assimilates everything in a slow burning. He aches so deeply, his pain so vividly raw and red, it does not take someone of her abilities to understand.She nods, though something in her eyes suggests that she knows there is more then he lets himself see, more then he thinks she saw. But she remains silent for a long moment, until lean body unfolds, slowly, stiffly from where she has sat for hours, the woven blanket gathered, as is the tattered bag.
Shoulders are straight and strong, even under the weight she carries. Strides are long and even, no matter the pain gathered in just those few moments (hours). Perhaps now her lack of ready smile, her emotional reserve, the intensity of who she is, is better understood.
More likely, it sets her even farther apart. Such is the cross she bears alone.
Another glance toward retreating figure, before she turns the corner. Time to find a place to sleep in relative safety till the morning.
Posted by james at October 18, 2003 12:00 AM
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