February 09, 2004.02.09.04. - cheering section [tristan][riverfront]
(tristan)
Fucking fang.Goddamn mother fucking fang.
He’s endured a lot of shit, he’s taken his lumps from Decker, from all of the Eagles, and probably worst of all, from Imogen in a mood... but of all the shit he’s taken, it was the Fang that finally pissed him off enough to stomp out and resolve not to go back. At all. Good thing he has a place to stay, else he’d be out in the cold again, and if that were the case, he’d probably go back to the warehouse just to infuriate the pompous ass.
Still angry enough that he does not want to take it out on Dustin, who doesn’t really understand his attachment to the Eagles anyway, so he’s been sitting here on a low wall, about halfway between the warehouse and garage, smoking his way through his last pack of cigarettes.
(james)
from beneath heavy mane of tangled dreads
deep umber eyes raise skyward
Luna's face shines at three-quarters her silver glory
waning gibbous slinking further and further away from fullthe moon has a powerful allure
it is full of beauty, legend, myth and romance
nocturnal explanation of the earth's relative position to the sun
rhythmic cycle of shifts spanning twenth-seven days
stellar illumination of the half ever-facing the Milky Way's life-giving star
terminating shadow always curved to the oblique view of a circle
horns that form and point away from the rising and setting sun
some demon that's turning its face from the brilliant lightand pouring its malicious intent into the blood of Gaia's chosen
so cold, this glimmering reflection cast down upon earth
yet it still serves to boil the blood contained by the Ahroun's fleshfists curl in his pockets for anything but warmth
(knuckles abraised and bruised)
shoulders hunch collar around his neck for anything but insulation
(blades held in rigid attention by muscle turned to steel)
steps devour the sidewalk in predator's misguided stalk
(run away, Jamey-boy, run from the heartache)the journey only stops at his kinsman's side
dark eyes falling from heavenly grace far above the clouds"Gotta ligh'?"
(tristan)
It’s not hard to react to the moon, even for kin. It’s a definite gage of what’s going on, what kind of attitude to expect, what kind of shit one can expect to deal with on any particular day and from whom. Many kin who understand this refuse anything to do with the Ahrouns around a full moon... others enjoy the spice of danger and pushing the limits that could very well get them killed. Tristan falls somewhere in between the two. Sometimes he can deal, other times he can’t.It also depends on which one it is, too. He noticed the misguided stalk of the Gnawer almost as soon as he came into sight, and had been watching his progress in this direction. Just when he’s thinking he’s going to walk on by, James stops, and speaks. There’s a sound of affirmation, perhaps... as long leg straightens out, hand digs into pocket of his jeans, and he’s offering battered bic to his brother, all without a word.
(james)
Luna is one of the gravitational forces that commands the very oceans
while the sun's size exerts a force almost two-hundred times stronger
the close proximity of the satellite gives it an unusual strength
pulling at the Earth with twice the force of daytime's great fireball
causing the great bodies of water to accelerate away from sturdy crust
Solunar Theory graduates this effect to all inhabitants of the planet
astral energies constantly bombard Gaia and all Her life forms
the closer each body is, the stronger the influence
peaks falling upon civilization under the guidance of a night sky shrouded black or blinded by silverunseen forces falling prey upon the naieve
inanimate voices offering subtle suggestions to sensitive ears
prompting behaviors otherwise unbecoming or unnatural
mortal population casting blame in negligent superstition
fact shrugged away to reason of fiction
life is easier to live when something else responds to blameunless, of course, the cause is inescapable
"Thank'."
the word is little more than a grunt
synonymous with the nondescript affirmation
battered bic granting flame to the Camel long
returned on absent hand as the other tends to clearing the way for exhale
smoke coiling to foggy plumes in frigid Febrary air
dark eyes slip beneath misted curtain to gaze thoughtfully at his brother"So who piss'n y'r cheer'o's?"
(tristan)
He doesn’t need to reply to the thanks, it’s there and understood, and long fingers, musicians fingers, pluck the offer lighter back into his possession, tucking it back into his pocket. His hand pulling free from denim causes chain reaction that brings extended leg folded back to let heel lift against the low wall. Elbows that were pressed against knees, however, do not return to their perch, instead free hand rests on thigh, the other occupied with the lift of cigarette to lips, only to fall again after inhalation, the exhale adding to misty curtain sqirling between them.It’s cold, and he’s been out here a long time. The sniff says so, pulling sharp needles of iced breath through nostrils, chilling not only the nasal passages, but further into his throat with one breath. Shoulders roll in a shrug, and for a moment it seems he isn’t going to answer. James has been mia for a reason, he’s sure, and well, the last thing anyone wants to hear when coming back is how everything’s gone to shit while your gone.
But he did ask.
”Tucker. I’m officially moved out.” A nod in the direction of the Garage, with something of a wry grin.
(james)
the expression of curiosity ebbs tide into a smirk
it will be forever lopsided - but in the light of the gesture it seems negligable
simple twist of lips pulled by muscles that still correctly and completely work
the narrowing of dark eyes in some private joke shared with the street before them
breath sighed in amused huff sending another lungful of smoke into the air"What'd he do?"
this time
one thing the Fostern is not is surprised
everything always falls to shit when one is away
and it seems like he's been there more and more lately(tristan)
“In general, or the final straw.” Smirked, slightly. He finally looks up to study his brother. He knows december is a hard month for him, and it takes a while before he pulls together just why the Gnawer has been out and about, barely peeking in to let him know he’s alive still. Again, it’s that time of year, coupled with that time of month, ad there’s something of a dawning glimmer in gaze that says it’s finally clicked, even if he doesn’t say anything about it.A moment, and another cigarette is flipped away. This time he doesn’t instantly light another, choosing instead to shove his hands in his pocket, a brief habitual glance making sure where exactly his violin is located near his foot, before eyes are in the distance. “Well, after pissing everyone else off, chose to remind me just how fucking useless I am to the Nation. And to the Eagles.”
(james)
December is hard
too many memories clawing their way to the surface
harder now that the shoulder he leaned on is nowhere to be foundhardest now with the influx of red and velvet and hearts swarming the city
lacerating reminder of what still cannot be found
there is little left beyond a bond stretched thin
the faintest touch of fingertips across thousands of miles
distant visions of pale skin curved over muscle and bone
a postcard read hundreds of times to memorize penstroke scrawl
a vague scent clinging to memory as it skirts by on the wind
dismissed as nothing more than pining hallucination
(you find pieces of her only because you so desperately want them to appear)"Oh....?" head tips, and the smirk evolves into something far more deadly, white teeth flashing in streetlight's somber glow that flickers and sparks before sputtering into dim ressurrection, smooth tones thickened across hardening tongue "Guess'll 'ave a remin' 'm."
permissive query writ in only the pause filled by the crackle of burning tobacco
(tristan)
He snorts slightly... that’s what it really boiled down too, though damn if some of it didn’t just dig a little deeper then that. In all his time with the eagles, even the most homophobic of them all never jumped in his face about it. He worked his ass of to make himself useful, to prove he deserved the trust his brother puts in him, to watch their back, connect the dots when they needed connected, to be there when they needed anything, from bandaging to cooking to cleaning, to just, a friendly face.And this... fucking... fang who’d already been throated by Decker, warned by the totem itself, stole. Imogen’s. car with Imogen’s sister and lived to tell about it....
The smile is wry. The assholes, they seem to always stick around, never staying down when they should. And head shakes – though its nod denial, at least not in the ‘nah, don’t’ sense, as he’d like nothing more then to see fangboy beat down again. “Doubt it’d do any good – he doesn’t seem to have learned from being throated by Decker for disrespecting Imogen and her sister...” though the grin slides a bit... well. Hungry, really. “But if you feel the need, don’t let me stop ya. Hell, let me watch.”
He’s seen his brother fight now. Goddamn. Little cocksucker doesn’t stand a chance.
(james)
he can smell the hunger rolling off his kinsman in waves
the underlying pheronome lust for revenge
it's a primal thing, the instinct to survive and better that which slighted you
tempered and embossed by the human penchance for vindiction
the very elements which goad and tease the Rage thundering beneath his own skin"Guess'll need a relearn 'is less'ns. We'll see wha' happ'ns....." murmured on smoke rings offered to the sputtering streetlights. "....'n wh'n." another glance dark in its brevity "C'mo'."
weight shifts away from where shoulders brushed the wall
rough edges of bricks only allowed the faintest tickle of patchwork fabric
rust colored dust not given the chance to stain the trench's faded quilting
the Ahroun doesn't look back to reassure himself his brother followed
instead strolling some lead which takes them decidedly away from the warehouse
while the essence of pack begets supreme importance to the Gnawer
his sorrow and irritation something kept religiously to himself
shared with only the anonymous walls of a nameless nearby motela scratched and faded key unlocks a door that's seen better days
the heater rattling endless complaint to the empty room
but the temperature is comfortable and warm
reinforced by the shed of jacket onto the unused bed(tristan)
“guess so.” The reply given, along with a smirk of hope that he’s there to see it.Brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t have to be asked twice. The cell phone in his pocket has been quite, which means Dustin is either painting, or sleeping, and no one else needs his attention, no garou in his network making a call to the one kin in Riverfront who tends to know who to call and when in order to help someone in need, and hell, Kemp doesn’t need s shoulder, and Roxanne certainly has her own thing going... it’s been oddly silent all night. It’s enough to set him more on edge – the calm before the storm.
But he moves near instantly, pausing only to bend and grab his violin, before long strides fall into step with James. He doesn’t have to look back to be sure he’s followed, as the kinsman wouldn’t ever deny him anything.
Let inside to the mostly unused room, there’s a bit of a questioning look, though it’s unvoiced. If he’s not sleeping here..... but he simply places violin case on the bed ,flipping it open to double check the beloved instrument inside, to see that the temperature remains even, and gleaming well loved, well oiled wood is in pristine condition. Case flipped closed again, before he unbuttons his coat and sheds it to toss it by his case.
(james)
it's clear enough the Ahroun has been sleeping in the motel rather than the warehouse
regardless of the spiritual alarm system Hyde so expertly installed
James has forsaken the comfort of the pack haven to spend his nights here
it's easier to grieve when others are not watching
sheilded by the blank and ignorant walls
protected by the rattling heater and strange bed
hidden from the memories on constant prowlthere's beer in the minifridge
two bottles pulled from the icy depths
one pressed into his kinsman's waiting hands
the other cracked open with hiss of carbonation's escape
half of it's slammed down even before he reaches the cast away coat
a baggie of supergreen dug from one of the many pockets
gaze intent on fingers that create a uniform roll of herb within a zigzag"Dun b'lieve'm.... do ya?"
a question brought up though his head does not move
something that doesn't need to be asked
but he does anyway(tristan)
Fingers wrap around the offered beer, chilled glass meeting chilled skin, gloves forgotten in the explosion to get away from irritable fang and the tensions within. “Thanks.” Murmured in reply, as he settles to sit on the bed, shoulders resting against the paperthin wall behind. Bottle cap twisted open, and several swallows later sees him watching James roll the zigzag paper with intent expertise.The question comes, and there’s a snort of laughter as he pushes curls back from his face, tucking his arm against the wall to pillow the lean of his head. “No.” pause. “most of the time.” The statements true enough, though he knows damn well he does everything he can to prove otherwise. Fingers twist the bottle in hand, idly, before resting it against his thigh. “Hell, even Decker admits the place smells better when I’ve been around.” Chuckled, amused. He and the modi have had their moments, but all in all, he respects him, and knows Decker puts up with him. And for Decker, that’s pretty high praise.
There’s a shake of his head. “Just brought back shit. Been taking it for so long, because I’m gay, because I’m kin, because I’m Gnawer, or half a dozen other reasons. Never had that with you guys... until that little puke couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Its people like him that caused me to leave and wander for those years before I found you in Jersey.”
(james)
dark eyes remain intent on the prize forming between nimble fingers
the careful construction of neatly rolled log finished by the licked tuck of securing flap
bronze zippo is pulled from a pocket of his BDUs
indication the earlier request was only to breach the distance tempers created unwittingly between them
that's deconstructed once again when the flame sparks joint to life
hit held and exhaled slowly into the room's air already thick with stale cigarette smoke
and the smoldering white stick is held to bridge the two Gnawers"Big'ts 'r all ov'r th' pla." sighed as the Fostern shifts weight to settle into a comfortable spot on the unmade bed, pillows elbowed to make a backrest, dreads pooling over the headboard and his shoulders "Fangs 'n Lor's 're the wors'." contemplation involves the remaining beer in the bottle, swirled in slow circulation brought by wrist's flextion before another goodly portion is transferred from cold glass to warm throat and beyond "Jus' 'memb'r how 'mportan' y'are t'me...."
(tristan)
He figured as much about the lighter, knowing that battered zippo is never far behind, and any safe reason to start a conversation when tempers are esculated to violent degrees is a better bet then just blurting out the first question that comes to mind.He chuckles, slightly. “Yeah. Katya ain’t none too fond of me either.” And neither one of them ever took the time to know him – just that he was a fag. And a gnawer one at that. perfectly useless. Arm stretches to complete the bridge, joint brought to lips and long, deep inhale taken and held. He maintains possession for the moment, while James gets comfortable, before J is offered back to his brother.
The last brings something of a real smile across lips as smoke curls in exhale from full lips, dark gaze sliding over to his brother. “S’the only reason I’m here, James, and you know it,” softly offered. “The rest of them... they don’t really matter, aside from mattering to you. Cept m’boy Kemp, of course... and even he showed more respect from day one then that fucker. Hell, don’t think Hyde can quite figure out why I hang around over there, but he’s at least polite.” Idle thought brings soft chuckle. “Momma’d have a field day teaching Tucker in the proper way to speak to someone...”
(james)
white paper is placed within the grasp of pinked lips
diaphragm relaxes and draws breath across the cherry
fragrant and intoxicating smoke slithers into his lungs
dark eyes close as he holds it for a good long time
from the way he's talking and acting - it probably isn't the first joint of the day
strange the qualifications for "medicinal" use
wonder if conventional doctors ever prescribed it for keeping one's sanity
glaucoma and analgesic properties be damned!
right now all he cares about is how each hit makes his mind slow down
simplify....get fuzzier.... make things easier to deal with
especially when lubricated with more beer"Dunna Katya real well...... though 'aven' met a Fang 'r Lor' I get 'long with." jaw flexes, remembering exactly what kind of Garou was responsible for the brawl that left his face mangled no matter how hard Barny tried to heal him "Tuck'r may be pack, 'n all tha' stan' f'r.... but he still need' a learn 'is manner'. 'spec'lly roun' a kin I cons'd'r pack much's the res've 'm."
joint plays a balancing game on the tips of calloused fingers
another long drag pulled to burn fibers before its handed back
a brow lifting above softly amused chuckle"'n Deck'r throat'd 'm?"
(tristan)
There’s a soft chuckle as muscles contract over abs, pulling him upright to grasp his violin and set it on the floor, taking it’s place with a stretch of long legs before leaning back against headboard and wall again, arm returning to it’s cushioning pillow behind head against the wall. “Well, Katya made no bones about the fact that had we done that recon at a Rave, I was the last on her priority of people to make sure got out alive.” There were reasons he hadn’t wanted to invite her along for the party, and that was a big one. But Decker sent her. So he did his duty. Bah.James flexes his jaw, and the kin chuckles, reaching out to trace broken line with light fingertips, teasing. “Least that one gave ya a sexy scar...” and pulling hand back quicklike in mock fear of being smacked. Deservedly, but still. He nods, then, with a slight grin. The fact that he is considered pack to his brother means more then he’d ever quite be able to articulate.
That grin soon rolls into a matching chuckle. “Yeah. Stupid fucker helped Miriam steal Imogen’s car, after staying the night with her or something.” He was sleeping in the back of the warehouse that night when it all went down – thought it wiser to just. Stay. Silent and pretend to be asleep. Since he was curled up on James’ bunk in the dimness, no one noticed him. They were too intent on their own squabbles anyway. And the kicker. “They did something to fuck with Decker’s truck too...” Tucker’s lucky it wasn’t a fatal throating. “Decker’d warned him to disrespect Imogen again was gonna get him throated. He was true to his word. And then he started whining for help, said he was bleeding to death and shit. He’s still all favoring his neck and shit tonight – and I know damn well it’s healed to barely a mark by this point....”
(james)
fingers reach out and trace along his jawline
warm and calloused over rugged feature cast in five o'clock shadow
muscle beneath flesh twitches in a grin
before teeth snap in a fairly belated chase
marajuana time giving the reaction a playfully safe delay
enamel closing in a bear trap more than a handful of inches away from retreating fingers
dexterity reduced to a leg navigating over the rumpled comforter
boot solidly connecting with Tristan's thigh and shoving
resultant smirk laced with coils of whisped smoke"Sex' scar.... riiiigh'." chuckled in throaty growl that purrs from deep in the Ahroun's chest, the information about Katya noted and dismissed, as with most of the severity of the situation with the Fang, now perhaps is not the time to dwell on such irritations, and instead the minutes should stroll slowly by on the wings of pleasent company "'ventually it'll sink in 'fore 'e fuck' up 'nuff a get 'mself kill'." twirl, reposition, pass on the phrase of a muse "Too bad I miss' it."
"Dun 'avva pro'l'm wi' th' kid 'til t'nigh'." added in afterthought "Jus' had a clean up af'er his ass in Jers'y.... oddly 'nuff concer'in Mir'am."
(tristan)
Yes, he was banking on the fact that it’s not his first J of the night, and he really does care for his kin, in hopes that the snap would be belated... too close to the full moon to play such games with some, but between them, it’s always a safe bet. Leg crawls closer, and brow has time to lift before he’s shoved...Right off the damn bed. Didn’t help that he was already laughing by that point... curls peek up over the mattress first, before he sets beer on the rickety nightstand, and leverages himself back up on the bed with a light smack against James’ shoulder in a barely felt retaliation. “Hope so.” in reply to the comment, and a slight nod at the afterthought. “Thought Kemp had a problem not keeping his mouth shut... but damn. I mean. Just. damn.” And though that really says nothing, it says everything in one breath.
He does chuckle, however. “Decker tole him tonight that until he claimed Miriam, or rather, got Decker or Imogen’s permission to claim her, she was Decker’s kin, and to mind himself careful like. That wasn’t near as amusing as the look on Imogen’s face – we all know how she likes this claiming business... and now Decker’s claimed em both for the duration... thought she was gonna geld him...”
(james)
there's an offered hand as Tristan's leveraging himself back onto the boat
little liferaft that, for the Ahroun, is swaying over the waves caused by each breath
fingers capable of breaking the bones they wrap around clasp the kinsman's wrist
easily hauling him back onto the surfaceworld island decorated with mountains of gaudy comforter
the smack doing little more than moving thermal sleeve across steely muscle forming his shoulder
but the Fostern does well to pretend he feels some level of attrition for his deed
the smirking grin hidden behind bottle's mouth emptying the rest of the beer into his throat
hollow glass thunking onto the nightstand next to Tristan's
roach clip origami'd out of a laminated Pizza Hut flyer
a wave dismissing the rest of the weed to the violinist's regard"Kemp dun' like'm eith'r." shoulders roll before settling back against the backrest of pillows "Call'm Fuck'r." laughed in a soft growl "Leas' th' Rot'gar know there time yeh keep y'h fuck'n mouth shut. Fang don'."
a part of him laughs at the tale of the Modi's predicament
a part of him shatters at the reminder Decker still has a mate around to claim(tristan)
He’s pulled back onto the bed with a grip that could easily break bones, but doesn’t. He chuckles at the ineffectiveness of his slap, though it was halfhearted at best, and that grin can’t quite be hidden. He grabs his own beer, downs the rest of it, before angling sideways to rest his head against James’ belly, taking the makeshift roachclip and remaining weed.Inhale....
And he laughs – that short spurt of laughter when your trying to hold your breath as Kemp’s opinion only further solidifies his own. It’s on exhale though, that he sees the shatter behind soft Umber eyes, and hand lifts to push dreads back away from his brother’s face with a soft sigh, before simply falling to rest against his shoulder.
He has Dustin now – but a part of him mourns deeply for Diego and the single valentine’s day they had together. One would think the years passed would have eased the pain of loss, but it doesn’t. And his brother has the nagging knowledge that she’s alive, without knowing where or when she’s coming home. Hard to tell who hurts worse – though he’d be willing to say it’s James, hands down.
Final drag taken, and held, before spent J is handed to James who’s closer to the nightstand and can arrange proper offering to roach gods better from his angle. “I know I’m no substitute. But know that I understand...” the pain, the loss, exactly what causes his eyes to shatter with talks of mates... “and no matter how big a fucker tucker is...” grin, slight... “I ain’t going anywhere.”
(james)
most men, much less Garou, would spurn the close affection offered by the kinsman
openly gay and cuddled next to another that's (all but for one night) straight
but James does not push Tristan away again
instead calloused fingers ruffle their way through mismanaged curls
a forever lopsided smile ghosting in sad return to the arrangement of heavy dreadshe knows his brother understands
empathy writ in the scars yet unhealed for Diego
catharsis in the nights they've both spent achingly alone
each dreaming of the one body they'd kill to have next silhouetted in the open door
dark eyes wander away - tracing the path of the carefully handled roach clip
dregs of the joint deposited in the ashtray hidden behind empty bottle sentinels
cherry crushed to darkness and the laminated holder placed aside
moments of incomplete thoughts keeping his attention astray
documented by the bedside clock's steadily blinking red lights
whatever moistened his eyes blinked away in the name of cottonmouth"I know." murmured - mumbled - towards the scarred wood in the door, and the frayed threads of the window's curtains, the wornout carpet reduced to canvas understructure kissing the footstop weatherstrip where it steadfastly greeted each new temporary resident - anything but the fiercely loyal man at his side because he just can't look back yet "'n I'm gla'."
finally, after hours instantly pass, his head turns
gravity upsetting the careful balance of his dreads
some shift to resettle tangled mantle over strong shoulders
others falling forward in sentient reach for all that fortune lays before him
living vines destined to wrap and cling to whatever comes close enough, holds still long enough
primeval notion of the beast sheltered within the urban primitive
aztec's sacrificial heart steadily thumping against the cage bars of his ribs
fueling Luna's inherant gift of Rage with each proud contractionthere's a smile wandering across his mouth again
a slow, lazy, absent exercise of muscle and feature
negligent fondess breaking through the diligent thesad softened by pungent herb
silent phrase of expression punctuated by the downward shift of weight
powerful and lean body melting equitorially to further comfort on the bed
arm relaxing weight of muscle, tendon, flesh and bone around Tristan's shoulder
instead of pushing the boy away, the Ahroun draws him closer
as if to physically absorb the support he offers for the pain neither put to word"Cause I'll need a cheerin' sect'n." arm finitely tightens, perhaps for an embrace, perhaps to keep the kinsman's arms in a position they cannot spring into another chiding smack - deep umber is locked behind closing lids, preventing any betrayal of his intention "..... 'n I dun' think any've th' oth'rs would look 's good inna skir'..."
Posted by james at February 09, 2004 12:00 AM
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