March 14, 2004.03.13.04. - poisonous gifts [sasha-tucker-tristan][riverfront]
(shasha delacroix)
Dark, heavy rain clouds rolled across the sky, emptying great spouts of water upon the city to cleanse it of the ever-present filth that covered its streets. Thunder rumbles like a yawning lion, mingled with the bright, violet-white hued flashes of lightning that illuminate the clouds…. The temperatures seem chillier than normal; thanks to the lovely Chicago winds that guiding the heavy rains in any direction it chooses.Few people dared to be caught out on the streets in this downpour, some aren’t so fortunate. Walking, huddled beneath the heavy black winter coat, Sasha made her way through the rain along the sidewalk. Clothes soaked to the bone, her back kept to the wind and rain as she sought out some refuge from the weather, transverse the Eagle’s territory like she does every night.
(tristan)
So much for playing tonight. The streets have emptied of all but the most die-hard travelers, or those who are simply unfortunate with no other means of transportation. The pretty boy is one of the last. Good thing he’s not sugar, he won’t melt. Before slipping from the Diner, he also took out the waterproof cover hidden in a pocket of his violin case for just such an occasion, and slid the case into the cover, so as to further protect his baby.Some hunch up against the rain, others just plow right on through it, some even like it. A mixture of the last two, he’s simply moving along the sidewalks, little splashes of well worn boots along the quickly forming puddles at his feet, paying a bit more attention to where he’s going this time around so as not to be almost bowled over again.
(james)
few people dared to be caught out on the streets in such a downpour
we're talkin' the sky opened up and just let loose Niagara falls right over Chicago
wind whipping the haphazard drops into mini hurricans for each block
but then again, James is no mere person
he? is Garou
better yet? he? is a fullmoon
we don' need to hide from no stinkin' rain, meng!the alcohol probably helps
generouslywhile others may be huddling from the rain
one drenched to the bone Gnawer is strolling along like it's a walk in the park
dreadlocks hang heavy and tangled over his shoulders
the patchwork trench is now a kaliedascope of darkly wet colors
boots splish! in the puddles he doesn't care enough to walk around
one quarter-dry bottle of JD dangling loosely from right handthere's something to be said about police and public intoxication
but the SWAT team is busy, and no mere beat cop wants to mess with him
....fancy thatafter the scope of another few blocks
there's a figure up ahead that looks.... vaaaaguely familiar through the water curtains
it would be Sasha, but dammitall if he can't remember her name(sasha)
Well worn boots ate up concrete quickly. Pitch-black mane cascades in wet, twisted tendrils around her, clinging to her temples, throat and coat. She almost resembled a drowned rat, but even this drowned rat manages to retain some noble composure and sex appeal. Good thing she always wore black... The loud clomping splashes drew her attention, eyes focus ahead of her as James slips into her view.
The corners of her mouth quirk upward into a smile, wondering what he was doing. She continues to plow ahead, in his direction, still huddled in her coat.(tris)
Round the corner, and we have Sasha up ahead – looking like the sexiest drowned rat he’s ever seen....
....until the drowned child o’Rat is seen beyond her and heading this way. Now –that’s- sexy. But he’s prejudice, and all. None-the-less it brings that easy grin into play as he speeds up a bit, intending to catch up with Sasha, and then James beyond her.Finally – a whistle pierces the air to get their attention, chin lifting in classic Eagle nod up afterwards.
(james)
she may resemble a drowned rat
but by all definitions and purposes
he is oneand rather enjoying it
he should be frozen to the bone at this rate
but he's still just strolling along
face lifted to the cleansing offering from the sky
if it can wash the city clean - surely it can offer him the same salvation
dark, deep umber eyes slant half mast beneath the sky's tearful kisses
seeming to be off in his own world until but a few yards awayand stops
providing her with a lovely three-quarter view of one drowned rat
bottle lifted so two fingers can point to her as his mouth opens in recollection
and closes as the vague memory slips away
then the lightbulb goes on (quite literally) as inspiration hits"Sassssha.... righ'?"
then the whistle filters in
and James looks past to nod up at the prettyboi(sasha)
Raindrops kiss across dark lashes that curtain pale blue eyes, which catch a reflection of amusement at the drowned Gnawer. She lifts up a hand, wiping the rain from her face, pushing wet tendrils behind her ears. "Ya got it right, darlin', Sasha's mah name. Don't wear it out lesse tend to moan it out for me." naturally sweet voice, rolls words like honey, off her tongue when she spoke.A slight shake of her head, sends more water droplets flecking away from her face, canting it to one side to peer over her shoulder in the direction of the whistle. She slows down, waiting for Tristan and James to catch up with her. "What in de name ya doin' out here, Tristan, goin' catch ya death. And, Kemp'll be all pissy."
(tristan)
He chuckles and hooks an arm around Sasha and presses a chilled damn kiss to her cheek. (damn irreverent Gnawer Kin that he is – she being a Fostern after all) before the arm drops again and hand tucks into his pocket. He looks over James, slowly, head tipping, before he just winks and that grin reappears. “Well, we can’t have my boy get all pissy like that. Heaven knows he’s pissy enough most days. Was playing before the skies decided to up and dump their load all over us. Sides’ I’m tough, little rain certainly won’t make me melt – let alone get sick. Hell, it can’t even get the curls to quit curling...” runs fingers through soaked corkscrews in rueful proof.(james)
at one time, long ago, his voice may have been sweet on the ears
smooth tenor wrapped in cavalier streetman's charm
now it's rougher around the edges
probably due to what makes that slur not entirely JD's responsibility"No worry." edged on a smile, and maybe, even, a wink "Too 'ard a 'nounce, an'way. Make' me soun' drunk."
a grin shot at Tristan
the good mood is entirely the JD's responsibility(sasha)
A wet arm slips around Tristan's waist, giving him a quick squeeze as he kissed her cheek, releasing him quickly. She chuckles softly, "I can see ya point." reaches out to tousle his curls, shaking raindroplets everywhere. "Ya need a barber, hun, lookin' a little shaggy t'ere."She casts a lingering glance over to James, dropping it down to the bottle of JD, before bringing it back up. "I'd say ya quite happy already. T'anks to Mr. Daniels t'ere. Got anymore left to share?"
(tristan)
He laughs and shrugs, tucking his hand into his pocket. “just a couple of rats we are – but I dare say m’bro here is quite a bit more saggy then me. Side’s, Dustin’s threatened to hurt me if I touch the curls with sissors, so I’ll just stay shaggy for a while.”He notes the reason for the good mood, shaking his head at James with a grin. “Yeah – don’t be stingy there, bro... share the wealth. Though you and me, we’d probably better be careful. Wouldn’t look to good to have Sasha carry us both home...” One of the things that drew them together, after all, was an equal inability to handle large amounts of liquor. At least he’s not holding Tequila. We all know where THAT got them last time.....
(james)
James is, luckily for his nearly non-existant wallet, a lightweight
what would have most men barely buzzed
has him. quite. happy.
so the 3/4 full bottle is held out to share"Alway'."
and he's serious about that
others need, a Hood provides
even if it's his last meal
he'd always share it with those deemed worthy
so far: Sasha seems worthy
as does Tristan, the bottle handed over freely
he, then, asserts the yoke of his shoulders against a wall
digging in his pockets through habitual routine search for Camel packthen.... remembers it's raining
(tucker)
Drip drop, the rain is a wet testament to Gaia's mood. As well is it's a direct opposite of Tucker's. He's got a half smile that one may not have seen since Gabriel was still alive. It's a warm thing, one that could lead men- or Garou into the maw of the final battle itself. His dark hair, which has flecked itself in silver as of late, mats down on his scalp, becoming even darker, a midnight chocolate of muddy water at sundown. He smells the Gnawer, and the Coggiw from a way off. Her honey suckle scent and his strange mixture of Camels pot and those unwashed BDU's. Tristan's scent is next as he moves closer but not as strong, not a bad smell compared to any gnawer he's met before really. His hand goes up as he breaks into a run.No, he hasn't had a craving in days, his arm holds none ofit's usual scratch marks and his eyes have none of the sleepless baggage of normal.
"Hey!" he calls from a few yards off into the rainy night.
(sasha)
Sasha snorts softly, running her hands through long pitch-black tendrils, shaking the water from her hair as its gathered back away from her face. "Fuck carryin' yar asses home. I'll just find de nearest dry spot and take advantage of yar drunk asses."Her left hand drops down to receive the offered bottle, bringing it up to her lips to take a good swig. The girl knew how to drink and had no qualms about drinking from the same end as a Gnawer. The whiskey burns a warm path down her throat, into her gullet. Cheeks flush with color suddenly, feeling it warm her insides. She passes what's left over to Tristan, sharing the wealth as it were.
Sasha sidesteps closer to the wall, chasing off a shiver that creeps over her spine as rain steals itself into her coat and down the back of her neck. "Gah.. t'is ain't mah idea of a lovely time. Not de way I like to get wet..."
(tristan)
He laughs and takes the bottle, pointing it back at Sasha. “you are more incorrigible the me. And that? is saying a whole hell of a lot, just ask James.” He then tips the bottle back to let whiskey burn down his throat, before completing the circle and handing it to James again.Gaze narrows on the Fang in the distance, the smile slipping away. “fucking wonderful.” Before he resolutely turns his back, and faces James and Sasha again. So what if he’s still out in the rain, doesn’t seem to really bother him. James’ belated realization while patting down pockets in ritualistic search is chuckled at. “I’ve a dry pack at the factory, bro.”
(james)
Hey!
the word cuts through the rain like a gunshot
and drunk as he is, even James recognizes it
we'll see how long the good mood lasts"Gotta room nearby..... if y'two wanna dry off'n wait out th' storm."
yeh, the "wet" remark went right over his head
he's more in the mood to avoid another confrontation
tonight? he already knows he wouldn't have the restraint
already turning to walk away even as the Fang approaches(tucker)
"Hey guys wait up!" The Fang's light voice cuts through the night again. It's a breathless voice, as he finally closes the gap between. Shoes hitting pavement in a harmonic crescendo with the clap or two of thunder in the background. He moves close to Sasha, looking to each in turn."What's up?" Fingers interlace behind the Fang's head as he opens his lungs up to more of the cool wet air.
(sasha)
Hey! rings out just behind them, catching her attention and causes Sasha to turn around to look at the approaching Tucker. She swings her head around, immediately detecting the sudden shift in mood swings from both Gnawers. Lips purse together, one boot steps in front of the other, automatically following James without a thought. The bodily desire to be dry and warm, holding precedence over anything else at the moment.It is Tucker's nearness to her that draws hesitance from Sasha, forcing her to pause and acknowledge the offense. "Hey, Tucker, just gettin' outta de rain. Somewhere dry." she calls back to him, offering him a smile.
Sasha starts walking again, head canting at an angle to allow her to keep tabs on everyone. Letting Tucker tag along unless one of the others says otherwise.
(tristan)
He follows James, falling into step easily, and when Sasha speaks to the fang there’s something of a muted growl under his breath that carries no farther then James and Sasha before Tucker gets close. “Correction. We are going someplace out of the rain. He can go fuck himself.”Clear enough of an ‘otherwise’ for everyone? He steals the bottle back from James and tips it back as they move, before passing it to him again. He doesn’t even look Tucker’s way again. There’s not enough JD in the world that will cause him to be civil to him again after last time. Only one person could force him to be so – and that one’s walking in step, walking away.
(james)
"'Fuck you wan' t'nigh', Tuck."another Eagle pack trait, they always leave out "the" don't they...
he's stopped, but not turned
head just tilted slightly towards one dread-covered shoulder
something in him wants to give the Fang a chance
(they used to be pack before the kid betrayed them)
something in him says it would have been better to keep on walking
(if it wasn't for a Fang, you'd be able to speak normally, Jamey-boy)"Too drunk a deba'e wi'h you."
I'm too drunk to deal with the pain you brought last time we talked
(tucker)
Sasha's smile makes his face look like he just won the lottery, she has a way of doing that to a guy.The Ganwer kin, however shakes it almost immeditaly. The only people who've seen this look befor eare Miriam, Hyde, and his grandfather, and more recently, Sasha. He looks like he could cry in that briefest second. Realizing how bad you've hurt somone will do that to a guy.
His former packmate finally, give him a glimmer of hope. Maybe he can convince them that he's got somthing to say. His smile comes back halfway. Second chances will do that to a guy.
"Got somthin'," he looks to each ganwer in turn. "For both of ya." He tugs on the strap of the backpack he's wearing. "Don't wanna ruin it in the rain though." He looks at all three of them in turn. "If ya don't like it you can kick me to the curb, but I promise you will."
(sasha)
Dark lashes, rain-speckled, lower to shadow her eyes, hiding anything reflected in their blue depths. Head cants downward, shielding her face from the pounding rain droplets that prickle over flawless features. Tristan's growl makes her bristle further into her coat. She kept walking, slowly down, only to stop a few inches from James before she slammed into his back.Sasha didn't know what was said the last time they met. She didn't want to know, but she knew James was drunk. And a ahroun, that in itself was a violent combination. Like mixing kerosene with gunpowder, all it needed now was for someone to light a match.
Fortunately, Sasha could dampen the rage, if it flows tonight. She is silent, almost contemplating doing it, but not yet.Bottom lip tucks inward, chewing on it absently, dark brows lift quirk upwards in curiosity at what Tucker could possess. "What's t'at?"
(tristan)
For anyone who knows the kin, they would know it would take something beyond bad to cause him to turn his back on someone. And to keep it turned. For the one who would give his shirt off his back, many times over, to write someone off as not worth his time – most likely, it was more then what was said the first time. It was even more then what was said the second time. Perhaps, the actions of other times play a huge factor in the instinct to keep on walking.Just. Keep. Moving. And never, ever look back.
But James stops. And two steps past him with a muttered curse, so does Tristan, as much as he wants to keep going, he will not leave James, especially in his drunken mood, to stand there alone. Fingers tighten on the handle of his violin case, white-knuckled tight, the muscle in his jaw jumping with the pressure locking his jaw to keep his mouth shut. Dark gaze looks at the rivulets of water sliding along the ground in front of his boots, mentally counting. Fuck 10 – we’re talking from 100. Backwards. In Spanish.
(james)
he's about of the same mind as Tristan, really
perhaps not as severe
(he doesn't care if they never speak to each other again)
but there's definitely a sour note in his moodmoments tick endlessly by as the Ahroun debates with himself
he should kick the Fang to the curb on principle
simply for the actions that got him kicked out of the pack
but instead of a shortened fuse
perhaps the JD has given James some semblance of the compassion he was once known for"Din'r." chin jerks to the neon lights glowing softly across the street, more a hole in the wall than a diner "You got five min't's."
the Fostern is on his way before there's chance of protest
the others can come or wait as they please
and by his tone, James doesn't sound happy about it(tucker)
To Sasha only a raising of eyebrows and, "S'a surprise."He nods. That's fair, honestly he wouldn't have been surpirsed if he'd made the trip for nothing. But he's got five minutes, and they're going to count. [Every second counts when you're doin' what you know is right Tucker.]
He follows James toward the diner, looking once to Tristan. "Need you ta come to." Pause, admission of helplessness. "Please?"
Tucker turns, to keep stride with James. He doesn't look to the kin, he'll make up his own mind and it's his perrogative. But he can't hide the smile on his face when he remarks at the door of the diner.
"You're gonna love this Jamey-boy."
(sasha)
Quiet and patient, traits that show through Sasha's body language now, without judgment or loathing, she looks back at Tucker, jerking her head towards the diner with a small smile.It would be eons before there might be any reconciliation between the Fang and his former pack, the ties that bind had been severed deeply. Any redemption now might be fruitless, however, Sasha tried to be optimistic about people and situations. She starts walking again, following after James, moving up next to Tristan to gently brush his shoulder with her arm, a small display of affection, wolflike.
"C'mon, Tristan, I'll buy all of us sumt'in to eat. Mah treat," she looks at him and then to Tucker. Don't fuck up now...boy.
(Tristan)
James says 5 minutes. And it’s the diner, not the room where he can just appear later assuming it’s ok. Public place also means behaving. For the Kin, most of all, when all he wants to do is shove Tucker’s smiling face through the nearest window.The ‘please’ sets his teeth on edge.
But he follows. And not because of Tucker. Only because of James. Not because of Sasha either. In fact. “I’ve lost my appetite.” That? says it all, to those who know anything of the Gnawer kin. But follow he does, carefully guarding his expression.
(james)
"Am I?"luckily the diner is open seating
James sweeps on past the little greeter woman
and finds themselves a nice comfy booth in the back
one side of the benchseat claimed by the Fostern
the rest can sit where they please or not even sit at all
and he's meeting the Fang's gaze with a wall of steely umber"Five min't'e."
(tucker)
Nod. And don't think because he's smiling he can't sense the tension. It's thick and muddled by the alcohol on their breaths and the Rage crckling like a furnace around them.The bag is quickly slung of his shoulders and unzipped. First are pulled out a carton of cigarettes apiece for the two gnawers. "S'not your gift. Don't worry."
He rummages a bit through the bag, "Tristan.... I wanted to give you this, to give to the kid... I wanted to but when I found out he lost his mate..." He pauses. "I didn't want to open any old wounds, an' since I'm not pack with him.... I figure you can give him this."
How the hell it had gotten into the condo's living room and left, alone on the glass coffe table is beyond Tucker, but he has it now nonetheless.
In front of him he holds a small die cast pewter ring, gold paint half worn off, fake plastice ruby sitting slightly to the side. "Found it in the Condo, when I went back. Think it belonged to Carmen, Kemp should have this."
Two and a half minutes up and he turns to the Ahroun.
(sasha)
Tristan's reaction didn't surprise her at all, shrugging her shoulders, Sasha slips inside the diner, shivering as she unbuttons her coat, peeling it off wet clothed skin. A hand runs through her hair, shaking it free of rain, drifting towards the booth. A spot on the opposite benchseat claimed by the other Fostern, which leads Tristan to choose who he wished to sit with. She leans back against the wall, folding one leg under the other, coat draped in her lap.(tristan)
He sinks to sit on the same side as James – on the edge of the seat, somewhat more sprawled then anything else, and if looks could kill.Add to that the little ring, and his jaw tenses, but he takes it and tucks it into his pocket. Whether or not he’ll give it to Kemp is yet to be determined. He already wears her pendant around his neck, as well as the one worn so briefly by Selphie. For now, he’ll keep it somewhere safe until he makes up his mind.
And still, he remains silent.
(james)
if he knew Kemp even had a mate, much less lost one - it doesn't show
dark eyes glance to the clock and back to Tucker
two point five and counting
every second helping his (formidable) Rage work past the peace-keeping JD barrier(octavio broekemer)
~Octavio walks through the Riverfront district taking in the sights and sounds of the city listening to the whispers on peoples lips taking in everything he can as he walks. He walks with his back straight head up tall and pround his Germanic roots very evident high cheek bones a bit paler then normal skin short black hair is kept perfectly clean his face is smooth and free of all stubble. He is wearing a black turtle neck with black slacks a black leather trench coat and polished black shoes.He stops outside a small diner and looks in the window. Normally he would not eat in dumps like this but at this moment he is hungry and new to the city so he will grace this dump with his magnificent presence. He steps in and does not wait for the waitress he walks in and past any who were waiting for a table and he finds the first open table and takes it, and with the rage rippling under his skin no one decides it worth anything to stop him from doing just that~
(tucker)
"Got somthin' for you too." He exhales forcefully. Reaching into the bag he pulls out a medium sized wooden picture fram and sets it out on the table, facedown. "You remember... back in Jersey, right before everything went ta shit..." He trails off, shaking his head wuickly as if shaking off bad memories. "You remember that new moon we were all out on the balcony, drinking, everythng. Everyone was there; me, you, Decker, Luc, Livingston, Erik, and... Rune..." The word is treaded upon carefully, verbal walking on glass. "Remember how Rune said it was fucked up that we all made it into the same room together for once..." He smiles, a testament to how much he too, had loved his sister. "First time I ever belonged to anything in my entire life." He turns the frame over and slides it across a the table.In the 8 1/2x11 frame, there's a picture, printed in high digital qaulity from Rune's baby. It's taken from the threshold of that sliding door that tuck had walked into the first night he and James had bonded over a drink.
In the closest foreground there is the young Fenrir, that trademark punk assed 'I know somthing you don't know' grin on his face. Lucian, the young one.
Standing over his shoulder looking into the distance is the Rasta-man himself, a half smile not focuses on the camera but off into the distance... serene, peacefull. Livingston, Mystery man.
Decker and Erik sit in the background each to a bar on the railing where it comes at a right angle. Decker's holding a joint and giving Tucker the finger while Erik is eyeing the pot, scarfeaced, yer but not neear as much, he looks younger, less worn down. The terrible two.
James sits at the table in the middle of the picture smiling for everything he's worth, arm over the Beta next to him, cigarette and beer in front of him. James, the compassionate one.
Rune, leans over only a few inches between her and the Gnawer sitting beside her. Her smile was slight, wicked and sexy as all hell. Typical, though looking in hindsight it's fairly easy to tell they're in love. Rune, the smart one, the one who is missed.
"I think this means more to you than it does to me. I think you should have it." His voice breaks and tears well up, though they do not shed, not yet.
Tucker looks across the table at the gnawer, waiting. "You love it, or not?" A stupid question, but an honest one.
Time's up.
(sasha)
Pale blue eyes travel over to the door, drinking in the sight of the new arrival into the diner. A slender brow quirks upward, lifting her chin slightly, canting her head back to touch the thick glass window. The hint of a quiet nobleness shines in her stature and silver-blooded pedigree through the wet, soppy black attire of clinging fishnet and leather dress and nylon feet soaked through from the puddles in her combat boots.Sasha knew about the lost mate and friend, but not about any ring, pendents or jewwlery that Kemp held emotional attachment to. Tucker seems to set Sasha on edge, slightly, waiting with apprehension at what he'll give James.
(tristan)
He looks at the framed picture. Everyone was there – the pack, before the addition of Kemp, and no, everyone isn’t there. No Imogen, no Tristan.But after all. They’re just Kin. (useless) not that it’d matter, he knows where the focus will be – where it should be, and he is not so selfish to think it has anything to do with himself anymore. The packmate loved and lost - the mate he drinks away, tonight and every night. (it is going to be a Very. Long. Night.)
He aches for his brother, he aches for what this picture is going to do to him – no matter if it’s good or bad in the end, it’s the pain he’d love to take away.
However. He remains silent. And turns his gaze away, toward the wash of rage from the door, to the door itself (escape) to something, anything.
(octavio)
~When a waitress comes to his table he looks up at her.~ Finally took your time, I will take a coffee the soup of the day with a clubhouse sandwhich on brown bread toasted double pickles no mayo and don't screw up my order." ~He dismisses her with a wave of his hand~
(james)
there's a part of James that seems as if he's going to push the frame away without even looking at it
the wood smashed in capable hand into proverbial stakes for the Fang's heart
glass shattered as his own heart is, fractured pieces laying against the cage of his ribsfor a long time, the Fostern just looks at the picture
really looksit's the Eagle pack in its prime
how they all once were, before those dear were lost
one night without bickering or weights tossed around
a rare moment without their overwhelming Ragesomething in him swells to see the familiar faces again
something in him breaks harder and louder than he's ever imagined possible
calloused fingertips trace over the glass
dark, unfathomable eyes following their path
pausing over each packmate in turn
lingering on one he'll never admit to in public(Gaia, his heart shatters everytime he thinks about her, convincing himself it's easier to move on and wake up every morning under the misconception she's never going to return home, that's she's forgotten about him and is serving her duty to the Great Mother - he hasn't seen her picture for nine fucking months, he hasn't allowed himself to search for it because all it does is refresh her presence in his very soul and make him realize she is the sole reason he chose to carry on instead of giving up all those moons ago... and to be faced with her now... seeing that wicked, wicked red smile, the glint in dark, depthless eyes... he can remember how her scent weaves intoxicating incense through the smokey vestiges of his mind, the feeling of her flesh scorching against his own, the sound of her latent pulse slowing to safe sleep beside him, how a single look made him feel so alive again...)
for minutes, the Ahroun forgets about the diner surrounding him
the kin and garou at the table with him
even the presence of another Warrior within the questionable eatery
he's lost in the past captured in the digital picture
so lost, he forgets how to breath
so lost, he almost couldn't find his voice
and when he does, it's barely a whisper"Who took't."
(tucker)
"I did." Quiet, low, somber.The Silver Fang, for all of his breeding, can't match the other man's eyes. He can't look into the face of pain he knows is there, so he stares at the table.
And yes, he is crying now. No sobs, but silent tears for the lost and the fallen, and for what he has lost himself.
(sasha)
Left hand stretches out to lay her palm flat on the table, the line of sinewy muscle, from shoulder to wrist, coiling beneath a fishnet sleeve, as the fingers curl inward to form a loose fist. Her head drops foward, fixating pale blue orbs on the Gnawers, reading the subtle emotional signs displayed through body language and facial expressions. It causes her brows to furrow deeply, setting lips in a grim line.Nostrils flare out, cuffing warm breath into the air, in a soft snort. Tension lined her body, cautious and ready, to move.
However, there was no need to move, but Sasha doesn't relax, instead the frown upon her face deepens even more, until slender black eyebrows are touching at the corners. Her expression one of concern and confusion, quickly snapping her eyes up at Tucker with a questioning look of who are they? The curiosity gnawering at her to lean over and steal a quick peek. Some images recognizable and others not, finally, she looks up at James, before her gaze tears away to see the weeping Tucker. "Ah fuck..." she breathes out in a sigh.
(decker)
In another part of town, not in front of the diner, but not far either, Decker's Tacoma is parked over the bend of the river. It's been there for a while, the engine cooled, the tires cooled, the interior cold as the night outside.There's barely any hills in Chicago, but this passes as one: a bluff twenty or thirty feet over the river, the edges barred and crumbling slowly away by force of erosion. The river has cracked and melted, runs silent and black now. Cold snaps still come around, but not often enough and not cold enough to freeze water to ice again. There are trees planted here, stunted naked things reaching for the sky with bare branches as gnarled as an old woman's hands.
Wind whips cool through the layers he wears, the denim and the cotton, the sweatshirt, the skecher knockoffs. He's in the bed of the truck, back to the cabin. Rolling windows are up but the back window's slid open, 'cause she's in the backseat, back to back with him across a layer of metal, or maybe back to the door, facing his one-quarter profile. Seems it's always like this. If they weren't fighting, they couldn't bear the nearness of one another, except when they couldn't bear distance any longer. As if to stay close, side by side, quiet, would be too much to ask. As if the dual burn of rage, pure breeding -- hell, excuses, all; as if the burn of their closeness, their mutual (what? acceptance? existence? need?) silence, would be too much to bear.
A quiet moment, the moon waned past the half. Wind in the trees makes a sound like sighing. His chest rises and falls with a long breath like a sigh, not quite. He reaches through the window to pass his joint to her if she wanted it, and he can feel the drug unfurling through his limbs like a slow, languid heat ameliorating the ceaseless mad burn of rage.
Tip his head against the outside of the glass and look up: clouds scudding the sky, blotting out the stars. For all he knew he'd never see them again. For all he knew tomorrow the sun would rise black and the skies would burn red, and the stars will fall one by one. Sometimes if he lets himself think about it, he's ashamed because he fears the end. Sometimes, it feels like it doesn't really matter. He still had a little time. He still had enough time.
(tristan)
He wants to reach for him, he wants to do more then sit here, and understand. He wants...He wants to know Tucker’s motivations. The picture is a nice gesture. The fact he’s using it as an attempt to gain entrance back into the fold is not. The fact that he chose now to give it is suspect. The fact he has it at all... and wrapped around all of that in a strangle hold is how much he aches for his friend, how very much he understands the way his thoughts are meandering around now, how very much it hurts. So much so he can’t breathe.
(Diego came back from the dead...but too late. God how much he understands.)
And the tears? He’s seen them before. It’s an attempt to bring it all back on himself, to circle it all around what the fang has lost instead of what he has taken away from others. And for that, Tristan perhaps hates him a little bit more – something he didn’t think was possible.
But through it all. Silent. Waiting. Soon – his brother will want to leave, and he not will leave without Tristan by his side tonight.
(octavio)
~He slowly looks around the diner and spots the crying table and almost laughs at a joke in his own mind but doesn't he just moves on from the public display of weakness as the waitress sets down his coffee he takes a sip~(james)
"I 'member...." there's almost a laugh there, after a thoughtful time, aching in its chiding sorrow "Think tha' th' las' time I smile' like tha'."the volume of such an admission matches the downward cast of his eyes
unlike his former packmate, deep umber is still (frighteningly) dry
memory's absent murmur drifting like some rogue wind
easy enough to be forgotten by those that do not pay attention
unmistakably searing (treasonous) truth to those that do
(can you hear his soul screaming...)"'preciate it, Tuck." if the gesture won any ground back into the Fostern's good graces, it doesn't show, his expression (his goddamned aura) is absolutely blank, even if the words are genuine "Thank'."
knee nudges against Tristan's
and when the kinfolk moves
the Gnawer heads for the door
stopping only long enough to secure a plastic "to-go" bag from the cashier
just to ensure the picture doesn't get wet on the way.... wherever
cause if it's still raining outside
James, for one, doesn't notice it(octavio)
~His soup comes next and he begins to eat the soup quietly he adds a bit of salt but he eats it once its done he pushes the bowl to the side for her to pick up~ Another coffee.(tucker)
"No problem, I just... when I found out...and the other night... I thought you might want it." He gives him the look, the one that everyone who's experienced this kind of loss knows. The one that says simply I know. "Tell Decker I said hello."He wipes his eyes and puts his arm around Sasha, hugging her close with the tree trunk, eyes still searing. When the other two are out the door it turns into a full on bear hug, sobbing a bit into her shoulder. Whispering.
"I miss them all...so fuckin' much."
Clarity of thought is a good thing, but it leads the way to guilt. Doing his best to reapir that is all he can do. Pack or not, they're the closest thing the Fang's had to family in a long, long time.
(sasha)
"G'night, James... Tristan..." calling after the Gnawers, expecting Tristan to follow after him with hesitation. She pulls the damp coat out of her lap, turning around to face the table. Elbows press onto the surface, rubbing her hands over her face, leaning her forehead into the palm of her hands.Dark lashes close over pale blue orbs, trying to supress the shivers that race through her from the damp clothes. She just couldn't seem to warm up quick enough.
(imogen)
Strange how they get to this point. Where he'd gotten out of the cab and eventually, into the truck bed. Or that she'd gotten out of the truck bed, and into the back, setting her back against the door, the echoes of the wind within the cabin, a blow of it warm of spring, but still cold enough that she draws her jacket around her, fabric rustling in the near silence.She takes the joint when offered, reaching up to pluck it from his fingers, take a hit, and pass it back across the divide.
It's not an act that will likely be repeated again, because even if he did offer again, she probably wouldn't take it. Or, it simply won't be repeated because now, she's getting out, and hearing good as his, he can hear her exhale, hear her jeans against the back seat of the tacoma. Hear the passenger side door click as she catches the handle with a hand and pushes it open. Hear her walk a few steps away, to light a cigarette.
The road is not often used and is cracked. Winters in Chicago are hard on pavement and concrete. Cold and then thaw cracks the surface, assisting plants to work their way up through the fissures. One even survived the winter in that it is still somewhat whole, brown and wilted, in the hibernation of plants. Her boot scrapes against concrete as she nudges it, the scent of mustier cigarette smoke adding to the scent of his joint. Her eyes on the ground as his are on the sky.
(tristan)
Knee nudges against his, and he stands, the violin hefted in his hand. He takes the cigarettes too. They’ll need them tonight. He still has the remains of the bottle. They’ll need that and the one he’ll pick up on the way.. to wherever... as well. Expression is frighteningly blank on the Ahroun, and his own is a turbulent mass of conflicting emotion.There’s a level gaze that rests on Tucker, but the touch is for Sasha, gentle, to her shoulder. Murmured. “Run by and let Kemp know I’m with James, please.” And that’s it. Not another word – he’s following his brother out into whatever weather there is at the point in time long strides falling easily into step with James.
(octavio)
~He sits and waits for his sandwhich and sips his coffee his eyes flcik to Tucker and Sasha now for a brief second then he stoped caring about that table and looksat his coffee which was more intresting at the moment~(james)
once outside, James simply picks a direction and starts walking
STA. LKING
down the cememnt pathway that will, ultimately, lead somewhere he hopefully wants to be
he kept himself together within the diner
he didn't break down, he didn't freak out
the street itself is another fucking matter
with the carton in one inner coat pocket
the framed picture safely in another
he outright snatches the bottle from his bro
(apologies will come later)
whatever's left in it disappears down the Ahroun's gullet
and the empty bottle flung to SMASH against some undeserving wall
(probably no apologies will be offered, there)(sasha)
"I will, Tristan..." she calls back to him, lifting her head up to look over Tucker at the kin, watching them leave.Her eyes turn down to look at Tucker, who bear hugged her in the booth. She lowers her head once more, into her hands, eyes closed again.
"Tucker, git de fuck off me." she murmurs in a soft, hoarse tone, "I'm already soaked to de bone." pitch-black, damp tendrils of hair spilled forward to curtain her face, hiding the deep furrowed frown that caused slender brows to touch once more.
(tucker)
"Mmmm... sorry." Tinge of hurt in his voice."Can we go home?" He sniffs, hand wipes eyes eyes with it's back. "I just need some company..but I don't wanna be the weirdo crying in a diner." He tries to smile, unsuccessfully at the beautifull Coggie.
(decker)
He looks comfortable in the bed of the truck, despite that the plastic-lined metal is anything but. It's bed in the older sense of the word: bed of a river. Bed of a truck. Bed, that which holds, cradles, supports, bears. But damned if he hasn't spent a night or more sleeping in one.Her quitting the truck cabin turns his head. She's petite, slender; she doesn't weigh much, but she still sets the truck rocking slightly as she leaves it. He watches her move away, half-slouched in the bed as he is, and doesn't bother to move with her.
She smokes. He smokes. They say nothing.
Moments pass. Clouds pass. A hint of moon. A glimpse of sky. A touch of rain dusting his forehead, cheekbones. He finishes his joint and crushes it out on the top of the toolbox, jettisons it off the edge. She can hear him moving, see it: popping his knuckles one fist inside the other palm, one at a time. Then looking over at her, across the muscled expanse of shoulder, across the width of truck-bed, over the siding.
"Y'ever want 'em?" - quiet: that should no longer be a surprise. Tongues his molar a moment. Reaches across to scratch; left hand, right shoulder. Finishes, "Kids."
(tristan)
He falls into step. Close, but not too close, and never, ever far away. And no apologies will be needed – regardless of if they are offered or not, and he well expects the contents to be devoured. He flinches a bit at the flinging smash, but still remains quiet for a few more moments.Finally, the lights flickering ahead announce Al’s Li uor and he breaks the silence onto to suggest. “I’ll get more up there.” For him, for them both, enough to get through tonight.
(sasha)
Again, her head rests in the palm of her hands, unmoved. "Tucker, slide over to de other booth, please." spoken in the same soft, hoarse tone, the smile never registered by her eyes. She won't look at him.The soft swells of her chest rise and fall with a change of breathing, taking in deep, long intakes, straining against damp fishnet and leather dress, which feels too constricting at the moment.
"If'n ya haven't noticed yar de weirdo cryin' right now in de diner."
(tucker)
"Okay, but i'm good now." His hands some away from red eyes to show that yes, the outburst is over.The Fang stands and walks around the table, stting across from the Child of Gaia. "S'this okay?"
He looks at her, silently for a few seconds. "You mad at me for somthing?" He's on edge and one can tell, not ready to snap, more just ready to give up. Defeatist tone ringing through his voice.
(imogen)
The question, maybe should not surprise her either, but it does cause her to turn her head and look at him, abruptly, over the curve of her shoulder, offering him her features in profile, half obscured by several strands of hair, spilling forward with the movement. It's only that gesture that's quick, sudden, the tension of it taken away by the slower way she lifts the cigarette back to her mouth, and the slower way she looks away."It hardly seems t'--" smash, and her head turns again, this time toward the sound of glass smashing against a wall, flung in a specific direction, hurled against a wall. There's hardly anywhere here that isn't close to a city block, and the Fenrir and Fianna happened to be close to James and Tristan's city block.
Her sentence trails off (it's hardly believeable she'd be easily distracted), eyes narrowing as she tries to confirm familiar forms just too far away for detail.
Posted by james at March 14, 2004 12:00 AM
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