March 14, 2004.03.13.04. - she IS worth it [tristan-decker-imogen](james)
as if James really. needs. any. more. liquor.
he's a fucking lightweight
and, by himself, has downed at least half that bottle of JD
by all rights, he shouldn't even be walking
much less stalking and throwing with any depth of precisionone mostly gloved hand slams down into a pocket
rabbit diving into the safety of it's burrow from the pouncing wolf
pulling out a crumbled measure of bills
pushing them into his brother's handacross from Al's Li uor their paths split
if momentarily
Tristan heads inside to purchase the strongest their money can buy
James heads to the bank of the river where it passes closest to the walk
one trashcan picked up and HEAVED far as it can go out into the black waters
resultant and protesting splash echoing off the buildings behind
trench is shed and dropped onto the now lonely bench in some semblane of reparancethen the proud and mighty Ahroun falls into a crouch on the deck-like railing
fingers winding up into heavy dreads and keeping his head from flying away
he's damn lucky he doesn't fall into the welcoming river
most likely it's the keening wail echoing in his mind that keeps him weighted to the ground
(Gaia... he didn't think he could hurt any more than he already has....)(sasha)
It was hard to tell if Sasha was mad.. The detached gestures in her body language couldn't quite describe the emotions she was feeling right now."T'at's fine, Tucker," said without looking up at him, the direction of his voice and the absence of his weight pressed into her side, told Sasha he had moved. She takes in a few more deep breathes, lowering a hand from her face to lay it on the table, soon followed by the other. Her head cants up to look at him, the deep furrowed frown etched in a cold mask across beautiful, flawless features.
"Why did ya do t'at?"
(decker)
Not for a moment would he believe her so easily distracted. But then, the reverse is probably also true. All the same she, for all intents and purposes, is. So is he - snapping up and around at the sound, fast as a whipflick. A beat. What her keen eyes strain to pick out, his totembond already tells him."'S James." Mixed feelings. He sounds somewhere between annoyed and baffled, a touch of curiosity here, a dash of worry. Turn back; he looks at her for an interim. Then, grabbing the edge of the truck's bed, he vaults out.
He doesn't ask Imogen to follow. Wouldn't ask that of her. But that he loops past her before starting down the gentle slope is telling. In the subtler language of wolves, it's almost an invitation.
(tristan)
He takes the bills as they are thrust, and inside he goes. It doesn’t matter what he grabs, as long as it’s within reach, and strong. Three wisemen it is. Not that it will take near that much for Tristan, or normally for James – but emotional tormoil does funny things to a person. There shouldn’t be any need to drink away the pain – but when one has so much rage, when one has so. much. Pain... sometimes, you just need to knock your ass out until the worst of it passes.Sometimes – that’s all that you can do.
He pays, quickly, and takes up the bag, tucking the change back into his pocket to be handed back later. He nods his thanks to Al (so what if it’s a barely legal punk who couldn’t possibly be anything other then the minimum wage worker stuck on the night shift) and heads out the door again. A glance, and it’s to the river, and his brother he moves.
By the trenchcoat on the bench he sets his violin and the bag with two bottles. The third he’s opening and taking a healthy swig, before he stands behind James. He knows that his presence is felt, he knows that he will not surprise his brother, but he still gives a moment, a slight noise under his breath to announce himself before he reaches around to hold the bottle in front of James.
There’s no actual contact, but he’s close enough to feel the rage, the heat, the boil of pain sliding from skin under cloth. And he’s close enough to lean on if needed – physically, mentally. He’s also close enough to take a beating should he suddenly be the only thing available to throw over that railing. (Thus – the violin is over there.) Quite simply. He’s just there.
(octravio)
~His sandwhich comes shortly after and he eats that slowly and quietly and looks over to Sasha and Tucker as he eats quietly~(imogen)
"S'what I thought..." murmered quietly in the wake of his departure. And maybe Imogen truly is perceptive enough to read the language of wolves, or maybe she would have gone anyway.The cigarette is extinguished, not against her palm, but simply extinguishing the ember, pinching it off with her fingers, before she pockets the fag (lord knows why she bothered, this time, out of all of them), and follows.
(tucker)
His voice is a mere whisper, it doesn't travel futher than Sasha."The one in the picture... that he was with." Sigh. "James I mean..." He shoots her a hard look. And you cannot breathe word of this
"They were in love... I just found out and... I knew he was hurting...I wnated to help." He looks up at her.
"I hope I did. It might help with some of the other shit. That Fianna's family who don't have him cause of me. Miriam, who I've fucked up for life. My pack... who i've betrayed coutless times. My fucking dad.... who I wasn't stron enough to save." His stell blue eyea are focused on her. "I needed to do the right thing now."
(sasha)
"And... de ring for Kemp?" her gaze remains steady on Tucker, voice calm, yet soft still. Like the calm before the storm...
(james)
there are times when human rationality flees towards the horizon
all that is left is the animal need to take out unfathomable emotion on whatever is closest
a lashing out, so to speak, in the blind vendiction of making something else hurt as well
it's a primal state of equality and dominance that surfaces in times of greatest need
something that goes far deeper than fight or flight
something that preys mercilessly on base emotionright now, James will take anything within his reach
at first, it seems to be the bottle
liquid inside sloshing in desperation's plea to be saved
(.....FOR GOD'S SAKE JAMES DON"T DO IT!)
which, if barely, the Fostern heard through the chaos in his head
the bottle finds salvation in sacrificing a good fifth of it's bittersweet contents
and instead of glass or kinfolk, a rock is sent sailing into the great black yonder
three wisemen (HA!) shoved back into Tristan's handwhatever urgent question grasping at understanding brave enough to work its way past James' lips......
is an unintelligable snarl
the one thing the Ahroun wants to do is completely fucking. blow. up.
but he settles for springing back to his (wobbly) feet and paces a dangerous linehe wishes it were raining, still
it would excuse the dampness ringing his eyes(tucker)
"Don't have a chance to do it myself, like I said. Tristan is the one taking care of the kid, it should be up to him." He shrugs."You don't think It's a bad thing I did, do you?" Fearfull now, filled with doubt.
(decker)
Down to the water's edge. Down to the river. Lights gleaming on the other bank. Freighters docked silent in the distance, at the docks, near the edge of the great lake and its saltless waves.He precedes Imogen by some ten feet or more, but hearing her follow, slows his gait somewhat. When she catches up to him he casts her a brief untelling glance. Then, away.
And no. Not Tristan's hand. It's the Modi's hand that reaches out and grabs it. A slug of Wise Man #1 (whassit... Jim Beam?), and then he caps it loosely. Levers himself up on the railing in a flawless slide of strength. Passes the bottle on to Imogen, or Tristan if she refuses it.
A flicker of a glance over James, startlingly perceptive. Grunts a greeting, "'Sup."
Nothing more. What'd you expect? Crushing embrace and back-pounding? Emoting over a mug of amber? Never. As for James: he can talk if he wants to. Or he can keep his mouth shut. Decker doesn't care, either way. And if Imogen wants up on the railing he moves over for her. But he doesn't reach out to haul her up. Wouldn't insult her independence like that.
(tristan)
There’s a moment he thinks he is really going to go over the rail. Water looked cold, but hell, he’d survive it. He’s survived worse. The bottle is shoved back, and then snatched away again with the appearance of the Modi. Nod up. Same for Imogen.But other then that, and taking the bottle back, he’s silent.
(octavio)
~He finishes his sandwhich and dabs his mouth cleaning off a few loose crumbs and he sets down the napkin and picks up his coffee and jacket and walks over to Sasha and Tuckers table and sets coffee cup on the table and sets his jacket on the back of an empty chair, and he takes a seat beside Sasha.~ Good evening to you both.(imogen)
Her hands had begun a progression into the pockets of her jacket, before she thinks better of it, and lets them fall to her sides as she catches up with the Modi, holding his brief glance, even if she doesn't understand.And toward James and Tristan. She does not join Decker on the railing, but she does take the bottle when he hands it to her, automatically, before she actually glances at the label. Tristan gets the bottle and the female kinfolk doesn't touch it.
(james)
the sudden appearence of the Modi's hand should startle him
it is, decidedly, MUCH different than Tristan's
even to a drunk manbut it doesn't even stop the Gnawer's stride
he answers the greeting with a low grunt bolting past bared teeth
(but the sound escaping through their bond before he can stop it is an animal's dying moan... just at that moment when it realizes its scared shitless and lost in the darkness, and there's nowhere to go but down because maybe, just maybe, there's something better beneath that megalith blanket of sleep)
weight pivoting on unsteady heel to switch directions before falling off the edge of the bank
... water looks damn cold ..."F'kkin sun'v'n'in'bre'bich" words spat like slurred venom "fuck'e go' show me tha'f'r...."
Tucker was right
James loves the photograph
it's the reason he set it aside before destructive tendencies took over
primitive emotional backlash is a bitch(sasha)
"What's de sentimental value of de ring, Tucker?" calmly asked, Sasha's unimaginable patience showing through it was so hard to tell what she was really feeling, the calm tone projected in her voice seeps through her body language.She straights her shoulders, back pressed into the benchseat. Pale blue eyes upon Tucker, until their table was filled with a new presence. Teeth grit together, the line of her jaw muscle flexes on the right side. A hand drops down to her slightly damp coat, pulling it across her lap. She was still shivering, only slightly now. "Evenin'," cajun accent flavoring her voice, nostrils flaring out to breath in Octavio's scent... purebred this one was.
(tristan)
The bottle makes it’s way back to him, and there’s a few swallows taken. Just to steady the nerves. Then it’s handed back to the Modi, who can offer it to whomever else he wants afterwards. His hand tucks into his pocket. And his gaze shifts out over the water. It’s James’ story to tell.(tucker)
Tucker's pure bred too. and before he can answer Sasha's question the other Garou iterrupts.Bad timing. Feel the wrath of a Silver Fang full moon on an emotional roller coaster.
"Whatever the fuck it is, we don't want any. Go the fuck away." Flat, monotone, deadly.
(octavio)
"Shoosh boy I was not intrested in your response." ~He turns to Sasha and smiles.~ "My name is Octavio Broekemeier and who might you be." ~He grins and holds out his hand to her palm side up~(decker)
Now here's a riddle if you will.What the fuck could cause a reversal of roles where Decker's sitting calm as a glass snake, and James is stalking around like his veins were on fire?
Answer's known to all. Just the details are left up in the air.
Round and round the bottle goes. Decker takes a smaller sip this time, 'cause Imogen didn't take any. Always stay less drunk than the kin. After that he just caps it and leans down to set it on the ground, his feet hooked through the middle rail keeping his balance. Broad sheet-muscles across his back flex as he rises up, crouched atop the railing like a bird-of-prey, his eyes following James as the Gnawer wheels, stalks, moves, stumbles.
Drunk.
Swallow of his mouthful of liquor. A grimace at the burn, wipe mouth on back of wrist. Drawled offhand, "Show'dya what." Sounds unconcerned, almost bored. Best thing to be, really.
(sasha)
"Tucker, not now." she says to him, shooting him a look.She looks back to Octavio, extending her hand to shake his, fingers cold and trembling. "Sasha Delacroix."
(tucker)
Fingers curl into fists, the warform is only subverted by his own will. He young man looks into the other's eyes."That is the first and last time ya ever call me boy. I suggest you get the fuck out of my sight, you disrespectfull, pompus fucking prick."
Rage is a stoked furnace around him, Pure breeding and intimidation pour off from the overly muscled Ahroun. His look alone shows anone at the other end that he is not a man to be trifled with.
(octavio)
~He smiles and takes her hand in his and kisses her hand~ Ahh a most unexpected pleasure to see one as lovely as you in a dump like this." ~He smiles as he ignores Tuckers words.~(sasha)
Reflexive action as Octavio kisses her hand, a slight jerk as Sasha pulls it back. "I'm osrry, y'all have to excuse me a moment, Monseiur Broekemeier, would ya mind lettin' me up." absolute politeness dripping from her tongue as Sasha speaks, pulling her arms into her coat to settle it around her. She scoots to the edge of the benchseat, ready to stand, or climb, out.Her head turns to look at Tucker. "Tucker, could ya be a doll and wait for me outside, please?"
(tucker)
"Yeah, don't be long if ya can help it though, -rhya."He pushes octavio hard. out of his way on the path to the door. Aura of killing frenzy ready to snap ifthe man so much as tries to move back into his direction on his way out the door.
(kemp)
Still shaking his head now and then after the conversation earlier with Ash. Shit, what he could he explain to the guy if his pack or blue sister or whatever, couldn't do it? Leaning forward slightly, knees parted with his perch on the steps.(imogen)
She watches the Gnawer Ahroun pace and stumble, the weaving steps of one who has had far too much alcohol.It's not the first time she's seen him drunk, maybe because he did not follow the same rule Decker does. Don't get more drunk than the kin.
Spectator in this, she offers silence, her gaze flicking briefly past Decker toward the river, her hand passing over her hair, before sliding back.
(james)
in a state of such emotional turmoil
most would bristle at the seeming nonchalance of their audience
James, though, seems to understand it
and by Gaia is glad there's no other raising hackles to inspire his own
he's bad enough already, thank you very muchif the earth opened up gaping maw to swallow him
he'd probably walk right into the void without looking back
(anything. to make it. stop.)
one of those nights you just get drunk enough to fall off the world until it's all overhard for James to not get more drunk than the kin, really
a gesture - halting - towards his trench
Tristan will have to show it
James simply can't look at it again
not now
(he can still see the look in her eyes that reminded him of his will to live...)he was doing so well.
(sasha)
"Merci, sir." Sasha calls back to Octavio, stuffing her hands into the wide depths of her pockets.A low growl rumbles in the base of her chest, pale blue eyes catch the light, reflecting briefly like an animal's, as she heads out the door. Hands remain in her pockets, touching her shoulder to the door to shove it open with her weight. She steps out into the chilly weather, looking around as the rain had stopped falling.
She almost wished it didn't. Her eyes cut across to Tucker, the pale blue color bleeding away to a harsher, brighter amber-yellow. wolf eyes. Sasha starts to walk past him, nodding her head towards the mouth of a alley that would take them out of sight.
"C'mon, Tucker, we need to talk in private. I got sumt'in to ask ya, sweety." her voice remains calm... the patience stretched too far this time. Sasha disappears into the alley, waiting for Tucker.
(tristan)
James points to the trench, and Tristan just looks at him for a long moment, before he nods. A turn carries him back, and the picture is taken from inner pocket, where it’s in the waterproofing back to stay in pristine condition, and those same two steps carrying him back to where Decker slouches along the rail.A moment, and then he hands it to Decker. “This.”
(tucker)
"Yes, ma'am." He follows, huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf he thinks he is.He reaches the alley five or six steps back.
"Yeah?"
(decker)
Decker scissors the pic up between fore and middle fingers. Flips it around, the wind threatening to bend it backwards and tear it from his hands. Briefly the Modi glances down at it, eyes narrowed to pick out detail from night and wind. He recognizes the faces, maybe even remembers the night. Or maybe not. A beat later he passes it to Imogen.Reaches down for Jim Beam. Screws the cap on tight and hands it to Tristan. A pause, the Modi looking down the darkened street at the hulking monoliths of stilled factories and cranes.
She was a breathtaking one, wasn't she? Rune. Fierce and so brilliant with her own inner fire that she burnt her image into your retinae. An August scorcher of a woman - a Garou - all fire and animal grace and stalking, long-limbed ferocity.
And the fascination she caused, the devastation she could leave behind: that's exactly the sort of weakness Decker fears from a woman an Ahroun could love.
"Jus' let 'er go, fer fuck's sake," he mutters. Pause. Then, deliberately callous, "She ain't worth'it."
(james)
James. stops.
the world may keep spinning about him for a few more beats
but the Gnawer, actually, stopsand in the span of that singular pause
something clicks
something finally, irreversibly, breaks(it's what you've always needed to hear, Jamey-boy, just nobody's had the balls to say it to you)
suddenly, the Fostern is in motion again
he turns, and SWINGS
it's a blow hard enough to take the Modi off his feet
and even for as much as he's drunk in far too short a time - the fist flies hard and true
amazing what can sober a guy up on the banks of a river"fuck you think I' been tryin' a do?!"
snarling retort overshadowed by Decker's mocking bait
("'zat it? C'mon... if yer gonna fight me.... FIGHT ME.")
and then. it's. on.both of them learned to fight because they -had- to
the Fenrir brawling in the trailer parks of Alabama
the Gnawer battling it out simply to survive on the skids of New York
each full moon backed by a load of Rage and reason
so many nights they waged a war at each other's sides
now the brutality turns the packmates against each other
one pulling his fury out of pain against the other's twisted compassionEagle Pack really has a fucked up version of therapy....
they've fought before over a difference of opinions
leaving behind a clearing that once held beautiful trees
in shadow of distant freighters the destruction is still the same
a sudden train wreck across the street from Al's Li uor
and just as violently as it began, the scuffle is over
each with their share of blood and bruisesJames' breath heaves with a gutteral snort
(she IS worth it)
but then his head shakes
(most likely to clear it, cause the world's spinning again)
then he just turns and walks away
(he's lost enough packmates already)(sasha)
One...two...three..
And, here it comes...
Amber-yellow eyes cut to Tucker as Sasha stops, piercing through the semi-darkness at him for a moment, before they bleed away to their original color. Pale blue, an icy blue.She pulls her hands from her pockets, arms dangle at her sides, flexing fingers to work away the tension.
Her voice sounds harsher now, more feral, if you could imagine that coming from this peacenik Child of Gaia. "What de fuck do ya t'ink yar doin? Where de fuck didya leave yar brains, Tucker, in yar ass??" a dominant growl vibrates in her throat, glaring right at him. The fingers of her left hand uncurl, morphed into wicked garou claws, lifting up to slash out across his face in her anger.
(tucker)
"I-" claws hit him hard, spilling blood and tissue across the Fang's face. He nearly shifts instictivy to his glabro form. But wills himself down in Homid.A hand comes up to touch his face, smearing the pouring blood. "Why?"
Confused, like a child.
(sasha)
It is only one swipe. The left hand dropping back to her side, claws bloodied, half curling up again.She looks at him, furrowing her brow into the deep frown once more. She's worn this expression most of the night. "De picture. De ring. What're tryin' to prove to James by givin' it to'im? Ya tryin' to piss'im off even more?"
(tucker)
"No...I..." His head shakes. "You don't know James. If he was pissed, I'd be dead.""The ring... it belonged to Kemp's only friend in the world when he had his first change. She's fuckin' dead now Sasha. It's his right to have it, and forgive me if I don't feel worthy enough to give it to him myself."
He's angry now, probably the first time this has ever been directed at the Coggie. But it blazes of offended Rage and miffed honor.
(sasha)
"Yar damn lucky he was choked up more with emotion, bein' in de drunk state he was, or he would've throated yar ass, Tucker." her anger flared more by his words, chest strained against leather, as she sucks in a deep breath, issuing it out in a low, threatening growl."I know about Kemp, Tuck, and givin' him sumt'in like t'at ain't goin' make'im feel any better. T'at boy's got his own problems and hurt feelings. Don't need ya muckin' it up even more." the defensive tone etched in her voice as she spoke protectively about Kemp.
"I don't know de details ya talk with James, but I know it didn't go too well. And, he's still hurtin' over it, remindin' him of of his charach-love ain't helpin' either."
(tristan)
The bottle is handed to him, and held loosely at his side.
James stops.
And then the world is a blur and there’s been a thousand and one different ways of telling people a thousand and one different things.... but would the Modi be so quick to give up on Imogen... That’s the first thought.Until it clicks. There’s blows and activity that is almost over before it begins and there are bruises on both, and the kin is left staring – always amazed when he sees them fight, even as fucked up therapy.
Then there’s a snort, and Tristan blinks, before he reaches to Imogen and takes the picture from her with a slight (tight, strained, sad, fucked up, pissed off, no humor at all) curl of his lips, and he’s grabbing the trench coat, the bag of alcohol, his violin. And he follows the steady stalk of James off into the distance, Jogging a few steps until he’s caught up, and then simply falling in step, silent.
(tucker)
"I lived with both of them for a long time, it hurt me to see her gone too, I just wanted him to see that..."His head goes down. At the mention of Charach he blushes, heavily cheeks becoming red fire, aggravation in his voice. "You don't fucking get it do you?"
He rushes forward and takes he by the face in both hands and kisses her, full on the mouth. A perceptive person or Garou even would pick up the faint feeling of burnt Rage from his movement across the alley.
He breaks the kiss, "Since the fucking day you took me in... I don't care Sasha."
Infinitly unaware of those claws, that or he doesn't care.
(imogen)
She had enough time to take the picture from Rohl and take a brief glance (familiar faces. familiar location) before James is stalking forward and the small redhead abruptly falls back, giving space between herself and the two packmates.She had, oddly enough, been expecting violence. She did not need her perceptions for that. Not being legally blind was enough.
James stalks off, and the slender woman's gaze flicks toward Tristan and the hand reaching out for the photograph, and the kinwoman simply hands it back.
Tristan follows James, and her gaze follows it, briefly, before turning her eyes back toward the Modi, a brief scan, notary of injury, because neither got out of this unscathed. That she might know, intellectually, at least, that these injuries could heal in seconds or minutes, makes the glance more clinical than anything.
(decker)
And it's ON.Dodging. Who the fuck dodges? Dodging is for pussies. They might dodge with others. Mortals who'd go down with a single punch. Dodge to extend the pleasure, baby - dodge and watch them get all furious and purple in the face 'cause no matter how fast they think they can move, you can move five times faster.
Dodging's for shits 'n giggles.
There ain't no dodging here.No - the two Ahroun go at it, colliding like freight trains, like wolves, slamming up against each other. Fists fly. Knuckles strike mouth, ear, nose, kidneys. Elbows jab. They break apart. Circle warily. Explode on some unseen cue. Together - fists hitting meat like mallet on beef - break; the Gnawer stalking off, the Fenrir letting him go with violence but no hatred in his eyes. The Fenrir wiping his mouth on his arm and spitting thin blood off to the side. The Fenrir slouching back against the railing without a word. Spitting again.
She IS worth it.
They're always worth it.Seconds later it's all quiet again. Only when his tortured too good for his own good packmate vanishes off to whatever hellhole he's found for himself tonight does he pull his gaze away, to Imogen. It sparks like lightning over her skin. He moves, straightening. Bruise starting to darken on his eye, lip split against his teeth. Shrugs.
"You wanna drink?" He raises his chin at Al's Li uor.
Posted by james at March 14, 2004 12:00 AM
CommentsPost a comment