June 15, 2004
.06.15.04. - word's charach [decker]

[riverfront]

(decker)
Sometime 'round 2am the bay door clatters open. Sound of a state-issue domestic driving off, and a Modi kicking his shoes and socks off.

A little later he appears in the living area, tossing shoes down at the entrance to the patchwork-rugged area, tossing ripely stinking socks onto the mammoth laundry pile. Dropping down onto the sofa, or one of them, he clunks bare feet onto the cracked and tottering coffee table.

"'Sup James."

(james)
somewhere around 2am

the inside of the factory was about as dark as the night outside
save the dimly haphazard glow of the random christmas lights
reflecting off periphreal machinery, the soft colors almost make the cavernous area seem downright ambiently homey

ambience, of course, destroyed by dual assault of ripe socks and bare feet
(what'd that table ever do to you)
it's enough to get James to crack open an eye
curiosity lifting a brow towards unruly tangle of dreads
the Ahroun studying his packmate across the tottering table

".... my time f'r peace'n qui't."

he wasn't exactly asleep, persay
but from the looks of lanky raggedyman's sprawl on one of the two truly comfortable pieces of furniture
let us all appreciate Decker's choice of the other sofa

(decker)
"Heh," is Decker's reply for a long time.

Weeks could pass without the two speaking a word to each other. Totemphone, sure, but that was different, wasn't it? The existence of the pack was as a collection of solitudes. They pulled together when necessary, drifted alone when not; pack is not all, and all is not pack.

It's just the more important, solid, everlasting core.

Some time later, "'Member Roxy?"

(james)
in the time there's little more than the distant echo of kiped generator
the Gnawer takes the opportunity to adjust towards a position more inclined for decent conversation
rare were the times the Eagles - especially the Full Moons - sought each other's company without specific need
might as well not speak through curtain of ropes constantly trying to answer gravity's call

series of movement resembles drawn out stretch more than orchestration of coordination
fingernails scratching scalp during the long swipe pushing unruly mop out of his face
avalanche of dreads rioting over scarred skin of bared shoulders
.... and not really looking like the effort did much good
but at least it provides a semi-reasonable view of his smirk once the silence is finally broken

"Yeh." a beat "Wha' 'bout 'er?"

(decker)
Response doesn't come for a while. There's chittering in the distance; he cocks his head and listens. A family of rats have joined them in the factory. They moved in a week ago, give or take. Thanks a lot, James.

Then, straight to the point. "I want my truck fixed. She wants ta fuck you." Smirk. "Whatcha think?"

No, he ain't joking.

(james)
the Gnawer ignores distant chittering
(..... chitters.... shudders....)
while his blood may have close ties to Mother Rat's children
he, himself, prefers to keep that close limited to just out of arm's reach
attention is still on whatever his packmate's answer may b....

.....

for one moment that may just translate into eternity
James. just. stares.
flicker of gaze away to reaffirm reality and that he's not dreaming this
and deep umber roofed by furrowed brows swings back to the Modi

no. he ain't joking.

and the answer really comes not even a heartbeat later
no matter how long it seemed to stretch in (... deadly....) silence

"Think I'm payin' a get'cher truck fix' s'm'ere else."

slow. controlled. soft as sin.
doesn't look like James is joking, either


(tristan)
Oh his timing is impeccable. It always has been, really. Decker takes his time, then straight (hahaha) to the point, and the boy chooses that point, exactly that point, to swing open the door and step inside the warehouse.

and stop.
and well, hand on the door as he just blinks, waiting for James’ reply to such a statement (if that wench gets him before I do..........) though he has a pretty good idea what it will be. That is his brother after all – and damn if his lips aren’t curling into something of a grin, and only after the (expected) reply comes does he let the door bang closed again.

Long strides carry him to ‘his’ shelf where he stows beloved violin, and then he’s peeling down to just jeans – t-shirt and boots and socks getting tossed into the pile that is NOT mammoth because he’s been slacking, but because they’re all sweating through everything almost faster then he can wash it.

To the cooler, the blessed holder of all things beer, nod up in passing to Decker, to James. And three beers grabbed once he arrives – two of which are summarily tossed, only after both are paying attention enough to catch them correctly and not spray them all with built up foam when they’re opened.

(decker)
Decker snorts, getting up to head for the icebox. There was precisely one heine left in there and he was taking it before Tristan showed up.

"What--" -- resettling across from James, slouched down almost horizontal on the old cloth-covered couch, "don't like her none?"

(james)
the Ahroun doesn't exactly seem to be paying attention to the lone beer arching through the air
or, in fact, the arrival of his kinsman altogether
dark eyes locked on and following the Modi from and back to the couch
but when the can starts drawing too close for comfort
right hand snaps up to snatch it out of the air
all the care with which it was aimed and tossed shot to shit as it's just dropped on the table
fucker'll probably detonate on whomever dares open it

"Like'r jus' fine."

(rumor)
Talk about impecible timing.
Enter streetrat.
Rumor. The troublemaker had managed to stay out of trouble thusfar. Not by any choice of her own.
Was told to stay put and had managed to do so.
Life had been as boring lately as watching paint dry. stay put.
But for the first time, people had given at least a partial fuck about her.
Of course the major vendetta on the freaks was cause they invaded James' den...but still...they had all been lookin out for her as well. Something she was not used to.
Enter Rumor.
Door closes behind her. Shaggy brown with red streaked hair falling over blue eyes...somehow she still managed to see.

3 steps in...relaxed..board in hand.
Decker, James, Tristan She stops and freezes. deer in the headlights

"I come at a bad time?"
Shed just as soon wander out on the streets if she didnt think shed end up finding trouble (or trouble finding her) somehow.

(tristan)
He opens his own beer and picks a relatively safe seeming patchwork stool, not made for comfort, but at least this one doesn’t try to stick metal pieces through his thigh. Lanky form folds, sits, beer tipped back (only one heine, but plenty of MGD thank you very much. On sale, even – and the boy doesn’t slack.)

Gaze drops toward the dropped beer, and there’s a shrug. swallow, once, twice, three times, then just. well. listen.

Gaze turns toward Rumor, and he shakes his head, standing once again and moving over to pull her into a quick hug, aaaaaaaaand move her toward the little kitchenette area. Not really far away, can still listen in – not steering her clear, either.... exactly. Just playing mom. “Nah, kiddo. Come on in – hungry?”

(decker)
He doesn't even glance up as Rumor enters, and Tristan speaks to her. His attention's focused on James right now: focused like a laser.

Though don't let that fool ya. Not like he's glaring or nothing. The Modi's still the Modi, in his usual state of laziness: slouched, head back against the back of the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, bare. The beer sweats in his hand. Earlier today it'd been a wonder condensation didn't just boil instantly, sizzling away to nothing.

"Fuck's tha problem then?" The bottle rocks on its pivot stuck in a gap in the cushions. "Ain't whorin', James. Roxy'll fix tha truck with 'r withoutcha. 'S jus' smoke."

Decker, the matchmaker. Whodathunk.

(rumor)
Hug from Tristan along with being veered towards wherever she was supposed to be.
Looks like kitchenette was the magic place at the moment...Eyes move to James...then Decker who she knew didnt like her much, but she didnt take it personally, so far she had noticed he didnt like anyone much. Tolerated a few, liked almost none. In fact she was certain his face would break into pieces if it ever saw a smile.

Voice almost a whisper to Tristan, to avoid being loud, obnoxious, boisterous nor annoying.

Quite a feat for the 15 year old. "always hungry, but im cool...no biggie" Eyes dart back to the 2 others and then back to Tristan. "Kineval around? Or is he out gettin into trouble without me?" a smirk. She was joking...obviouosly...since she was not allowed to find trouble as of late.
that didnt mean trouble didnt find her regardless

(tristan)
“He’s on patrol” Chuckled with a wink, before he gestures to the cooler. “grab yourself a drink. I’m hungry too – so I’ll whip us up something, and you can help.”

Both of them getting into trouble without him, as well as Roxanne, it’s a wonder the pretty boy hasn’t worried himself right on into a stroke, you know? But he takes it, like he does everything.

He grabs a pan and nods to the cooler. “Grab the eggs, cheese and that keilbasa, will ya?” bowl grabbed as well as he flips the switch on the little electric grill and starts it heating up.

(james)
carrying on in the general scheme of things
Rumor's arrival is either pointedly ignored or doesn't even register
right now the Gnawer's world has tunnelvisioned down to the occupants on the two couches
Decker's deceptively lazy slouch and drawl
James' half-sprawl doing little to cover the fact he's coiled tight as a snake ready to strike

it's the raggedyman's turn to draw out his share of silence

"Yeh really gotta ask?" the words should have come out softer, raw edge disappearing into something else that's shadowing deep earthen eyes, lurking in places the guttermutt just doesn't let show anymore because the ferocity sheilding it is simply too strong "Fuck you."

gravity finally finds her victory
but it's his eyes that slam towards the ground
frustration's rising growl physically shaken away
maybe he's trying to talk himself out of something
but that conclusion isn't granted a chance to surface, either
since that would be when the Ahroun's standing and heading towards the door

(rumor)
[First] Theres the immediate reaction when Rumor catches glimpse of him. James. Its always a first reaction. Different then when she sees Kemp and is relaxed and normal. This one was more the ohmygodlookathimteeniebooperwetpanties reaction. Quick gaze to the dreadlocked BG Elder.
Heart races..cheeks flush but only slightly. It is an instant that feels like forever.
However in real time the whole reaction is about 5 whole seconds. Mostly hidden. Except to perhaps Tristan who usually could get a quick tease in to her about it.
Like a splash of cold water coolin off the initial reaction...fuck you barks out of James's mouth and he is up and heading towards the door...The words assist in splshing her back to reality and to the present.
And the streetrat is right back to her regular self.

Mannn she would have been there (roxys garage) every day this week had Roxy asked her to. Itchin to get into that garage and help out. Passionate in fact. But Roxy had to go play wyrmkiller 2004 and who knows what had happened since the last phone call...
And she fuckin gave up the shitty job for the perfect opportunity to help out in a garage.

Attention drawn from whatever was going over there (dispite curiosity), back to Tristan...

"Huh?"
pause...and a nod. "oh Kemp...patrollin for girls in tights shirts and mini skirts im sure" she chuckles (but doesnt really find it all that funny) and begins to gather the items called out to her.

Kemp was a whole other frustration...not even worth thinking about at the present time.

And now tension building...wasn't hard to predict when one big-ass furry Rage Filled beast says Fuck You to another, it certainly wasnt going to end with the Brady Bunch ending...well not without some good ol Violence or something thrown in there.

(decker)
Decker doesn't bother moving. He takes a slow swig of beer, and pauses only briefly when James speaks up (fuck you.) Finishes his sip as the Gnawer gets up to go. Lowers the bottle. Recaps it, precariously.

Coolly, even offhandedly, "Y'ain't a Garou, James. Yer a fuckin' puppy."

On that word, motion incarnate. He coils up out of his sprawl and folds over and his arm swings in a vicious downward arc that leaves the beer bottle, the very last heineken, smashed on the concrete. One instant later, half, he's on his feet, facing James' retreating back. From the tension in his body, the quivering intensity of his muscles all bunched and readied, he should shout after his packmate.

He's totally silent. The storm rages within, crackling out of his eyes.

(tristan)
Oh he sees the look, and if he weren’t so worried for his brother at the moment, there would certainly be the teasing she expects. puppylove – so cute. instead, however, dark eyes snap over to the couch [fuck you. ]

Decker falls into motion that’s faster then anything the kin has seen before – save possibly in his brother. hands fall still, waiting for the items, and with one step he’s more between rumor and the bristling rage then he was before. Unconscious, that, but it’s automatic. Protect the younger ones. He’s caught enough brunts of such rage to know he can take it much better then the kiddo – no matter how tough she thinks she is.

Calmly, however, he takes the items from her hand, and sets them on the counter. Those eyes, though, tell an entirely different story.

(rumor)
She doesnt play tough
Nor does she think she is. If there were a back door shed be patrollin for Kemp...or walking up the riverfront..or practicing ollies on curbs.
Anything but staying here.
However there were 2 raging Garou between her and the door.
The only escape.
puppy love it wasnt. Admiration mixed with hormonal drooling perhaps.
The puppylove crush was more for someone else, but shed be the last to admit that even to herself.

Smmash And alas broken glass she or Tristan would soon be cleaning up.
Oh God please dont let them shift...beat each other up is fine, but not shift...please not shift
Most of the kin she had met had been all Disneyland about seeing Garou shift into anything big and hairy. Not her. She didnt like it. Fuckin freaked her out to all hell. She wasnt used to it, nor did she enjoy seeing it.
Hearing the noises as flesh and bone change and crack morphing into the fuckin wolfman.

No fuck that...she'd rather take whats behind door #2..But lucky for her there was no door number 2, in fact, she got to be first row for this one, like it or not.
Silent. Not a word. She makes her way further back into what was the small kitchenette.

She sees Tristans eyes and her heart begins to race...fuckkk meeee just Dont Let Them Shift

(james)
the very. last. precious. heineken smashes to pieces on the concrete
one of the more energetic glass shards catching up to where James had pulled up short
dark, dark eyes contemplating it a moment as the chilling silence carries on
waiting a good goddamned long time with his back still turned
blatantly ignoring acute knowledge of just what it is that waits behind him

dim glow of christmas lights play hazzardous games across jet black scars
flickering changes encouraging talon slashes to grow into the roving strands of dangling dreads
acid-dream hallucination crawling over skin barely restraining something that grows volcanic

if history is written in the pattern of vicious scars
curious to think what mark tonight will leave

for all the storm's raging power waiting for the Gnawer to turn
expectation anticipates some sudden atomic burst of violent action
which makes the actual reaction seem practically anticlimatic
all that happens is enough of a pivot so that James can look back across a shoulder

".... really think 'm stupid 'nuff a letcha bait me twi'e?" a grin surfaces here, slashing crooked scythe in a way that ... well ... isn't quite right "'n if y'r g'nna insul' me... do i' righ'. Wor's Charach.."

death sentence it may be, the Ahroun turns away for a second time
(... and Decker knows he never. ever. turns away from pack... they mean more than anything to James)
resuming his route towards and on out the door
whatever else there is to come of this
pretty obvious the guttermutt's not about to deal with it infront of an audience

(decker)
There's part of him -- a good part -- that wants nothing more than to put on his wolfskin and leap to the attack. No holds barred. No mercy allowed. Destroy the weakness or it will destroy you. Same damn thing that was taught to him, beaten into him, from Day One as a garou.

It's one thin thread that holds him back; but then, it's only the thinnest red cord that binds Fenris. An unspoken argument. An unvoiced line of reasoning that James, perhaps, hasn't even touched upon in his own mind.

If it were you, and she were yours, your woman, Imogen...
The rest need not even be thought.

So,
so.

He lets the Gnawer go, silent with an effort until the door shuts. Only then, a bark of a sound, a grunt, words not quite formed gritted out between his teeth -- he crunches over broken glass, shoots Tristan a short, angry look, grabs a hunk of kielbasa and retreats to his own privacy, out back, in his new shed.

Posted by james at June 15, 2004 12:00 AM