June 19, 2004
.06.19.04. - interesting handshake [imogen-rumor-kemp-snake] *p

[riverfont]

(james)
awfully quiet in the factory, indeed
save the water shutting off from the far-side bathroom
the door creaking open
and a form literally shuffling out of the darkness

it's James
and if Kemp's bruising hidden by shadows hadn't been indicative enough of last night's battle
the Gnawer's shape surely fills in any possible blanks
making rather slow progress towards the group in the more formal domestic area
(beer. there is beer. somewhere.)
it's clear enough the raggedyman's still in a world of pain

towel's bunched up over the lower left of his abs
not doing as good a job as possible in soaking up the blood seeping out of naaaasty gash
top of one of the few remaining pairs of unstained pants the Ahroun owns.... well.... joining the club
there's a scattering of other dark marks and wounds in various stages of healing
but the worst of it's his belly, putting that hitch in slow step


(rumor)
She glances back over her shoulder. Due to the lack of ligthing currently in the dark factory, she doesnt really notice much of the bruising or damage done to the Garou.
Plus if she looked at him in the sheet too long, he would begin spouting off comments, and she had learned the tricks to avoid Kemp-comments.

"Just didnt want the slurpee to melt into grape goo"
Sitting down on a nearby chair, in between where Imogen is standing, and Kemp is sleeping...now waking.

(kemp)
"Thanks." Mumbled while reaching for the slurpee before the opening bathroom door got his attention. Wincing with the sight of James. His own wounds had been enough to knock him clean out till Cliona came along. He was fortunate, he'd been mostly healed, but James, oh that hurt to look at. He'd been there, done that one before, it was never fun. "Oh man, you need to lay down."

(imogen)
"I see yeh survived," noted in Kemp's direction, as he starts to wake up, a brief questioning lift to her eyebrow as she hooks her thumbs in her belt loops and attention drifts toward the shambling gait of the raggedy man, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. Her hip rests against the table-come-counter as she looks him over, the blood soaking the pale hue of the towel.

The doctor makes no move to assist, though adding, "considerably better than some," to her previous comment to the cliath rotagar.

(rumor)
Water shuts off. And in comes James.
As his form becomes more visable Rumor smiles and is about to speak when the little bit of light shows off the condition of the Gnawer.

towel. blood. slow progress.
No time for her even to react in the way she would have normally if the raggedyman was to appear from a recent shower...

Hey Rumor...welcome to the after battle scene
Her jaw drops only slightly, not used to seeing the recently battled wounded.

She probably looked a little shocked, fingers tightening around the slurpee cup so she doesnt absently drop it to the floor..

Kemps words make her head turn from the gaze at the raggedymess approaching and once Imogen speaks it all fits together like a puzzle.

"Shit..." Eyes bounce back from James to Kemp, like if she was watching a tennis match. Words not coming as quickly...

Imogens eyebrow can speak sentences, and her words always so few, but gets the point across. Much better then the mouth diarhea of many.

"Shit..." she repeats..but nothing else really comes out other then 'shit'

(james)
by the time he arrives at the island of domesticity
left arm reaches out to brace on the back of the couch
diamond cut lines of tendon and muscle hidden by the crisscross of welted gash
using the grip to support his weight in a moment's rest
(while the world decides to take it's dear, sweet time stopping the spin....)
lopsided grin showing up best it can past split lip swelling

"Maybe I should've 'ccpted those pads...."

it hurt to look at, allright, it even sounded agonizing
normally smooth tones grating out of his throat
(they all knew he didn't intend to survive last night)
about as liquid as the halting gate finally making it around the couch
(must have been some Grace of Gaia that put him back on her earth this day)

coordinating a lay down would hurt entirely too much
but there's little choice in the matter beyond collapsing to sit
caustic look readied to shoot back at the good Doctor and glance at Rumor lost in a moment of blinding white
as that... was a serious.... mistake.....

(breath, Jamey-boy, remember to breath)

(kemp)
"Yeah well, I was fortunate and Cliona used her gifts to heal me up. Before that, I was sorta, well, all I remember was getting home run hit off the fuckin roof and flying dowards the ground. Then my arms nearly popped off when Yu Gan caught me before I hit. And then well, we were flying up again and heading for the fucker and then we hit." A twitch of limbs almost sending the cup flying.

(rumor)
She listens to Kemp. To her, its like hearing something out of a movie or a comic book. It doesnt seem real.
this was when she had to keep herself in check. For it was normal behaviour when one hears of someone they care for falling off a roof to panic a bit.

But this was not 'normal'. This was the life of a Garou in battle. A battle she didnt even know had happened.
Now she is up off the chair and moving to the matress next to his.

James on the couch, bleeding and trying to 'heal' or stop the room from spinning...
Imogen still in the same place she was. Sitting on 'her' (borrowed) matress she takes a closer look at the sheet covered Kemp. Head tilting slightly glad there wasnt red soaking through the sheet, that was a good sign, right?
"Y'need anythin?"

(katja marijanovic)
Katja walks along the river, alone, watching the dark waters splash against the concrete shores. The fishy, slimy smell doesn't seem to bother her whatsoever.

(snake)
Decker told her to stay at the warehouse for awhile.
From ear to brain to comprehension, it had translated somewhere along the lines
...to the parking lot out the back.

From inside a modified camper van [click. click. click. click.]
She was finally starting to rouse.
...And hurt all over again.
(what a bloody wonderful way to start a night...)

Of course, it could be worse...
She could be dead.
(are you sure living is the better alternative?)
Currently, it didn't seem like living was all that much fun.

Liquid beverage was definately required.
Only, a lackthereof currently negated the ability to fill said requirement.
Not good. Definately not good.
(tremors)

Out of the camper, round the way.
(Decker said to Knock -- his territory, his rules)
So, she did.
A hand curled into a fist smacked against one of the warehouse doors.
Bang. Bang. Bang.

Never one for subtle touches, apparently.


(rumor)
Knock knock knock
The factory door being pounded on once more. A glance towards Imogen. All this was a lot for the 15 year old girl to take in. First of all, it seemed most of the kin around this city was accustomed to just 'accepting' Garou with guts hanging out and stories of Garou flying off the roof.
Rumor however, was not one of them. She was terrified of the formori she had heard about. She wasnt comfortable watching wounded people in the process of healing with their guts hanging out. She wasnt used to the whole garou life cause she had managed to not really be in it for so long. This was all new. A strange feeling coming over her...her stomach slowly twisting into knots.
oh yeah...door

A glance over to Imogen, James was not in any shape to be answering the door..actually he was in no shape to be walkin at all in her mind. But what does she know, shes no doctor...but ya didnt need a degree to see he should probably stay put.
"Want me to get that?"

(imoten)
Perhaps she is numb to the injuries of Garou and humans now, having seen all the possibilities in stark hues of garish red against flesh, ripped tendons, seared muscles and exposed fatty tissues. Or perhaps it is simply that she has been injured before that makes her slightly more controlled about it. Or her career.

Or, perhaps she simply has no compassion. She watches James's slow progress, features caught in the impenetrability of her expression - which is to say she has none. Kemp speaks. Gaze shifts.

She considers Kemp through his story, but perhaps absorbs none of it for the details he offers. And even that gaze breaks as Snake bangs on the door. For a moment, she just looks. She doesn't live here.

Then again, James is on the couch, unable to even glare at her properly, and Kemp is likely naked (so what else is new?), and Rumour is... Rumour. "I'll get it."

Hand presses against the table upon which she leans for balance as she straightens and walks over to depress the hand and start to pull it open, her other hand at her back, thumb hooked at the waist of her jeans, half hidden beneath the fall of her jacket.

(james)
"Leas' you 'memb'r how ya got 'ome...."

the words rumblegrating through frowning curl of split lip
anything after the BEEG FREAKIN' EVIL.... isn't really clear
towel lifted up in a moment's curiosity
(yep, still bleeding)
and pressed back against angry skin again
deep umber gaze swinging over towards the newest visitor

(kemp)
"I'm ok, James is the one that hurts, I got some help." He hurt, but he'd hurt a lot more if he hadn't had a lot of healing. Starting to get up with the knock, but since Imogen was heading that way, he could sink back down to sit with his bare feet nearly touching Rumor. Sucking on the slurpee with just the occassional jerking of muscles. "Hey, how's my hair?" Just now starting to wonder if he ended up with a fro from being fried.
"Yeah, I was lucky. Man I thought we lost you. Thought maybe I'd see you shitted out the other end of something on the way down, but things were going past so fast. And ya know what? My life didn't flash before my eyes. That's a crock of shit."


(snake)
She had propped herself up with a forearm against the wall beside the door.
Her head dropped down and weight distirbuted on one leg.
(what I wouldn't give for...)
Circles around her eyes to give a racoon a run for it's money, you'd think she hadn't slept.
A hand (tremors) lifted to snag the mess of blonde hair and pull it back...
...only to have it fall back as soon as she let go.

She scratched at the back of her neck, face taunt as musculature pulled uncomfortably.
She lifted black eyes, barely rimmed with a line of husky blue, and stared at Imogen.
An uneasy feeling permeated the air, wrapped around her like a wet blanket.
Expression blank for a moment as she stared at Imogen
...and then recognition finally set in through the haze.
(the chick with Decker the other night... right.)

"Services rendered if ya'll have coffee," she said to the red-head.
Whatever the hell that meant.
She looked comparative to death warmed over.
Which wasn't all that surprising, given the night (and the sleep afterwards).

(imogen)
Compared to Snake, she is the embodiment of health. Fatigue is etched tangibly across her features, almost bruise-hued underscores beneath her eyes. But she is still standing. She is unwounded. She was obviously, no where near the fighting last night.

Her eyes are dark blue and stares back with directness almost unknown to kinfolk, which must be what she is. The heat of her breeding is like an aroma, but without the rage to accompany it, it defines her, even as the slender woman lifts an eyebrow in a brief question, before glancing over her shoulder in James's direction -- in time to see the curious lift of the towel, an abrupt flick of her gaze toward the wound, and back up toward his face, "There's a woman out 'ere that knows Rohl. Wants t'know if yeh have coffee."

(james)
somewhere, in the twist of features begetting his inner turmoil is a moment of levity
dark eyes slanting open and casting somewhat amused glance at his packmate

" Yeh? Thought you los' me, too." accent and slur coming out more of a mumble, but within it, there's the chuffed breath (.....ooof.) that evolves into a short effort at laughter "Ya fi'teen..... what three hour epic you 'spectin' a see?"

and that attention meanders towards Imogen at the door
(fooooocus. Jamey-boy)
head tilting to throw dreads out of the way
in a very.... careful, non-jarring manner....

"'zit Snak'?" a beat. a breath. a wince. "Yeh, lett'r in."

(rumor)
Thank God for Imogen. Cause she probably wouldnt be able to get up and get the door right now anyways. The stories begin to spill.
She closes her eyes for a moment. Waiting for her stomach to settle and re-gain her bearings. She didnt wanna look like a fuckin wimp.

Eyes finally open as Kemp inquires about his hair. Leaning over she tossles it a bit. But she is moving on auto-pilot. She isnt really there right now. Most of her energy being spent on not barfing on Kemps lap.

"its better now" the hair. Moving back away after tossling it briefly.
Eyes move to the new arrival. Stranger to her, but that doesnt mean anything. Autopilot on, keeping her from vomiting and also keeping her pretty much -present- at the moment.

Although the words and stories being ping ponged around are more background noise then actually right there. Something about knowin they all coulda died just makes her feel uncomfortable. Even scared. She never had no one before. But once James had explained to her about kin, pack, family.
'ALWAYS' He had said. And it stuck in her head. She now realzies how quickly Always could end.

Autopilot sending her hand to Kemps leg closest to Rumor and fingers just rest on his calf momintarilly.
She was gonna say something...'glad you didnt die' 'glad you made it alive' something along those lines...but no words could really not sound STUPID.
So she sits there. Battling the idea she may vomit with the scent of woudned in the air. Hand resting on Kemps calf as she glances around and re-assesses the whole thing.
Then realizing her hand is on Kemps calf. She pulls it quickly back to her lap. Just what she couldnt handle right now was his spouting off about girl-cooties. Truthfully she was just greatful he and James were not dead.

(snake)
She dropped forehead to the forearm laid across the wall beside the door.
She had one eye rolled to look at Imogen, but she seemed to tired to deal with Imogen's staring.
(seems fitting that Rohl would have a bitch with backbone around...)
She clenched and unclenched a fist at her side, shaking it unconsciously.
Tremor.

She let Imogen ask the question back over a shoulder.
And heard the faint resounding of James' voice from within in answer.

She flicked her hand again sharply and then lifted it to thumb her nose.
(Calloused) fingers dropped to scratch at the bandages at her neck...
The rough-shod plaster tape around the pink-red-white gauze pulling away, curling down.
The make-shift bandages went stuck on (some at strange angles) down her neck, and onto her chest aways.
To compensate for the bandages (and weather) she sported just a sports bra, jeans, and boots.

"Tha' a yes?" she asked the red-head.
She wasn't gonna go pushing her way in.
She had some manners.
She just didn't indulge in them often.
Someone else's house and you go by their rules.
Even if it meant standing on a street with your (ruined) back to the world.

(rumor)
This was like watching a movie. Not even a well written one. No in fact this was like watching one of those straight to video B rate werewolf movies. Another wounded enters. A factory of wounded. A gut wound cant smell pretty, even after being washed out. Its a GUT wound for fucks sake.
Like watching a movie. Only she was in the room, and everything was real. Her stomach flip flopping..thank God she hadnt hit the diner for chili fries before coming here. At least so far it was Imogen, Kemp and James. (and this new stranger) Cause if Decker had been here, shed surely barf. Decker scared the hell out of her, and even after meeting him 4 or 5 times, he probably only acknowledged her presence with a grunt or a nod -if that-.

Kemps words are heard. But she doesnt answer. Perhaps cause she is on autopilot watching the B Rate movie and wondering what dismantled thing was going to enter next.
That was after the newest visitor.

Silent her hand is back on Kemps calf, whether its to steady her, or just cause it was the closest thing to hold onto.

(james)
the one thing about gut wounds - they smell nice and purty
unfortunately, James' eyes have closed
and his head's resting on the pillow of dreads
so he's not exactly up on noting Rumor's reaction to exposed wound

he's also, decidedly, not getting up to show where the coffee is

best reaction is lifting arm not holding the towel on his gut and pointing towards makeshift shelves
somewhere, in there, with help from various spirits, would be the coffee
finding the pot and plugging it in a whole other ordeal
(luck be with you, young soldier)

(kemp)
The look on Rumor's face wasn't a good thing to see, not when he was close enough to get barfed on. Reaching up with a popping of his shoulder to push her face in the other direction with his fingertips. "If ya harf on me, I am so gonna harf back."

(imogen)
"Rumour," the kinfolk has a european accents of sorts, from some manner of british or colonial roots, "I'm goin' t'go and smoke. Did yeh want t'come and get some air?"

Enough of this harfing business.

(rumor0
Her hand moves from his leg and her face pushed to now once more look around the room.

Coffee. She could do that. "Coffee" she says. Just one word. One word she could manage out. Pushing herself to her feet she moves towards the kitchenette. It was all just background noise anyways right now. BAckground noise and a rancid bloody gross gut like smell.
How the HELL could Imogen just sit there like it was nothing.
Now that was a talent.
Woosy but ok shemakes her way to the coffee maker.
Water.
Coffee.
Pot.
Plug...pour...
pause as she takes a deep breath, as the coffee begins to brew the smell briefly covers the smell that had been lurking in the factory. Momintarily she is feeling better. "Should be done soon enough" to the one she is now figuring is "Sna'" and she heads back to the matress sitting back down. Quick glance at Kemp. "Not gonna harf"

(snake)
She passed by Imogen when the door was opened to allow access.
Her back didn't look much better than her front.
With only the sports bra the mess of mass scarring was evident.
(like a slap in the face)
The skin was mottled and raised, a canvas of multilated flesh
From the main portion (upper back) it dribbled, wax-like, down in lines like a melted candle.
Till it vanished beneath the jeans.

Almost black eyes, showing only a faint line of husky blue around the edges, looked around.
Taking in the scene, the position of items, the placement of people.
Stance (natural) Paranoid and coiled like a proverbial snake waiting to strike.

She paused on James.
Staring at his stomach and the covering towel.
A drop of her head to the side, canted, and she sniffed the air a little.
Coffee and gut wound.
Interesting combination of aromas.

"How bad, -rhya?"
Yeah, she knew he was higher rank.
She probably was also well aware of his tribe.
But the suffic was there as well as the required respect for higher rank.

(james)
ah yes, collection of the wounded
it's a freakin' Garou tea party
not that far a stretch to think they spend most Saturday's like this
assessing damage, healing what they could, realizing who was still, in fact, alive
(grossing out Kinfolk)

it's only when the Ahroun hears Snake stop infront of him do deep umber eyes open
slits pausing a moment as three versions of the Get convene into one
(theeeere you are)
and he answers her question in a style true to form with those he's been packing with for almost two years
(gooooood timing Imogen)
muscle flexes through his arm and the towel lifts nonchalantly, things stick, gooey stuff spills, wound gapes, and, well....

that's gonna leave a serious mark

chin tips up, Eagle style, towards Snake
(You?)
diagnostics translated through comparision of injuries
James has learned many a thing in the past months
general Fenrir-speak is one of them


(imogen)
For those who cannot see Snake's back, they can assuredly see Imogen's gaze flick across the back, though beyond that, not much reflects.

Rumour responds, and Imogen inclines her head in a brief nod. "C'mon, then."

Back the way she came to exit out into the cool cloudy day, a hand reaching into her pocket for her cigarettes, holding the door to let Rumour exit first. The brief addition to the smells in the room, the heightened smell of a gut wound draws her attention briefly. A frown forms, briefly, a line between coppery brows, part at that, part, perhaps, preoccupation. And she follows Rumour out the door, having offered the girl her escape.

(rumor0
Turning back over her shoulder at Kemp.
"I'll grab ya all some pizzas" Oh yeah, food. Normally the kinfolk could eat her own weight at a meal. thank god for her gnawer metbolism however right now, the idea of food was repulsive. But she had some cash, and there was a pizza joint not too far off. A couple a pizzas would make them happy for a little bit.
pizza the thought along with the quick glimpse of...ohmygod gooey stuff spilling from James's wound pushed the lump up her esophagus even more. She swallows hard to avoid any technicolor yawn. Making her way to the door following Imogen..once outside...she takes a big long breath of fresh air.
"Holy warzone in there" she coughs a couple of times. Fresh air could do that to ya. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...getting better now.

(snake)
Her chin lifted almost imperceptably back at Kemp.
Before her attention slid back to Gnawer, who had his eyes open again.
She looked under the lifted towel.
A slow nod of her head.
(Impressive)
Assessing and categorizing the damage.

As for herself (her health)?
She made a low gutteral grunt in her throat in response to his silent Fenrir-speak (heh)
The tail end of the wound up the side of her neck, exposed by peeling gauze, gaped and pulled a little.
Moved by the contraction of muscles used to make the sound.
Obviously she'd felt worse in the past.

The feeling of being partially cooked (electrocuted), though, was a new sensation.
She held out a hand in front of her and to one side.
It had a fine tremor, muscle twitching and unable to remain still.
The same red welts and grazing formed around either wrist.
She grunted again, hitched a shoulder in a shrug, hand dropped back down.

"Should get tha' tended ta," she told the Gnawer, "Ain't gonna be no good till it's healed."
A rule learned young by all Garou: you're no good in a fight if you are still recovering from the last one.
And she was paranoid enough to expect a fight every second day (at best).

(imogen)
She glances up toward Rumour, her gaze shifting as she sinks to sit on one of the steps to the dilapidated porch, the rotting wood creaking under her minor weight.

"Yes," she agrees and must seem unnatural, the self containment.

Zippo procured, she lights up with a flick of her thumb, drawing in cigarette smoke to her lungs, the ember drawing brighter as she inhales, glancing up at the coughing kin.

(kemp)
Food was good. Though the shade of green Rumor was turning, was kinda cool in a sick sort of way. Getting up, dragging the sheet with him like some bad toga party reject. "Dude, that is soooo sick." Leaning in to look beneath the towel on James's stomach. "Cool, that's gonna leave a mark." And he was straightening. Two pendants swinging back to strike his chest with the motion of straightening. "Hey, twinkies!" Holding his hand out towards Snake when his fingers started jumping. "Damnest thing, almost pulled my dick off when I took a piss cause my hand started jerking. Well, not jerking. I mean, sure I jerk, but not while taking a piss, ya no?"

(snake)
For a moment she was just staring at Kemp.
She didn't a raise an eyebrow (not being so multi-talented)
But the expression was comparatively the same as if she did.
(...twinkies?)

"Migh' wanna leave off tha jerkin' till ya know ya won't pull it off," she replied.
Bland tone to match the expression.
She reached up and scratched at the diagonal scars ragged across her upper arm.
Old wounds. Old life.

(james)
there's a nod - in part to assess Snake's damage and agree with her thoughts
(Tell me about it....)
then the Gnawer's amusement at Kemp's mangled explanation makes it through half a laugh
a real. genuine. laugh.
followed by real. genuine. pain.

ho. lee. chit.
(keep breathing, Jamey-boy)

"Kick me th' med box."

aimed at the young Rotagar, since he seemed so inclined to inspect the wound - might as well help patch it up
cause it's not doing anyone any good ripping back open evertime he inhales

(rumor)
Coughing fit done now. She had made it out of there and now the greenish hue to her face was mostly gone.
Even the smoke from Imogens cigarette was more inviting then the smell from inside the factory.

She walks down the steps and realizes the board was left inside. No worries, pizza joint wasnt too far. "Gonna get pizza...you wanna come...or naw?"
She knew Imogen had just helped get her outta there before she hurled. And the look of appreciation couldnt be missed on Rumors face. "Won't be long.."

(kemp)
"Hey, I can play nurse, but I ain't wearing one of them little white dresses. I ain't got the ass for it." Turning to get the what worked for a firstaid kit for them. Cracking the box open to start pulling things out. "Oh, got some of that shit that bubbles on ya and some of that red shit and oh cool, look, duck tape!"

(snake)
She looked between Get and Gnawer, back and forth a little.
At least the Gnawer seemed to have a sense of humor.
Of course, she lacked one enough to make up for it.
Or maybe the time just didn't seem appropriate.

At the mention of the Med. Box her eyes slice to the Gnawer fully.
The pupils that had almost oil-black drowned the iris were receeding.
Slightly.
There was more of the husky blue visible.

"Ken help," she stated, "Am a Godi."

(james)
what worked for a first aid kit was a tool box
appropriately red and stuffed with "borrowed" supplies from various places
there's a careful lean to inspect what it is Kemp's all too enthusiastically pulling out

"'s pov'done sal'...." waiting until the right container's held upon high, holding the all-purpose fix-it goo able to be kiped from any neighborhood medical supply center.... if you have the right key " 'n should be s'me suture stuff un'er th' gauzewrap 'n tape.... 'n grab th' T3 bottle fr'm the bottom....."

then a brow lifts towards Snake's offer
head tips, allowing dreads to slipslide over his shoulders
then there's an affirming nod for her to do what she can

"'ppreciate it. All I c'n do 'z sew it close' so I c'n quit leakin'."

(kemp)
"I'm telling ya, don't need to sew, I got duck tape." Sitting back to fart around with the medical supplies while waiting to see what Snake could do for James.

(snake)
She dropped her head to one side (pop).
Then proceeded to do so for the other side.
A hitch (twitch) of her shoulders, silent reply.
Whatever. No problem. -- or something along those lines.

She squatted down in front and to one side of the seated Gnawer.
Weight balanced on the balls of her thick booted feet.
Standing she'd been just over 5'10" -- hard to tell, really, how old she was.
She gestured to the towel over his gut, grunting (move it).
She thumbed her nose slightly, cracking her knuckles (hand tremors).

She waited till the towel was out of the way.
Staring at the extent of the wound.
Another faint noise was expelled under her breath.
Her lip curled back slightly from her teeth, nostrils flaring.

She pulled the shock of blonde hair back from her face.
(The snake tattoo, twisted and winding up her neck and onto the jaw, exposed.)
The hand continuing the movement to scratch at the thick scars on her back.

"Sit still."
Her only direction, grunted and blunt.
She was twitching enough that she didn't need him to add his own.

And soon, hands were pressed (onto) -- almost into -- the gut wound.
Palms dyed to blood red, the smell of stomach wound stronger.
A huff of breath and she half closed her eyes.
(james)
sit still.
hands moving towards the now exposed, leaky wound
and she asks him to sit. still.
(there's no question she's related to Rohl, now, is there?)
too bad it hurts too much to laugh
else James would, really

but instead, he's hissing a wince as flesh burns injury
rush of blood falling to stain the waistline of BDUs
that being the extent of his clothing
it's not hard to see the ridges of muscle tensing reactionary steel

this is gonna suck.

(snake)
to James: [1 WP for RP. Then 1 Gnosis for MT, 1 WP for autosuccess]
to James: 2D10 Dice Roll: 6; 3 - 2 sux
to James: 4D10 Dice Roll: 9; 10; 4; 6 - 3 sux


(decker)
These days he slept out back, in the shed he'd built himself. Sometime this morning, after throwing Mo'da'gos' body to the Maelstrom, he'd vanished in there. The door had shut; the flimsy padlock, more for show than for purpose, had snapped shut. In there he'd remained.

The sun tracked its way across the sky. East to south to west. And now, setting, the lock snaps open again. The door creaks out, heat rushing out. The inside of the shed is sweltering. Outside the heat lingers still, no longer fierce but heavier, settled upon the face of the earth. Humid. The sun's westering rays cast the plains in shades of purple and grey. The smallest hills become mountains. At midday these lands seem limitless, without feature. At twilight: different.

The shed faces west. He, yawning, slumps heavily against the shabby wall, the plywood caving inward under his weight. Might think it'd collapse inward, but that's not the work of a Fenrir. The shed's not pretty. It's ugly as sin. But it'll hold through hell and high water, even if it leaked rain on the bad days.

Roughened hands rub over his face as though to scrub sleep from it. They pass down over muscled torso, yanking the wifebeater shirt down into place from where it'd twisted in his long nap in short, thoughtless tugs, skimming just as thoughtlessly the places where the jolt of electricity had scorched his skin and the flesh beneath.

A taste of true strength.
...or something like that.

He straightens. Not much longer the back door of the factory crashes open. It's like he's always angry -- and in a way, he is. But that's not intentional. His strength is not intentional.

One hand behind his shoulder scratching at the edge of his shoulderblade, he blinks in the darkness of the factory's interior. Shadows swimming in darkness take shape. He looks over the inhabitants without surprise, without pleasure or displeasure -- without much at all. His greeting is something like a grunt. Then he passes to the edge of the living area, digging a cold one out of the ice box.

(snake)
Her hands were almost literally inside James' stomach.
Stained with blood (and other gooeyness), slick and fresh.
The aroma of gut wound and coffee permeated the air thickly.

A small bead of sweat courses down from forehead to cheek.
The salty drop hangs, quivering from her chin and then finally falls.
She is staring almost balefully at the wound.
Slowly, the wound seems to start to come together.

She continues to glare, hands pressed to flesh.
A grit of her teeth, a straightening of her back.

...and the rented flesh becomes whole again.
Blood left that which was already spilled, no more flowing.

She grunted from exertion, pulling her hands back.
She lifted one, barely turning it enough to swipe across her face.
She left a smear of blood over and under one dark eye.

"Done."

(james)
her hands were literally inside of James' stomach
well if that wasn't a how'dya do

she glared, he winced
and by all. that is HOLY. of GAIA.
it HURTS
he's sitting still as told
(you learn some awful nifty willpower tricks packin' up with Fenrir)
but the Gnawer is about ready to squirm out of his fucking skin
breathless by the time flesh has pulled back together beneath her touch

"Thank'."

breathless a good few moments after, too
there's a second towel laying on the couch beside him
that's held up in offering to clean her hands
deep umber eyes lingering on the chaffed marks and welts about her wrists
curious..... but it seems the Fostern's learned his lesson about asking
apparently that's her story to tell

(kemp)
Barely looking up from his inspection of the goodies he had in the firstaid kit. The slamming of the door and the grunt could mean a hundred things with Decker. He was pissed, he was happy, he just got laid, he was in the process of getting laid, good fairy pissed on his head, any number of things.

(rumor)
Now this was a much better smell. The smell permiating from the 2 large boxes in her hands. 2 Boxes containing hot double cheese and lots of topping covered pizzas. Walking back to the factory, and good timing too, thank God she hadn’t walked in a few minutes before to see anyones hands inside anyones gut.

Pizzas and a 6 pack of coke. Sure it wasn’t beer, but this 15 year old couldn’t acquire beer. Nor did she drink, so she didn’t think about it. The bottom of the boxes heating up her forearms, but it wasn’t a far walk.

Stepping up the steps, Imogen no longer out there…could be anywhere, inside or gone. She leans up against the door and manages to balance the pizzas as she swings the factory door open.

“Hey I got the pizza—“ and she stops. Not cause James was being healed up on the couch, not cause Kemp was walking around like a toga party reject. No, it was the sight of Decker. That one fuckin scared the shit out of her, and not for any specific reason except he wasn’t the friendliest of folk. She sets down the 2 large steaming boxes and moves quietly to the mattress next to Kemps, without another word.

(snake)
If she registered that she was hurting him at some point, it didn't show.
He managed to sit still and that was commendable.
Most people would have at least made a yowl of pain.
Having someone poking at red raw wounds wasn't a fun past time, after all.

She took the towel with a grunt that almost mimicked Deckers own greeting.
Could have been a thank you, an acknowledgment, or bile caught in the back of her throat.
She swiped her hands across of it.
Most of it came off, but a good scrubbing was probably in order.
She also swiped it across her forehead where she'd left a trail of blood from her fingers.

"'s'all good," was her only verbal reply.
She hitched her shoulders again slightly, without the grimace that would have come earlier.
Long muscles under the jeans, toned without being bulky, bunched and stretched as she stood back up.
She reached around and scratched at the mass of (melted) skin on her back.
And stepped several feet away.
Her Rage more evident than it had been prior, the cauldron bubbling barely contained behind her eyes.

[cont'd]

Posted by james at June 19, 2004 12:00 AM