June 19, 2004
.06.19.04. - uncomfortable silences [roxy]

[riverfront - cont]

(kemp)
"Woohoo baaaabbbeeee!" The salute brought another jerking dance from him. Hips thrusting at the air, one hand over his crotch. "Loves me most!" Wiggling his brows at Rumor. "That was secret code for we got a date later." Then sobbering with a blink with what was coming out her mouth. "Say what? Oh man, don't tell me that shit. Now I'm gonna have bad dreams about chicks with dicks."

(tristan)
Question: Just what does a pretty boy kin do until 1am in the morning?
Answer: None-ya. As in none-ya-bizness.

Of course, being as he’s currently holding a bottle, and his walk is a little less then straight (.....heh.) and steady, and he’s also singing under his breath all Alanis style, it would certainly seem he decided to tie one on tonight.

But he’s all in one piece, hand tucked into the front pocket of his jeans, the other wrapped around the neck of a bottle better then half gone, the last bit of the walk toward the factory in progress.

(rumor)
Somehow the thought of you and Decker on a date is much more disturbing then chicks with dicks i must say" she smirks and she chuckles at the jerking dance. "that the tremors again?" Now she hops up on the wall herself and lets her legs dangle down. Pizza was almost all gone. M&Ms come out of her pocket and she rips the bag open...aiming at Kemp she waits for his mouth to open before she aims...


(roxy)
Contemplation.... Consideration..

"Hey, Danah, before ya go." Roxanne calls after the woman, as she pulls out her keys from her pockets. She unhooks a small ring key with a set of keys on it. "Free place to stay tonight. Cabinets filled with good beer. Cable on the television and the couch is rather comfy in the office," She dangles the keys up to the Glass Walker. "Mah second garage here in the riverfront.. It's roomier. Take it if ya want a place to sleep tonight. I'm not stayin' there tonight."

Roxanne looks back over at James briefly with a look. She breathes out in a quick sigh... loitering and cooling herself off with that beer bottle.

(kemp)
"No ya see, if it's got tits, it ain't suppose to have a dick too, unless it's neon purple and strapped on, or it's some old fat dude that just happens to have tits because he's fat." And then his attention is caught by Tristan coming up the street. "Oh man, mom's trying for liver cancer." Lifting his voice to call out. "Yo, that shit will make your dick fall off!"

(rumor)
She turns and spots Tristan comin that way. She cant help but chuckle and pops the m&m into her own mouth. "Neon purple strap on?" she blinks and shakes her head.."dude where are you gettin this shit from?"

(danah)
"Thanks," she replies. "Think I might find something a little closer though.." 24th street might as well be five miles right now. Its nothing but unrestrained force of will that's keeping her standing, walking, talking like nothing's even wrong at all. That's only going to last so long. You can only be so stubburon before even that fails.

Besides, who's gonna pay for it?

"Catch ya later." She turns, heads for the door, when Roxanne interupts her exit. Black eyes settle on her, and Danah nods once, holding up a hand indicative for Roxanne to just throw the keys. "Thanks.. I'll leave ya a present underneath your pillow sometime." And when the keys were handed over, Danah headed for the door. Never quite reaching it though. Somewhere between James and the door, Danah produces a small sliver of reflective surface (probably something Miriam snorted lines off of) and slipped across the Gauntlet, where she could crawl to Roxanne's garage.

(james)
keys jangle, and get the Gnawer's gaze up in time to see the breif, sighing look
head tipping some internal analysis of Roxy's offer after that initial look
(maybe he was overreacting....)
oh well, another month, and we'll see where the pack stands
one guttermutt holding his thoughts until Danah's disappeared across the gauntlet

that's when he has to pass the couch to grab a beer
which he does, but pauses en route
sweating can resting on the back arches of pillows
not even inches away from where white-knuckled palm had held his weight few hours before
keeping the furniture between himself and the peroxide fox
watching the condensating can instead of the kinfolk

"What's y'r dig with'er."

(imogen)
Decker's walking, and whether by design or otherwise, she can feel the prickle of his approach at her back that raises the hair on the back of her neck like hackles on a wolf.

Hard to say if rage feels different for each Garou, if there is a particular signature for each or if every one gave her the exact same coldspinerush from James to Decker to any Spiral with whom she'd had the misfortune of crossing paths.

Certainly, as she turns, a few feet from a street light that actually works, so she's backlit by yellow, features shadowed, it's quick enough to think she didn't know. A second passes, and she looks at him, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of her jeans.

(tristan)
Kemp calls and he lifts the bottle a little bit, a slight hitch in his steps as he waves to the kids, chuckling. A crooked grin sliding liquidly across his lips as he reaches down, grabs his crotch ala kemp’s favorite gesture (just who is corrupting who???) and then shakes his head. “Still there – safe to finish the rest of the bottle.”

Hand finds way into pocket again, ambling stride continuing that way, aiming for the door to the factory, singlemindedly, as well – any deviation is likely to send him tumbling at this point, still the notorious lightweight.


(rumor)
She looks over at Kemp..."Thinkin we should maybe help him get in to the factory or hes gonna be eatin pavement"
plus Deckers gone now and a few of the others, leavin only Roxy and James and maybe that one other chick

She grabs the 2 2 liters and the box..."may wanna go steady your mom" she smirks.

(decker)
When one follows another, it's typically setup for one of two situations.

One. The follower could hail the followed. Hey. What's up. Wait up. Catch up, walk with 'em. Two. The follower might be trying to keep unseen, upon which at some point, when the followed turns, there's a mad scramble to become unseen.

Not so in this case. He follows without calling out, and without meaning to. The thigh pocket on the left bulging with the can of beer, another one hanging from his right, his pace isn't hurried, isn't hurrying, isn't anything but his normal damn self. And when she turns he doesn't look away, or look abashed. His eyes are on her from moment one, right up until he catches up to her under the streetlight.

And a few steps before that, without pausing, he drops one shoulder and digs in his thigh pocket and pulls out the second beer. It's held out, arm's length, his torso turned to accommodate. Other men walked with their legs, moved with their arms. He did everything with his whole body, one muscle group compensating for another, counterbalancing.

"'Sup," he says. Second time that night. Light filtering down from above falls over his shortshorn hair, and casts shadows into the insets and hollows of his face. Close up, she can see the burn marks under the wifebeater, raised red welts spidering out from his hands, and the center of his mass, in a distinctly electric pattern. Under his lazy eyelids, his eyes always have an animal intensity - a spark of unsettling, searing interest somewhere far back in the grey. When he looks at her, it's always like he can't look enough.

(roxy)
Keys tossed at Danah as Roxanne watched her go. She pivots on her boot heels with a slight turn of her body, following the guttermutt with the intense gaze of cobalt-blue eyes.

Most of the wet condensation of Roxy's beer was on her throat and not the can itself, trying to keep herself cooled. She gives up that, pulling the can down and cracks it open. A few swigs drained as the metal rim kissed lush lips. She lowers it, to answer James.

"We both hate Leroy. She was the last member of the pre-split Knights in Dallas before some shitty disagreement took place. Danah can fight. She's a bitch with a mouth, but I'll give her that much. Not so subtle at times. Old packmates coming back to haunt me it seems.. as to her presence back in Chicago." Roxy rolls bare shoulder back in a shrug, stepping towards the couch.

She finds the spot previously occupied by Decker, perching down on the edge of it. Her elbows propped on her knees, as the low-riding pants slide down to mold over her ass tighter, exposing a wide amount of flesh and the weaver tattoo.

(rumor)
She hops down from the wall and moves towards Tristan..."Hey there hotshot...how bout we do a little practice walking here before we eat concrete" she giggles...
Takin Tristans arm and steadying him...
"Big night of partyin?"

(james)
"Yeh..... " words drift off to silence until it's broken by the snap of opening can, fizz hissing into the air between them - in another world he'd aim it at the Walker kin to aid in her cooling off, simple innocent jest... but this isn't another world anymore, now is it "... findin' mix' 'motions 'bout th' Knights."

shoulders heave in rolling shrug
dreads shifting their map across mini-mountain ranges of gnarled clawmark scars
hazy atmosphere of make-shift lights creating artistic havoc across his back
occasional highlight of the inks covering inner right arm
and now the new scar puckering skin across his abs before it disappears below BDU waistline
muzzling the lean stretch of skin assisting his knock back from the Bud can
(they are in desperate. need. of cooler restock.)

another silence
and this one is unlike most which the Gnawer can endure
he has little problem spending companies blanketed by silence
look at whom he packs with, for crying out loud
but this one..... this one's uncomfortable
filled with soundless narration of fidgeting fingers and things that need to but aren't quite said

at least the fidgiting fingers find occupation with pulling pack of smokes from his pocket
attention filled in the systematic lighting of Camel 99 with battered Zippo
hand stretches out to Roxy in habitual offer
even if he can't remember whether or not she smokes

gives him a little more time to build up towards asking the question, now doesn't it

(tristan)
That grin slides fond as he sees Rumor head his way, a quick glance at his kiddo who’s beating feet.... um. somewhere. Patrol. Something. And he hooks an arm around the girl and kisses the top of multicolored hair. “Well hey there, kiddo. Party o’one, at your service. Think I can’t walk, hm? I can walk in a straight line, honest...”

And for some reason that makes him laugh, shaking his head “Well, sorta crooked and sometimes at right angles, but that’s what a gayboi does best, after all. Aside from create general havoc and hey! My man is coming home soon, gonna find us a little fixer upper house to rend and shit, figure on having at least three bedrooms. One’s yours if you want it.”

Oh hey, look, a bottle! Lift to lips and tip it back... swallow swallow swallow and grimace. “Whew. yuck.”

(imogen)
She pauses as she is, while he closes the space between, her thumb unhooking from her belt loop as he holds out the beer, reaching out to take it from him, fingers closing around the cool aluminium, drawing it back as she looks him over. Closer now, she can see the marks of electrocution, much like Kemp suffered, the spidery red welts that she has seen before, but never on a living person. Her eyes trace out the marks without bothering to disguise the gesture, before her attention returns to his face.

"Th'usual," vague answer because he uses this as a greeting, more than a question. It's like how the british ask 'how do you do?' and in the northern states (such as here) it is 'how's it goin'?' all without ever really needing an answer.

Hands tender back strands of hair from her face, tilting her head at him briefly before flicking open the tab for the beer, and taking a step away, starting to turn back on her original path.

"Did yeh manage what yeh wanted, last night?"

(roxy)
"Lot's of mixed emotions about this band of Knights these days.. Love'em or hate'em. I prefer the latter.. in Midnight's case." She snorts softly, wrinkling up her face slightly. The scars visible upon the left side her face have long since worn down to thin white lines. Garou claw marks... scars fade eventually, quicker with a little cosmetic help. Could this woman be that vain to get rid of them completely? Fuck yes.

More scars ravished her body, the latest being the one across her own abs, hidden beneath the leather shell of her corset. The beer can touches her lips again, drinking away the silence while James grasped for questions.

"Beer's gettin' low I think." Hers was completely finished now, the empty can set aside on the junkyward wars reject coffee table... She turns slightly, reaching out to accept the offered pack of cigarettes and zippo. One taken, set between the full line of her lips, head cants down as the zippo flicks open, flame produced and burned to tobacco edge. She inhales deeply on the nicotine, feeling the rush of it through her veins. The lighter closes with a quick flick of her wrist, leaning back to stretch out her arm to return the pack and lighter.

(james)
James has definitely been hanging around the Modi too much
answering summation little more than a grunt
it could stand for anything, really: yes, no, you're right, okay, gee never thought of that before....
it could stand for nothing at all

"You fly I buy?" head tips, dreads swinging the other way "Could use s'methin' more uptown a Bud...."

that's when deep umber eyes finally look towards hers
maybe they catch breif interlude with dusky cobalt
momentary meeting of earth and sky
or maybe he just glances at the pack so he can grab it cleanly out of her hand

(rumor)
She laughs...se cant help it, Tristan was just too funny.
She shakes her head and nods with Tristans words...

"Hey i have nooo doubt you can walki also think you can as easilly fall, and i know you dont want that, fallin sucks" she grins as they walk towards the factory..

"ok...heres the lowdown...Factory really got full tonight...started out pretty normal...James was al boody, i caught a glimpse of his guts, thought i was gonna puke..."

Yes this was what Kemp would hear as Rumor buzzin...
Sometimes she would just get on a roll...
"This chick with a snake tatttoo came also, she managed to fix up James a bit...I went to get pizza, Decker was there when i got back....man somethin bout him, he just hates me although guess you cant hate what you dont remember..." she pauses..
"actually i dont know why he freaks me out so bad, he doesnt freak me out like now...when i think about him, its when hes RIGHT THERE...all of i sudden i forget and get freaked out again, i mean he is just so...wait, sorry i lost track of where i was...ok so i come back with pizza, james and Decker are kinda...well not fighting but it was gettin tense..Kemp n me head outside...Imogen was there too...anyways, like a zillion more people ended up showing up...last one i think was Roxy.." she points to the Nova.
"she paid me, wow she paid me good...i mean its really cool, im gettin these kick ass helmets for me and Kemp for the bike...oh and we've been fixin it up, Roxy n me, well mostly Roxy but ive gotton to help too..."

BREATHE!

...."And....then there was way too much rage and crankiness goin on in there, so kemp n me left...got more food, cause we left the pizza in there, and he was just gettin to tell me somethin bout purple strap ons as you got here"

and there it was. Tonights activities summed up by a 15 year old chick.

"Well i think Kemp is goin to find Decker, he did mention they had a date tonight" she chuckles.

And they are at the factory door.
All that info...and in 3 breaths.

(decker)
"Wouldn' be here, if I didn't." There's a trace of deliberate cockiness in that. Under it, there's a note of seriousness.

He falls into step beside her. The palms of his hands were scorched angry red, but he doesn't seem to care. His can of beer hanging lazily from his hand, he strolls beside her, his gait smooth and even, deepseated. The light passes behind them. Shadows reign again. The next working streetlight is two blocks away. Overhead, clouds, sky, stars between. On these dark nights, the moon still small, you swear if you just squinted a little, he wouldn't have the same shape he does. That long, slow stride of his becomes something else, a fourlegged stalk, smooth and ghostly silent. That monochrome of clothing isn't so far from iron grey. And those fierce eyes; well, those, only the color ever changed.

He looks at the street ahead, the light ahead. Now and again, he looks to the sides, scans the shadows, and every single alley they pass.

"Where you goin'?" he asks, sipping beer in motion.

(roxy)
Fingers come up to pull the cigarette from her mouth, smoke exhaled through her nose, like a smoking dragon. Her head drops down, spilling the singature peroxide dreads across her cheeks.

"Deal." a beat...

And Roxanne is pulling herself up from the couch to step away from it. Driving means leaving the factory, it means getting behind the beloved Nova of hers, Priscilla, it means 1,000lbs of hot American made steel manipulated like a vibrating beast under her hands, in her control.

The car keys remained in her hand, "Let's go." replaces the cigarette in her mouth, sparing James a glance, meeting those umber eyes.

(tristan)
..........blinks. about halfway there he’s just staring at her, dumbfounded as he tries to put all of that into something of a slower replay through whiskey fogged mind, not to mention picking the right train of thought to follow as she veers this way and that, before finally seizing on one... “Rage. Decker. That’s why it’s worse when he’s standing there.”

Drunken, unsteady nod. Exactly. Now... what else?

“Fucking beautiful.” the fact that roxy waits on the other side of that door with james. Lovely. Oh well. His mattress is also on the other side of that door and he means to make use of it. “Gotcha.... I think.” and he almost falls on his ass on the step, but manages to hang on (to her) and get to the door.

(imogen)
Wouldn't be here if I didn't.
A slight sound of acknowledgement from the Fianna kinfolk, or perhaps agreement. She asked, anyway.

She takes a swallow of the beer and lifts her chin in the direction they were headed, her car black against the dark of the night. "My car," stating the obvious, a vague smirk curving her mouth. "Then 'ome, I suppose, provided no one sees fit t'page me."

There are weekends where Imogen almost doesn't have to go out at all. Really. They are rare, and perhaps leaving the feeling and sensation that she isn't on call at all, but wearing the pager out of habit, but they do happen. And then sometimes there are weekends that are execrutiating. Late night pages, early morning pages. It might be one of those weekends, for the quiet fatigue that underscores her eyes.

She looks at him again, head tilting in a repeat of the gesture she had made a moment before:indicating her car. "Come with?"

(rumor)
She nods.
Rage. Yeah why didnt she think of that...And he sums up her long winded explanation in about 2 sentences.
She steadied him and chuckles...Helping with the door. She lets it swing open and helps Tristan in.

(james)
1,000 pounds of American steel and muscle waiting on the other side of that door
when, once opened, introduces James to a stumbling Tristan
whom he catches, dutifully, rearranging limbs as necessary to assure Rumor gets the prettyboi inside in one piece

"Beer run."

all that's offered in explanation
a little too agitated from the collective night to hang around for discussion
once in Priscilla, he's buckled in for safety measues against non-existant knowledge of her driving rep
Garou or not, he's newly healed and that's one helluva lot of horsepower dragging his ass around
ashed scars pressing against well-kept seats, belt cutting into the tenderly reformed flesh on his belly

(decker)
Impulsively, even abruptly, he reaches out to her. Right there. Right on the street. Midway between one working streetlight and another, one dead one hanging overhead, dark. His hand on her cheek is burning hot, burnt hot, but he doesn't flinch as his thumb traces the smudges under her eyes.

He doesn't even say it this time: y'oughta sleep more. Ya shouldn't work so fuckin' hard. You gotta quit pushin'. Don't really know yer limits, do ya.

He doesn't say it.

After a moment his hand shapes around the slender strong arch of jaw, and down around her chin; drops away. He inhales until his chest fills out and his wifebeater is taut against it, the musculature beneath delineated sharply, his ribs creaking from the weight of air. A glance at her car. Exhale in a rush, nodding.

"Yeah." He looks at her again; something like a smile. "'Course."

(roxy)
The door opens to spill out a drunken Tristan. Roxanne side-steps out of the way, waiting for them to all pass by. "Yeah, beer run." she murmurs under her breath.

The escape made to Priscilla, Roxy doesn't hesitate much on starting the car up and revving the engine a bit too much. She glances over to see if the Gnawer was strapped inside. Good. She wasn't... her driving skills were on par with her shooting. Quick, wild and... a little precise. The car erupts out of the drive, pouring out onto the street.

(tristan)
Caught! dutifully even. slow smirk as he glances up at James, quick once over to see he’s still in one piece – which he’d already checked on before leaving earlier, but well, it bears a repeated glance with this group, and a low snort at the ‘explanation.’

“Sure, whatever.”

The only fucking comment in reply. Arm unwinds from brother, from the kid, and he starts across toward the mattress. Not sure when the factory doubled in size and started wavering, but he makes due.


(james)
the car erupts onto the street
luckily, James has been exposed to several levels of driving
those that are skilled, all the way down to watching Kemp's kamakaze runs
so when torque lurches heavy frame out of it's resting spot
he's just bracing a foot against the floorboards
otherwise doing his best to look nonchalant in the forces shoving him securely into the seat
elbow resting on the polished and shiney interior within the passenger door
smoke scissored between two fingers and angled to flick out the cracked window

it's not until after he's palmed over some cash for Roxy to head into the liquor mart - he is, after all, only wearing pants and those scars will definitely raise questions even in this part of town at this time of night - and thus returned with beloved beer (Heineken. Check. Rolling Rock. Check. Newcastle. Check. Two bottles of Arrogant Bastard. Check.) also safely tucked into the trunk, does James choose to finally break the silence otherwise only filled by the sound of growling motor amongst the city's nightly white-noise cacophany of background affects

"Hey Rox....." interjection at a stoplight driven pause, furtive glance to his left at best "Deck'r tell ya we talk'?"

[pause james and roxy]

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