October 16, 2004.10.16.04. - impossible [kirk-imogen-tristan-evie][riverfront]
(imogen)
Begin winter. Northern states, northern weather, the windy city.Begin the general litany, mental and internal as to why on earth she continues heading north, colder and colder, and also why she has a job that keeps her outside so often. Her jacket, leather and thigh skimming seems to keep out the wind, but not the cold as it seeps through her clothing, blouse, jeans. The wind toussles hair that is always hard to manage, barely pulled back by a clip, hair sneaking free to brush against her jacket collar, to touch her cheekbones. Imogen, when cold, tends to go pale, than flush red - pale to begin with, it makes her almost wraithlike.
She's not quite paler, now, but needless to say, she's grateful for the coffee in both hands, the wamrth leeking through cheap styrofoam cups.
One cup, however, is one she is giving up. Tristan plays on a street corner, and draws the crowd he always does, though the colder weather makes most stay inside, or at least not stay long. In a break of the songs, the redhead smirks briefly and offers him the cup with an arch of an eyebrow.
Things a random passerby would notice: slight and petite, pale skinned and redhaired, she cuts an attractive figure, if a reserved one, body posture and movement that does not condone random passerby conversations.
Things a not so random passerby would notice: the blood of wolves that speaks of heroes. Pure breeding in its more pure forms.
(kirk)
[Kirk speed walks along with no particular destination. Visiting the caern made him happy, something he hadn't felt in a long time.His tangled hair blows about his face, and the wind stings his scars. He pulls his jacket tightly around him.]
"I should have bound a shirt too.....and shoes......and underwear," he mutters.
(tristan)
Evening time. Rush Hour. And Chicago's best networked Kin and all around good-natured Eagle kin of Pretty Boi Fame (or is that Pretty boi kin of eagle fame? Take your pick...) is right where one would expect him to be. On a street corner, in the chilly weather, wringing single instrument symphonies from beloved violin.Many regulars through this area expect him to be somewhere in the Riverfront - he's as much a staple here as he is in any place he lives more then a couple months. His fingers pull music that soothes the savage beasts from wood and string, all with an ease of long, long practice and comfortable showmanship. He's a street performer, and he's really, really, really good.
He sees Imogen as she moves his way - who could miss such a striking figure, after all? And while he may leer suggestively at far more.. masculine.. figures, ever the artist he can truly appreciate the beauty of the wraithlike redhead. The song comes to a close, the bow pulled from the strings to smattering of applause and rain of coins into the open case at his feet. He places the bow in hand, the same wrapped around the neck of his 'baby' before he folds the violin across his belly and accepts the offer of the cup of coffee. "Thanks, Imogen. How'sit?"
That easy going smile, and partially gloved hand wraps around steaming cup gratefully. His curls are under control at the moment, held back by knit hat that keeps the mismanaged mop from dipping into his eyes - and more importantly keeps his ears warm. It's hard to say how long he's been out here, but by the chill of his fingers that brush hers when taking the cup - and the amount of change and bills in the open case - it's been quite a while.
(kirk)
[Kirk had been listening to the violinist, and looks at him the moment the music stops, as if he was expecting more.](imogen)
"It goes," she answers vaguely in her rolling unamerican (scottish? irish? english?) accent as she lifts her own coffee cup to her lips and takes a sip, grimacing at the liquid. Imogen drinks coffee constantly, and cannot stand the taste of it. "Yerself?"The slight kinfolk's question half ends on an unfinished note, the last sound foreshortened, as she turns her head to look at Kirk. That gaze of hers is direct - humans can't do this. Most kinfolk can't either. An elegant eyebrow lifts slightly.
(james)
last week - it was not this cold
or at least, least week? it did not feel this cold
wind carrying a chill near ten degrees below the LED's touted 44 on the sign above
it flashes to red blinking interpretation of the time as James passes underneath
raggedyman paying the hour little to no mind, just as the rush hour traffic is fairly ignoredhe is, instead, resolutely focused on a particular singular thing that makes life worth living again for the bone chilled.....
at least... he was
somewhere between where that sign and a precise street corner - things changed
maybe it was the distinct tonality of the notes floating over ever-decreasing blocks
of perhaps a street performer's own interest in a gathered crowd
it just may be the sense of clarity lingering somewhere just on the other side of all those people
hell... it may just be that damned cup of terrible coffeethe mystery shall be solved shortly
guttermutt's progress staunchly halted at a cross walk two blocks and one street crossing away
tails of the patchwork trenchcoat dangling around the ankles of dully shining Corcoran IIs
it'z not the smoke from the Camel hanging out of his mouth that makes others arrive then... step.... back
nor is it the overall scruffy appearance of some six foot one likely homeless guy with dreadlocks hanging halfway to his belt
there's something else - something primal and predatory about the seemingly mellow dude
a sharp, hungry glitter haunting the depths of kind, deep umber eyes
the notches along the left side of his jaw which make a warm grin some lopsided, sketchy quirkapparently, even though a waxing crescent shines in the sky tonight, there's something about James that just screams hunter
(tristan)
She answers, and he chuckles, pausing a moment to bend an ear to a passing fan, chuckling as he nods and gives a time for tomorrow's 'show' with a wink and a promise. A promise of what, we'll leave as an exercise for the audience.Dark eyes pass over Kirk, catching Imogen's direct gaze as well. Most kin cannot look directly, or maintain the steadiness with out wavering. Imogen can. And Tristan doesn't do too badly himself. Of course - we'll not go into his normal reaction to rage either. He arches a brow, and then easily enough first answers Imogen. "The same, pretty much." Before taking a sip of his coffee and adding to Kirk. "Takin a bit of a break - I'll play a bit more after my fingers warm up."
Speaking of Rage. And the reaction. As much as Jukebox notes the clarity of notes, there is no denying that tug within at the approach of a particular raggedy man. Smile warms, and chin lifts - Eagle's hello, easily seen by the approaching tidal wave opening before the hunter in their midst. But gaze returns to Kirk, once more.
(kirk)
[Kirk feels unsettled by Imogen's gaze, and Tristan's as well, and has to look away. He coughs harshly and thumps on his chest a bit. His throat is sore for various reasons; the weather, his lack of sleep, lack in good hygene.He steps a bit further from the couple but bumps into someone.]
"Sorry," he says to no one in particular.
(imogen)
The crowd doesn't just part in the Garou's approach. They scatter like rats in the metaphor regarding sinking ships. Tristan isn't playing so there's nothing to keep them.And some very good reasons to leave.
The kinfolk (and it is her blessing or curse, depending on her deposition, that she can easily be recognized as such) arches her eyebrow further as Kirk steps away, the person he bumps into casting him a glance caught between distrust and fear and hurries on his way with a muttered remark.
Imogen's eyes are dark enough that in the evening, they are nearly black, and they lift briefly to follow the human that scurries away, and then back to Kirk her nostrils flaring briefly in dignified distaste for his lack in cleanliness, and his proximity to her person, though he'd stepped back.
A glance James's way, a brief nod of her head - the smell of his cigarettes, and she's reaching for her own, slowly patting her jacket pockets with one hand. It's something to note that despite the cold, her jacket is open.
(james)
the crowd..... scatters
just like cockroaches when the lights go on
at least in a city-particular metaphor
it leaves one curly-haired and one flame haired kin remaining on the corner stage
and..... one stranger somehow responsible for the parting human curtaina block and closing - James doesn't have much longer before the answer shall be revealed
chin jerks up in return nod-up to their greeting
action tipping the ashes off the end of his cigarette
allows hands to remain in trenchcoat pockets for at least another few long steps
boots coming to a sudden halt just the left of Kirk
one hand producing a battered Zippo on open palm for Imogen
the other reaching to take his own as mouth curves to crooked, ghosting grin
attention turning to weigh on the newcomer to the corner
brows cocking towards the frame of dreadlocks in queryhopefully, the first words out of the Fostern's mouth won't be along the lines of
izze both'rin yews, ma'ams?(tristan)
There's a blink, as kirk steps away. Interesting. But that easy grin doesn't fade - it makes one wonder if it ever does, or wary that should it disappear one should expect an explosion that just isn't pretty. Very few have seen that, however, as such instances are few and far between. Thankfully.He chuckles at turns the full wattage of that easy grin on Kirk. "Whatever for, m'man? Don't worry about it. New around here?" Stating the obvious, of course - but then again, it's mostly to get him talking, instead of skittering away. If he thinks Imogen and Tristan are frightening, heaven help him when he meets the Modi.
(kirk)
"Um.....yeah," he jumps a bit at James' closeness. "I'm new. I didn't mean to disturb you." The last part of his sentence trails off.(imogen)
Tristan turns his shining grin on Kirk and Imogen smirks as she pulls out a package of cigarettes and fumbles one out, one-handed. What would the Eagle pack and it's associated kin do without Tristan?...they'd meet a hell of a lot less people, to be sure. You know, some people might think that a good thing.
She glances toward James and his questioning eyebrow and she does naught but shrug, shoulders shifting within the leather as she reaches out to take his zippo, her attention drifting from time to time toward Kirk and Tristan talking. "Ta," she says to the dread-locked man, spoken around a filter fitted in her mouth. The zippo clicks open with a practiced motion of her thumb. The wheel clicks as her thumb causes it to spin, pressing metal against flint and lighting a spark that gives birth to a flame that hisses. She lights the cigarette, inhaling deeply as she hands Jukebox back his lighter, and lets the smoke exhale out of the corner of her mouth.
The redhead's attention flicks briefly back toward Kirk and his antsy nervousness, a faint line forming quick and fading as fast between her brows.
"Long time," offered James's way as she removes the cigarette to exchange it for another vice - a sip of her coffee.
(james)
quickly as it appeared, the Zippo's returned to one of the trench's many pockets
likely, James is the only one that could find anything in that coat on first try
it's a conglomeration of faded colors and fabrics added through time
subtle patterns formatted into the stitching create the most unusual side-effects
some could - if one looked close enough - resemble a few common Glyphs
if, of course, one knew where to closely look"Yeh. Been 'roun'. Work'n all tha'" few words, but enough to hint at an Empire State accent laced with the elements of an inherant slur to further complicate translation, at least the Ahroun is cognizant enough to slow things down enough so that each word is pronounced as clearly as possible for those unaccustomed to James-speak "Gotta name, kid?"
case in point that question directed at the semi-startled stranger
while casually calm, the man-skinned monster is cordial enough
a friendly warmth integrated somewhere within that cool confidence(tristan)
"Nah, you ain't disturbin me." Chuckled, as he lifts his cup to lips, taking a long drink of Imogen's offering. Some would think it's a good thing that the Eagles would not know as many people. But then again, how many times have they needed a number from his virtual yellow pages of a cell phone? Yeah. You need it done, chances are Tristan knows someone who knows someone who can make sure it happens."Was time for a break anyway, before my fingers froze. Name's Tristan." He'd offer to shake, but being as his hands are full for the moment.... and James asks for the kids intro, so he defers to the fostern - who happens to be his bro.
Smoothly body crouches before the open case, and he sets his coffee cup by a battered and tattered boot so he can scoop up today's earnings and make sure they're all in the lid, so that he can place his violin in the case. A cloth is used to buff up already gleaming wood - it's clear the instrument is his prized possession. Only then does he start to scoop the loose change and bills into a small bag presumably carried for just such a purpose.
(kirk)
He calms down a TINY bit.
"My name's Kirk. And," clears his throat, "I'm not a kid, I'm thirty-five."
He crosses his arms, obviously not the hand-shaking kind of guy. He coughs a bit more and looks to James. He gets nervous again and looks at the ground.(james)
James.... lifts a brow
thirty-five?
this "kid" is thirteen years his senior
.....whoops
the raggedyman reaches into yet another pocket on the trench
pulling out a pair of sunglasses that soon rest on the bridge of his nose
circular lenses waaaay too darkly tinted to be of any use this late at night
it may very well be an attempt at humor to smooth over the faux pas
poking fun at his own lack of observation skills to alleviate Kirk's unease".... I see." the soft laugh sounds like a chortled growl rumbling out of the lanky Garoun's chest, but at least it's accompanied by the faint curves of that forever lopsided grin" My mista'e."
Kirk's minimal introduction and self-origami is noted by the Fostern's dark eyes
some benefit of the doubt given to a strange situation and company
the stench of nervous anxiety is hanging heavily in the air, after all
hopefully, it's what inspires the level of cautious discretion rather than concise disregard
that he's the cause of the crowd scatter and hasn't distanced more than a few feet from the Ahroun himself does give away at least some expectation to his heritage"'m James, his bro" there's a quick nod towards the prettyboi violinist "'n one've th' top dawgs 'roun' this dis'rict. Findin' y'r way 'roun' allrigh'?"
it's a loaded question, that's for sure
now the test is how much will get lost in the translation
(tristan)
.....whoops. Indeed. And leave it to Tristan, pretty boi bro of the rage meister trying to hide behind his shades, leave it to him to actually laugh - though he does try to smother it behind a quickly lifted hand, while somehow managing to duck AWAY from any swipe that he rightfully deserves for not keeping his mirth at bay.Dark eyes twinkle as he grins, unrepentant, up at his bro, before returning his attention to the coinage he's counting more by feel and guestimation then anything else as he puts it away. The soft velvet bag is tucked into an inner pocket of his jacket, and the lid closed to protect the Violin until he takes it up again for his evening 'shift'.
(kirk)
Kirk looks a bit lost. He's never heard that certain accent of James', but does his best to translate.
"Uh, I just got here," he thinks a bit, "Yesterday. I haven't really had to do much navigating."
Kirk nervously checks the time on his watch and fiddles with the compass in his pocket, obviously trying to release some energy.(imogen)
The kinfolk's voice had been heard a few times during this, low, cultured and european, but it has now fallen silent. Her attention moves briefly toward Kirk as he coughs, eyes narrowing momentarily.Gaze shifts to James as he speaks in various code words one might pick up, though it's anyone's guess if she does. Neither confusion nor realization works her way through her features, even as she takes a step away, blowing cigarette smoke toward the sky.
(james)
if there's a smoldering glare for Tristan's giggles
they're most fortunately hidden by the small, round shades
James remains the portrait of ease to Kirk's agitation
which is probably why he's Eagle Pack PR
smokes' ashes are flicked to the sidewalk in a moment's collection of thought
without further information to go on - he's not about to prematurely divulge any, either"Easy 'nuff a nav'gate 'roun' if y' keep y'r nose clean 'n keep up contac' wi'h th' locals."
muscular shoulders roll in a shrug
to the indiscriminate ear, the phrasing sounds mundane enough to be boring
nothing more than a streetwise derelict offering city survival advice to tonight's newest tourist
some good will effort to ensure the stranger lives long enough to enjoy Chicago's cultural wonders
a friendly conversation at the end of a street musician's performance set
the double meaning can, again, be missed or seriously taken to a fresh arrival's heart
the dreadlocked Ahroun's"Lookin' f'r anyplace partic'lar.... 'r jus' plannin' a hang 'roun', see th' sites." head tips, canidly "Visit fam'ly?"
(kirk)
Kirk cringes at the mention of "family.""I was," figures out a way to explain himself, "Told that I needed to come to Chicago in order to...." can't htink of the right words. "Get...help."
He leaves his compass alone and coughs once more.(tristan)
Oh he doesn't even have to look to know that glare is there, smouldering with good humor. He'll pay for it later, he's sure. The locks are flipped on violin case, before lean kin stands again, bending only to recover coffee cup and finish off the cooling liquid inside. It's with practiced ease that the cup is then tossed into the nearest trashcan, scoring points without even touching the rim.To Imogen then, he grins and winks. "bum a fag?" said with a perfectly straight (*Cough*) face.
Incorrigible.
Attention returns to Kirk and James as shoulders roll slightly, hand digging into the pockets of his jeans in search for his own battered bic.
(imogen)
Until Tristan speaks, Imogen's attention has been focussed on Kirk and James in an abstracted way. But this is until Tristan speaks."Wow." Dry sarcasm.
A glance cuts toward Tristan, and a fading smirk, as Imogen retrieves her cigarette package again, the soft cardboard package crinking between her fingers as she speaks around her filter, offering Tristan the entire package, "How long yeh been holdin' on to that one?"
(james)
"..... from?"the Fostern raises a brow
expectantlyKirk better start picking up on clues or being a little more forthcoming
cause James isn't about to hold his hand through the preliminary process
guy's his senior by over a decade, so there should be some familiarity with protocol
..... cuase his slurred accent isn't that bad.... is it?
(tristan)
He just grins - completely unashamed and unrepentant. "Little while - just waiting for the perfect time, of course." He takes the cigarettes and taps one out, returning them to her before flicking battered bic, and setting flame to tobacco and paper. Tucking the lighter back into his pocket on exhale, easy smile wreathed in escaping grayish plume.James' accent isn't as bad as most, with its battlescar slur, and Kirk's skittishness is certainly cause for... curiosity. But the kin, for now, simply falls quiet, attention on the cigarette between his fingers, and the flick of ashes to the cement below.
(kirk)
"Spirits! Omens! Gaia! I came here to escape, following orders from a higher power!"
The Theurge is not angry, just exhausted. His voice cracked a bit towards the end of his outburst.
"Sorry, I'm just....I haven't.....GAH!" Kirk looks like he's about to burst into tears, but restrains himself.
He looks, no EXAMINES James' appearance closely. He observes the way James stands, glares, and holds himself.
"You a Gnawer?"(imogen)
Tristan does not get a reply back, though the kinwoman reaches out without looking to take back the cigarette package, her gaze falling back upon Kirk.Speech nearly comes, before it is self-silenced and instead she looks down the street then up it, watching it's near emptiness thoughtfully.
The gathering as a whole towers over her. Some by nearly a foot, some by more.
(james)
ask and ye shall recieve
(sure got your answer there, din'cha, Jamey-boy)
nothing more than an amused, crooked grin in face of the exhausted outburst"That obv'ous?" it could have been a scathing bit of snivery, but here shows a little more of the Full Moon's ability to make fun of himself - for the stitched Glyphs and ghetto-fabulous jackal blooded style do tend to give things away to those in the know "Tack on a tha' City Eld'r. Fos'ern. Full Moon. Eagle Pack. 'n y'r stand'n' th' middle a my territ'ry."
(evelyn bryant)
Random street somewhere in Chicago.
That’s the way it always goes. Somewhere along a random street are collected together a few, talking. Smoking. And then along comes another figure. Not so well acquainted with these streets as she is the downtown region. She’s a higher end girl, Evelyn. One could say higher class but then…there are things about her that would dispute such a claim.
She’s got coffee in one hand herself, a magazine tucked under her arm [The trash-filled pages need to be scanned and absorbed, the front cover is lurid and bright with some unfortunate celebrity receiving likely unwanted attention] and her eyes upon the contents of her bag, which she holds open and attempts to push previously mentioned trash into.
Strands of blond slip in front of her eyes, catching on her lashes as she keeps her head bent. The evening was cold enough to have her wearing a coat. Soft black leather that doesn’t end till mid thigh on the statuesque dancer’s frame. Her nose is pink from the chill and she sniffs softly as the task is finally completed and the Fianna Kin lifts her head. Casts back dreaded hair from her dark eyes and catches sight with the brown gaze of a few familiar faces.
She steps off the curb, and moves toward the gathering. The faint smell of cigarette smoke twining toward her approaching form.
(tristan)
Kirk....explodes, a bit, and that gets the attention of dark-eyed boi for a long moment. Poor guy looks exhausted. But he can't help but chuckle at James' little bit of fun poking at himself. He certainly looks more the part then Tristan himself does most days, but then again, he's only kin and doesn't get the addition of shaggy coat and other forms to fill out the full bg look.The blond approaches, and Tristan glances up, offering a bit of a smile toward Evie as she approaches. Other then that? the kin keeps quiet, and continues to smoke his cigarette.
(kirk)
Kirk stands straight up but doesn't meet James' gaze; he was raised to feel lesser than those higher in rank. He feels the need to give his information.
"Sorry. Cliath. Crescent Moon. Black Fury." Kirk seems to step down a bit from James, as though he had committed a cardinal sin.(imogen)
This corner was rapidly becoming popular, it seems, from Evelyn's approach. The meeting of those of the blood.Evelyn gets a slight glance, "'lo," as Imogen sips her coffee again, and finding it mostly cold and intolerable, steps away from the group to throw it into the garbage can down the street, tapping ash from her cigarette as she goes. Kirk and James's introductions are background noise that she seems uninclined to take a part in.
(evelyn)
The glance and bare hint of a smile from Tristan is returned likewise, a brief curvature of full pink lips, maybe some shared humour since she’s not quite forgotten that night at the Excalibur as of yet. She’d had such an enjoyable conversation with James trying to explain the How’s and Why’s of her bleeding ear and tattered clothing.Then the dark eyes slip to meet Imogen’s form and she gives another easy, slight blossoming of a smile and tilts her head to the side, coming to a halt close to the other Kin’s former position, before she shifted to disguard her intolerable coffee.
“Evening.”
She mumurs, her eyes steady on James and the unknown one for a moment, it seems her softly spoken greeting included them too, before she too lifts her coffee to her lips and tentively sips from it.
(james)
the Gnawer Elder just chuckles when the Fury backs down and fesses up
filtered cigarette dropped to the cement and crushed beneath Corcoran's sole
Evie's arrival gets a patented Eagle pack nod up"S'bett'r." approval in the slight affirming dip of his chin, the grin slashing a little fuller across his features, weight spinning on a heel and proppring his shoulders against the building's wall, hands slipped into the welcoming warmth of his pockets "So.... what c'n we do ya for, Kir'?"
(tristan)
Well, he doesn't giggle at that. He could, but he's behaving. Kind of. Instead he just turns his attention to Evie a moment. "all recovered I see.." he hasn't forgotten her cat fight at the Excalibur either, it would seem. Not likely any of them would. "your friend too?" Evangeline was certainly the more frail of those two. He'd been impressed with the steel under all that pampered softness in the Silver Fang kin. And surprised. Incredibly surprised. Imogen he'd expect to have the balls to pull it off (though she'd not resort to a cat fight, she'd have just started shooting, like as not.) - Evangeline he'd expect to have run crying. Color him pleasantly surprised.A nudge places the violin more firmly between his feet on the cement, to keep it out of the way of those approaching and passing by the rather busy corner.
(kirk)
"Honestly, I don't know...exactly. I left," corrects himself, "No, ran from my pack. I didn't even think I'd make it here in one piece. I really didn't think I'd find any Garou."
He smiles very weakly, and laughs the laugh of fatigue.
"But, I found the caern and..." Kirk drifts off, like he's zoned out. He has no idea what any of these people CAN do for him.(imogen)
The coffee drops into the basket, and Imogen turns back to look at the group. Cynical amusement sparks briefly across her mouth, and for a moment, she remains as she is, apart, and pulls a cell phone from her pocket, the small sleek type that barely fits in a hand.Number dialed, she presses the phone to her ear and lets it ring. Words are quiet and almost inaudible over the distance as Imogen calls someone, or retrieves messages, or something equally inane from her place a score of feet or so away.
(james)
there's already been a point or two that's inspired James to lift a brow
however, decorum maintains itself behind the facade of friendly demeanor
nothing given away about the inner working of his emotions or mind
collecting the pieces of information and oranizing them into useful facets
chin dips in another nod shifting his dreads over squared shoulders"One." the Ahroun has the patience of a Saint - which is probably why he's City Elder - mellow tones drawing Kirk back to the present from his little fatigue journey sk,ywards"Wha' reas'n this high' pow'r give ya to run 'way fr'm y'r pack. Two." slow and easy so the guy's not overwhelmed again for another outburst "Where ya run fro'."
there's more, obviously, but first things first
(evelyn)
A quiet ripple of laughter. Soft, and pure amusement.
“Yes, all better now. Though I was sad to throw out that top.”
Brief frown as she remembers her shirt being torn by that little firecracker of a girl that flew at her, nails and all. Evelyn seems to drift herself for a minute before she glances toward Imogen, murmuring something into her cellphone, then addresses Tristan’s other question.
“Evangeline is fine as far as I know. I dropped her home afterward and…”
[Flashback of finding Sevastian’s party in full swing as two disheveled Kinfolk stood in the doorway, blinking.]
A slightly lop-sided grin. “She was pretty amazing that night, wasn’t she? I honestly didn’t know she had it in her.”
(tristan)
He chuckles and nods. "That she was, Evie. Though I'm afraid Ja
mes there will never let me live down having to commit the cardinal sin for bg's. " Easy grin, and he shrugs, slightly, attention still on James and Kirk for the most part, though he's not missed Imogen's call, or anything said by Evie either.But, for the most part, he's still quiet.
(kirk)
"I've run from Wisconsin. Rhineland, actually. Um..."
He unbottons his jacket and reveals about two dozen claw slashes on his chest and stomach. They are obviously from Garou in crinos. A few of them have turned white from age, but the majority of them are infected. Two or three haven't even fully healed.
"That's why I left." He rebuttons his jacket.
"I wasn't exactly accepted by the pack. It turned into a life or death thing."
He looks uncomfortable, since he's never been this open before.
"I got to Wisconsin's southern border and asked Gaia for a sign. I wound...up here."
He trails off towards the end.(evie)
Evelyn’s brows lift behind her coffee cup, as the comment is made during the slide of the warm bitter liquid past her lips. She lowers the cup and holds it between both hands, letting the faint heat comfort her cold-bitten fingers. Her eyes shift to ecompass the other James she knows. She can hear, faintly, the quiet rise and fall of Imogen’s voice. But now the Fianna Kin’s attention is also pulled toward the two conversing and in particular, Kirk.When he unbuttons his jacket and reveals those claw marks, the blond’s lips tighten into a frown and she shakes back the golden mane of hair, glancing at the other, wondering at the response.
(james)
"I symp'thize."while the Gnawer doesn't flash his own set of ashed Crinos scars
he seems to honestly understand the situation that Kirk speaks of escaping
elements of deep seeded sorrow hidden by the uselessly dark sunglasses
but expression can be seen as it tugs at the corners of his mouth
that, however, is an epic tale to be told at another meeting
attention draws down to the current problem of unhealed wounds
(.... how.... strange)
digging out a scrap of paper and pen from the variety of pockets
using his thigh as a tablet to print a collection of information"'s here's Cli-ona, heal'r. 've ask 'r a take a lookit yeh 'n give yeh place a res' up f'r th' nigh." the pen pauses, gaze lifting ".... yeh fin'e anyone a th' Caer'?"
(kirk)
"No one I noticed." Kirk is relieved the James understands. He looks like he is about to collapse from shear exhaustion.
"Thank you."(tristan)
Gaze is drawn by the revealing of scars. Hell, it's his favorite game! 'Compare the scar' game has gotten him into more then one pair of nicely filled out jeans, for sure. But, then again, there's the state of those, and he can't help but wince. Having his own set of nasty gnarly gashes at more then one point in time - he knows that shit has to hurt.Brows furrow a bit, slightly, in confusion perhaps as he watches, listens, waits.
Then he looks back at Evie and chuckles. "so - anything else exciting going on?"
(imogen)
Imogen from her distance, still glances up at the sight of Kirk opens his jacket, her gaze resting briefly upon the his body, absorbing it thoughtfully, before glancing toward Jukebox. For a moment, she listens more to what the Garou say than what whoever on the other end of the phone says, and she must ask for repetition.A few more moments pass, and the kinfolk disconnects the call, closing it off, and starting to walk back to the group, tossing her cigarette, now finished, away as she goes.
(kirk)
Kirk goes into a coughing fit. He doubles over and gets on his knees, while his hands grasp for his throat and chest. His fit stops, but he remains on his knees. He stares at Imogen absently. He clears his throat.(james)
again, the Elderman nods
a shallow furrow of concern forms between his brows
but those forming questions just have to get in line to be answered
they are either unimportant at that very moment, or just don't concern Kirk directly
pen resuming it's progress as he goes back into lecture mode"A'ight. Have'r take yeh th' Caer' t'morrow af'r yeh res'n eat. She'll help yeh see th' Guardi'n f'r couns'l 'n figurin' out wha' ya need a do fr'm here 'n out." paper's handed over once his message is complete. "S'er name', num'r, home addy. My num'rs on th' bottom if ya need an'thin...."
another pause as the Gnawer gives Kirk a once over from toes to hair and back again
he doesn't have to be a medic himself to know that the Cliath's on his last reserves"Yeh g'nna make it'f I give yeh cab fare....." nod up towards the peanut gallery gathering of kinfolk they've acquired " 'r ya want one a them a go long'z well, jus'n case?"
(kirk)
"I need someone to go with me." He stands up steadily, and looks at the group of kinfolk.(imogen)
There is a brief pause in her steps as the metis falls to his knees and her head half tilts to look at him, dispassionately."I thought yeh didn't get sick," she says, flatly. "Gift o' the mother, all that."
(kirk)
"I didn't think so either. This isn't bacteria or virus. Just, bad living."(evie)
Evelyn’s gaze is sympathetic upon Kirk for a long moment before it’s drawn aside by Tristan’s comment.Her smile is brief, tinged by the concern felt for the Garou double bent over.
“Depends on what your defination of exitement is I suppose.”
Her dark eyes shift to Imogen as she moves back toward them and Evelyn, giving her coffee dregs one last shake, shifts to tip the cup and remaining liquid into the bin in much the same way Imogen did earlier. She stands back then, sliding her hands into the pockets of her coat and tugging it tighter around her verging on under-weight frame.
She glances at Kirk as Imogen speaks and her frown obviously says she echoes the other woman’s question. Listening quietly and absently lifting a hand up after a moment to tuck hair behind her ear.
(tris)
At the glance from his brother - well, there's no question. He bends and wraps fingers around the handle of his case. "I'll take'im, bro." Like there was any doubt at all. He blinks at Kirk's last statement though, and chuckles. "Well shit - don't tell that to my kid, he's certain my smoking will give him cancer."Gotta love the boy, really. But something doesn't quite sit right with the answer, and the glance at James says so. Then again, what's he know, really. But if bad living is the culprit? the pretty boy is SCREWED to say the least.
(kirk)
Kirk grins weakly. "Not that bad living. The kind you're givin from day one. Bad raising and shit like that."(james)
soon as that coughing fit started - an escort wasn't even a question anymore
but he still gave even a Cliath the respect to make his own choice for assistance
James isn't the type of Elder to take that dignity away from anyone
the affirming nod to Tristan's volunteer preceeds the appearance of a cell
not exactly as fancy schmancy as Imogen's sexy little mobile
but someone sure loved the guttermutt enough to give him a reasonably fashionable wireless
it does the job and dials up YellowCab well enough
efficiently distracting him from the health conversation
why isn't his concern - solving the problem is
(others need, a Hood provides)"Cab's on th' way."
thumb hits a button to kill the connection
few extra bills pulled out of yet another pocket and handed over to the prettyboi
enough to cover round trip fare combined with tonight's performance tips already in the case
cell's buttons beeping again as he types in something with... minor mistakes
(techno-savvy James is not)
sending a text to give the healer at least a head's up to what's coming her way(tristan)
He takes the offered cash and it's slid into his pocket, the locks on beloved baby's case checked once more to be sure everything is secure, before he's tugging knit hat a little farther over ears. Long strides - all of one or two - carries him to the Fury's side, as dark gaze watches for the ever efficient Yellow Cab.He doesn't even tease James about the fact text messaging is somewhat beyond him. Give the boy an Xbox and he's a genius. Give him a cell phone and he's hopeless. Go figure.
Around the corner comes the called for Cab, and there's a grin for all there - Evie and Imogen, and of course his bro. "Alright - let's get you to Cliona's." Cap pulls to a stop, and he opens the door for the Fury, before sliding in after him and giving the cabbie directions to the Healer's home as they pull from the curb.
(imogen)
Her lips move in a brief smirk, which is the sarcastic opinion as to Kirk's medical assessment.A glance toward Tristan as he departs, "Night," she says, lighting another cigarette, as she steps so Evelyn doesn't find herself a complete victim of second hand smoke.
(evie)
“Think he’ll be okay?”The question is more a vague afterthought of thoughts preceeding it in the Ballerina’s head. All unspoken save for that question. Softly asked and not really even said for the sake of an answer. Absent speech that Evelyn hears herself say, even as she’s more focused on shifting her attention from the departing Cab to glancing off in the other direction down the street.
(imogen)
"Theoretically." Comforting, Imogen.(james)
James' shoulders roll in a slow shrug
dark eyes following Evie's to watch the cab pull away
animal senses picking up the underbreath question"She'll do ev'rythin' we can f'r'im."
he has confidence in the Fianna's healing ability, no doubts appearing there
but the things that have him most concerned are not included in the carefully phrased reply
(concerned? the Fostern is fucking confused)
body language, though, might give away some shared skepticism(evie)
A brief sniff signals her reaction to Imogen’s response. Comforting, Imogen. Indeed. Evelyn’s gaze snaps back to linger on the only remaining Garou as he speaks. Evelyn’s brows lift but on the subject of Cliona she remains silent. Sure, she has issues with the Fianna. But she also knows Cliona will do everything she can for Kirk.She shifts her weight from boot to boot. Her coat rustling in that soft way of all leather articles. Signaling her unease perhaps, her uncertainty still present even with those responses to her vaguely mused question.
Dark eyes drop now to the pavement, to study her footwear. Somewhere in the recesses of her bag she can feel a faint vibration. Her cellphone announcing someone’s desire to communicate with the dancer. She begins to rummage for it.
(imogen)
A glance toward Evelyn and her cell phone, before looking back at James, "Y'ever seen that before?"(james)
a dark brow cocks towards the frame of dreads to mirror Evie's
regardless of anyone's personal opinions - he's sure of the Healer's ability and dedication
silence lingers for a moment in visual challenge for the dancer kin to speak her mind
clear enough he'd allow her to say whatever she felt was needed
clear enough he'd have no hesitations of putting anything needed back in line, either
a nod acknowleding the choice of silence
approval, perhaps, at the resulting discretion"Nev'r."
the single word speaking volumes as James turns to the other female
glasses finally lifted away to perch on the shaggy pillow of haphazard dreads
fingers falling to rub the tension points at the bridge of his nose
just.... a moment to make absolutely sure he did see that
or at the very least Imogen and Evie shared the same hallucination"That ain't s'pose a be poss'ble....."
the last part murmured as the ballerina's own question
while the Cliath didn't feel it necessary to mention his birthmoon
legendary purports an obvious choice in the matter
..... which makes it all the more confusing(evie)
Fingers finally locate and capture the elusive vibrating annoyance. (She’d throw the stupid device out if she weren’t dependant on it for so much.) She glances briefly at the screen, flashing at her a message that she reads discreetly, holding it beneath her face so that her lashes drop to half-mast, revealing her choice of gold eye shadow for a minute.She’s either unconcerned by the message or doesn’t like it because it’s after only a second or two that the Kin lifts her eyes once more and addresses the topic at hand, again in that quiet tone.
“What…does that mean, then?”
She searches both faces for clues to their feelings on the subject of the ailing Kirk.
(imogen)
"Supposedly," low voiced, "taint c'n do it."She shrugs, slightly, as if expecting some doubt that she might know this, or have it from a reliable source, she adds, "One o' m'ancestors died that way. Apparently."
Another addition, "but I've never seen it f'r myself." Evelyn gets a slight shrug for her question. Imogen doesn't know.
(james)
oh yes... Imogen the Inspirational
he can't help the sidelong glance at the good Doctor's input
that's about the best guess he had, as well - something was just wrong
one of the reasons he contacted the healter by text instead of voice
far easier to type a warning than try to say it to where no one else hearsCliona prepared for the arrival as best he could
her pack a resource to assist however she thought needed
the Guardian's pack alerted beforehand to take necessary steps
James worried for the safety of his brother - more habitual than anything
of the choices, Tristan was by far the strongest physically
been through enough shit to know when it's time to bail out the cab's door
poor driver left as distractive bait recklessly drivingthe Ahroun.... just doesn't reply
nodding slightly to Imogen's hypothesis
vague confirmation of rumors and urban legends
lower lip caught by flat teeth as if to say they've done the best they could
cause.... there really isn't anything else he can say"Catch yeh 'roun'."
it serves as a conclusory effect for his departure
chin tipped to nod-up farewell in a glance
and the raggedyman returns to his quest for that one thing which makes life worth living through the relentless Northern State winters time and time again for the bone-chilled soldier's of Gaia's devoted Armypiiiiiizzza
fresh baked and delivered right to the fucking door(decker)
James walking down the street -- Decker walking up that same street.Patrols. 'R somethin'. Maybe they just didn't trust the kin to be alone. The Modi and the Ahroun: you'd think they couldn't possibly be more different. Couldn't possibly know each other, 'cept on the passing the former juts his jaw at the latter: some sort of nod, or something. A fist comes out and he bumps knuckles with James.
"'Sup."
...and then, sliding past with a hand briefly clapped on the other's shoulder. Knit gloves today, the fingers cut off, which seemed a good idea at the time, but now seemed a horrible one. Even his fingernails felt frostbitten. Streetlights rake over him, the short-buzzed hair and the angry eyes, the heavy clothes that were rapidly bundling up towards wintergear.
(evie)
Evelyn gives a brief tilt of her head in response to the farewell. A hand slips free from a pocket and makes some vague curve into a wave before it’s side tracked into pushing more of the blond mass from her features. She nudges her bag, casually slung over one shoulder, back into its rightful place on her slender shoulder and glances at Imogen, then down the street. She catches sight of a familiar figure.
“Well…”
She murmurs, quietly surprised, pleasure apparent only in the dark eyes as she watches James approach, just as the other departs. And coming along with her James? Evelyn’s eyes flicker briefly to meet the other Kin’s. Decker.
Interesting.
(imogen)
A glance toward James as he starts to leave, "Night," she offers at the Gnawers departing back, before her gaze flicks beyond to the two other Garou departing. Her eyes shadow briefly, lids dropping to a near narrow, before the expression fades.Evelyn's gaze felt, her attention slides briefly toward the blonde Fianna. It's met fairly evenly, smoothly and an eyebrow lifts slightly, half question (Well, what?), before her attention turns to lighting another cigarette.
(james)
knuckles bump
worlds collidethere are few opposites left to make them any more extreme
buzzcut granite statue and dreadlocked urban primitive
joined by a force far stronger than the raptor totem screaming across the skies("S'up.")
My curiosity.
words telegraphed on phantom wings
clarity wrought in abstract thought that bypassed the impeding physical slur
it forwards the impressions sent like a rapid-fire slideshow
images of the Garou bearing infected wounds that should have healed
the after-effects of "bad living"'s flimsy excuse
at least there's salvation in the closing chapter of pizza and beer back at the factoryGot a story to tell you. the invisable smirk is tangible Later.
sliding past without breaking stride
Posted by james at October 16, 2004 12:00 AM
hand clapped on shoulder breif, temporary bridge between
worlds floating back apart as if their paths had never crossed