July 15, 2005
.07.15.05. - true courage [annemarie-kemp]

[downtown]

(annemarie)
She returns to the dockside packhouse once more, a big bucket of KFC in one arm, the bag with additional side dishes hanging from her wrist, a chicken [corax - or one can dream] leg in the other. She nudges the door open, and comes inside, tearing [rippingsheddingtearing] the meat from the bone.

Totemphone. Dinnertime.

She doesn't look any the worse from wear for last night's spar. There are advantages to being Metis. By the time she woke, found the note, took a walk and threatened a birdbrain she was whole again. The memory won't leave quite so soon, of course, but none the less, she is healed.

She sets the KFC on a random table, napkin used to wipe the grease from her lips before she looks around to see who is around.

(kemp)
He didn't come here so much, infact, seldom ever since Hyde returned and started filling the place with weird ass shit. The place was like a combo campout with the tent thing in there and a science freak show gone wild. Gingerly stepping in with a quick look in every single direction. Up, down, left, right, straight ahead and even back behind himself. Grumbling.

(james)
as a matter of contrast - beyond what would be stated by the obvious
James does not possess the metis' accelerated sense of recovery
instead, his birthbreed provides a wholly different set of unique advantages
currently resulting in the apparent balance of the so-called "decorations" collected above his waist
iridescent forearm inks and darker stains of backlash ash now enjoy a variety of company
the irregularity of color from the still-tender bruises added a dash of excitement
a bit of blue or purple there on his flank, don't forget that hint of yellow by that rib
overall a somewhat gruesome artist's pallete across his tanned flesh canvas

but it's all so very fashionable for this summer's Garou look

at least the Adren was successful in finding a decent object to tame his dreads
dark grey bandana lassoing the haphazard ropey vines into some arrangement of..... "up"
it allows the luxury of clear view once his deep umber eyes finally slit open
following his two packmates' activities through half-lidded veil
attention's shift does little to disturb his comfortable levitation in salvaged hammock

at most, knee flexes to scratch one ankle against the other by the cuffs of his BDUs
or..... arm extends to flick the logging ash from tip of smouldering Camel
shortly after it's replaced between teeth, his fingers are already laced behind skull

"Room serv', ev'n." the low chuckle is as lazy as he probably looks "I'm 'press'."

(am)
There's a nod up toward Kemp, somewhere deep in her gaze there's a shine of amusement of his antics. Or perhaps it's because buzz is sniffing around the rotegars ankle and she knows of his timidness among the Godi's toys.

She wipes her mouth again, before peeling the rest of the flesh from the chicken leg in her hand, taking her time to savor the still hot and juicy meet before she admits. Wasn't going to be. Ran into a certain Corax idiot - led to a craving for bird flesh. As he'd already left I thought this would suffice.

Slim brow lifts, taking in the decorative palette of bruises across his torso. Though if you expect breakfast in your bed, you've another thing coming. Easier with him today - a slight, though noticeable contrast to the timidity of last night. She still chooses her words carefully. Though she proved herself capable last night, if not able to equal his stamina - her rage a bare simmer of what it was before the spar.

She takes up the staff she was working on, and takes a seat on the (...shag!?!) roll of carpet, her ankles crossing before her, giving her a stablity to lay the 7 foot staff across her thighs. Finishing the chicken leg, she tosses the bones into a nearby trash bag of some sort, and cleans her hands again, before taking her carving tools from her pocket.


(kemp)
"Shooo, scram, take off." Gingerly stepping over Buzz with a frown. Making a bee-line for the chicken bucket to snag a piece. "Thanks! Starving." Digging and mumbling. "Bird? Same stupid fuck that Decker tried to chop in half?"

(james)
Buzz makes itself at home puttering about the nooks and crannies on floorlevel
the Ganwer is blissfully suspended a good three and a half feet off the concrete ground
..... perhaps there is a method to such madness - beyond the benefits of all-around circulation on a hot summer's day
nearby herd of AAA batteries huddled just this side of the shadows conifirms the thought
little electrical beastie given free reign to pillage as pleased without the threat to Garou's ankle
the vantage point allows James the occasional study of it's peculiar habits, too
comfortable enough with the spirit features to hang around the factory
adding as he can to the little he actually knows of the nature of such things

"Whuh..... th' bi'chslap wan't 'nuff've a No Tresspasssssing sign for'm?" eye contact and a nod up signal Kemp's intervention of his starvation, requesting any piece of the chicken reasonably aeordynamic to be flung his way...... it will serve to fuel his decidedly slow climb out of hammock's sway - there's quite a bit more bruising than on display, it seems - incentive appetizer to work through the aches and over to the table "Can' figg'r out'f this new kid's a mas'chist, stupid, 'r got balls bigger'n Deck'r'm'sel'."

(kemp)
Pulling a breast out of the box because, well he was a breast man and it was bigger than the legs and thighs. Winging the chunk of fried chicken through the air towards James while chewing on the piece he had gotten out for himself. "Hey, we got any pop?"

(am)
A mental sound of disgust. Apparently not. He lives in the area, but still does not seem to understand why his request was unacceptable - thus, stupidity reigns. Judged there, but that's shoved aside as she watches the Gnawer elder, the beta's slow progress from hammock to feet to table and more food. A brow quirks slightly, and fingers slide over the staff in progress over her lap.

It is safe to say she is admiring the placement of the bruises. She had promised, and if he was wearing a shirt, they would be hidden. She may have been beat, but it was not without finesse on her part. Nice bruises.

Pale gaze flicks up to meet deep umber, amusement found deep within her own, before she turns her attention to her work. Nimble fingers choose the tools she prefers, and soon, she is continuing the addition of carved runes running the length of the staff. Idly replied to Kemp. I believe Tristan restocked the cooler.

(kemp)
"Cool, thanks. Drier than a popcorn fart." Heading for the cooler with a wary eye out for some weird ass thing that might pop out. Place was freaking him out lately. It was like living in Ripley's Believe it or Not.


(james)
( kssscchh.... houston we have one incoming chicken needing clearance for landing..... )
the Ahroun doesn't even have to look towards winging breast for a square, solid catch
either his instincts are just that good
or.... he's that in tune with food

James is a Gnawer, you decide

eventually the stiff leisure of repose wears off with each successive heartbeat
mobility returning to the Gnawer's protesting frame at a geometric rate
by the time he's biting the last meat off bone, hammock's used as nothing more than a sling
weight pivoting back off his boots in half-seated half-stretch
(... let the blood floooooow....)
giving the covetously celebrating Modi a good look at her handiwork

between the brand, bruises, ashed claw scars, and weapon's dedicated tattoo
tanned flesh is a monument towards...... what few beyond the Chosen would ever understand

naked bone's tossed towards a barrel-turned-trashcan
outstretched arm lingering mid-flight as the raggedyman displays runway-worthy turn

"Think so?" his grin is positively cavalier "If yeh like'm? I c'n get'cha real good deal wi' th' girl a gave'm t'me.... pers'nal fav'r, 'n'all.... f'r a set a y'r very own."

his journey makes it as far as the (..... shag?!?!?!) carpet roll
distracted even from food by the work that the Fenrir carefully begins

"Issafe, Kem'." blindly called towards the Rotagar's hesitant retrieval of his beloved soda pop, the next phrase lowering his voice to mere murmur meant for Ruhiger alone..... though his gaze is deliberately on her hands should she look up to respond "Deci'e onna place f'r y'r da'e, yeh?"


(kemp)
Cracking a pop open to chug down half of it in a long pull before lowering the can to blech long and loud. Shaggy hair now a mixture of brassy red and muddy brown where his roots had grown out. Still working on the attempt to grow facial hair.

(am)
The stories were true, it would seem, as the raggedy elder proves himself one of good humor, as well as showmanship. He slips easily into the cavalier grin, and lips twitch into an almost grin - though the feeling is certainly there. Is that so... Seems I had a set around here somewhere. Wonder where they went... Not exactly - well, that would be a lie. She is a bit smug. He won on points, she maintains stylistic pride of a longer lasting palette.

He settles down next to her, and she is still working the intricate designs. Nimble fingers dig the grooves into the hard wood with precision and neatness - much as her normal writing. It is a mixture, with Fenrir glyphs added throughout for added style. [claimed.] The runic alphabet is an ancient one, and the story it tells one of their first meeting and the respect earned on both parts. It is plotted out not with any markings that can be seen, just by practiced work of her hands.

Then he says the last. Softly, for her ears alone, and her hands still... and much to her embarrassment, she actually flushes. He... She had not even gotten to call it a date yet, having not quite gotten up the nerve to go there. She decidedly refuses to meet his gaze though, until the heat in her face dissipates. She swallows, and then a nudge of her elbow lands perfectly in a fading bruise.

She glances at him, quickly, then shakes her head no, not yet. Knowing that she as good as admitted that it will, indeed be a date. Any suggestions? She doesn't bother hiding the totemphoned aside from Kemp, though it will likely be questioned. Best the teasing be done and over with quickly.

She does, however, make sure to pay close attention to where and what she's carving, under the guise of attempting to regain her normal poise.

(kemp)
"Hmmm? Yea, next time get extra crispy." There was his suggestion. Finding a place to perch where his feet weren't on the floor and he could sit and go through the sides Anne had brought. Starting to pick at them.

(james)
AnneMarie scores points for the home team in the bruises scattered on his skin
James, however, fields the game-winning homer when a bit of color applies to her flesh
you can bet jabbing elbow meets already tense and steely muscle
it does little to damped nerve response to the accuracy of her aim
but at least he survives the latest assault with no further injury

the low chuff catching in his throat admits his knowledge that.... oh yeh he fucking deserved that

there's little communication on that subject beyond that
deep umber eyes still dropped to watch the motion of her hands
following the pattern and intent lain in staff with the symbols
though, just as with the spirits, he knows little of their actual symbolism
it's the musician's study of technique before improvisation, so to speak

"Tha' depen's." surely the Rotagar would pick up on her side of their conversation, though James tempers his phrase to carry little beyond her ears..... it's the sound of an artist caught in the creation of a brilliant work, associating the carved aspects with the emotional inspiration uncovered by falter and flush "Wha'she li'e?"

(am)
She smirks, slightly, at his sound of admittance that he deserved her little jab. He watches, and for some it may be disconcerting to have one watch their work so closely, but for her, it merely increases the precision with which she lays the symbols into the wood. She knows he doesn't understand most of it - not yet, but for the Fenrir glyphs that are easily recognizable, considering the make up of the pack.

Kemp is answered first. I will remember. Though I may have saved a thigh of extra crispy hidden in the bottom. The admission permission for him to take it - as if he needed it. He picks through the potatoes and salads and biscuit sides, and she glances up at the Beta again. Fingers rub over the runes, and she points to a few of them, answering his question without seeming too for the younger set of ears.

Strong. Steady. Confident. Athletic. Fighter. pause. then she points to another. Beautiful.

Then, added on the whiteboard she takes from her pocket. she adds on it. Me, only kin and confident in Monkey ways, where I am reserved. She smiles more.

(kemp)
"Cool." Digging through what was left of the chicken to get to the prized crispy piece. One pop down, another one taken to open and chug on. Mostly not paying attention to what they were talking about. Most of his attention divided between food and watching for some freak ass thing to come out of nowhere and well, freak him out.

(james)
surely enough, the Adren pieces together a marginal understanding
accumulating pack-familiar glyphs with the lesser known soon translated
nodding in part to understanding.... and to signal he, too, listens
imperceptive as he may be about ninja-sneaky roots
the Ahroun is not ignorant in the realm of understanding the heart within the monster
that secretive little place where man and beast have no remaining differences

"Sooo..... seems a me y'r need'n a place pers'nal 'nuff f'r you t' smile withou' worry a Munkey way'...... an...... roman'ic yeh strong 'nuff a hold sum sort've appeal f'r a sim'lar fighting hear' w'thou' n'glecting'r sof'r side." it's only then the guttermutt draws his eyes upwards, peeking at the Modi should she dare meet his gaze after such a candid suggestion "Am'eye righ'?"

she, perhaps, has never even expected such concepts from the Full Moon's mouth
his street-corner poet-laureate persona lost somewhere in a battlescar's deficit
few indeed may even remember the days such vocabulary frequented his muses

(am)
To Kemp, the first reply. Save me some slaw. Then she listens to the Adren as he puts together the bits of clues given in the touch of blunt, yet manicured nails across the wood. He pulls it together, and she nods, but it’s a moment or two before she dares look up to catch his peeking gaze. It's a quick glance, an admission of how out of her league she feels - not one of weakness, never that, but one of... timidity. Unsure.

But she nods, a sharp lift of her chin. He's right. And if she is surprised that a Full moon would pull all of that together, it is not readily apparent. She is perhaps simply grateful that he does, and can, from her limited experience. This is for A pause as she looks up at Kemp, then back. Gisele. She teaches self defense and kick boxing at Jakes Gym, where I work out sometimes. Jake had me test her moves before giving her the job. She points to another glyph and lips twitch into something that might actually grow up to be a grin. Fierce. Your brother has her teaching young Moira self defense. Moira is not amused.

More given under the guise of explaining the gift and teaching the runes and glyphs.


(kemp)
"Moira rather chase old rich fucks around." Well maybe not, but sure as hell seemed like she always had somoene sniffing aroun her like she was in heat. "Always someone sniffing around her. Maybe you should make her one of those sticks so she can beat them off with it?" LIcking his fingers then wiping them on his jeans.

(james)
"oo'the hell ev'n IS Moiruh?"

the grin crookedly balanced on his lips is, without a doubt, wry
Moira is one pack-related kin he has yet to even meet
though the stories turning up about her are getting increasingly interesting
dark eyes tick-tocking between his two Fenrir packmates

"Soun's a me she's more'n need've a chas'ty belt'n a weapon've hon'r....."

while that remark may be WAY off center
he converses best he can given the limited information in Kemp's opinion
following her direction discerning the fierce rune
(.... you maaaaay just want to let that one slide, Jamey-boy.....)
the volume once again centers betwen the two Full Moons

"How seer'us are yeh 'bout'r?"

it's a legitimate question, in all honesty
a very pivotal factor in his ultimate decision
while James would loathe an evening inapproriate in its entirety for either woman
he's well aware of AnneMarie's carefully sheilded insecurity
the Eagles are damaged enough when it comes to relationships
his priority is keeping the Modi within the realms of her comfort and ability
the pack already bears more than it's fair share of sorrow and regret

(kemp)
"Serious?" Completely taking that as meant for him. "Oh hell if I know. I mean, she showed me her tits and said she'd lick my balls if I took a shower, but heh, haven't taken her up on that one." Shrugging again, a pensive look on his face. Not so sure he wanted to endanger anyone else by becoming involved with them.

(am)
She looks up at Kemp and studies him a moment, then nods. After she has learned to move her body in correct form, how to defend herself hand to hand, I would be pleased to fashion a staff for her as well. It is more important she learn the close defense first, before she moves to weaponry. I will search for appropriate wood to begin her when she is ready, however. For the smaller kin, it must be shorter and lighter then this one. Her balance is different and it must fit her well if she is to wield it effectively. .

There's a sniff of amusement at the Adren's comments on the young kin. She blinks and looks up as Kemp answers about moira, and it's with a twitch of amusement that she adds in something of a double speak. Licking balls serious. That's pretty serious I would think...

Then, to the whiteboard by her thigh. I know only that I think of her often. Enough to have braved one dinner and movie combination on our own already. Beer, burgers and Fantastic 4. a pause, and then. This is very new. I've never... not willingly anyway. And then her hand slides over the last. That he saw it, she is certain. That he gathers the full meaning behind it in angry swipe of last three words quite possible.


(kemp)
"Well hell yeah it's serious. That's a pretty vulnerable position to be in too." Nodding, completely serious. "Besides, I don't have such good luck with um, people." Really considering himself bad luck.

(james)
the broader question was thrown out to the proverbial wolves, so to speak
the Gnawer accepting an answer from either of his packmates
they, obviously, more familiar with the....... adventurously friendly.... girl as it was
faux pas related to intention he'll just let slide

"Think'is a fam'ly trai', kid."

dreadlocks bounce as James glances up
hitting Kemp with that crooked, yet knowing, smile
raggedyman's own track record not exactly sparklingly lucky, itself

then whatever comment was forming about Moirah is lost as the Ahroun reads
corners of his mouth drawing low in a frown's breif appearance
this time, he reaches for the whiteboard when it comes his turn to reply
to the rest of the world it seems nothing more than a practice run at reproducing the symbols

[ Then let's make it unprecedented for the both of you.... your heart set on going out to wine and dine, or feeling brave enough for a less public setting? ]

whatever it is this is leading to.... seems a bit more involved than some diner's best burger and beer soaking up the after effects of the latest high-gross action flic.... now doesn't it

(am)
She glances up at Kemp, and just studies him for a moment, then glances to the Gnawer with his comment on family traits. If there is question there, or knowledge there, it is hard to tell, but then she nods.

She glances at the board, and switches her tool for the pen. This time she takes her time. Perhaps it looks like she's correcting his practice, but instead writing more then she had before. Or perhaps just something more important then she had before.

I hid my heart long ago. Gisele makes it beat again. It frightens me - but I am brave enough for either, even privacy. I am in your hands.

I am Modi. I will not let a... girl...know...that she terrifies me.

She passes it over to him, and bends her head to the carving once more.

(james)
the whiteboard finds itself cradled between both rough palms
Gnawer's deep umber eyes lingering on the newest message
he could be studying her corrections - he could be considering her confessions
slowly wiping the words away before replacing them with his own

"You've goh a lot've faith'n wha's lef'n th' pieces've a hopeless roman'ic......"

it's a low hummed murmur, practically wistful - it seems there's a story, there
now either he spoke true at the moot of his handwriting's horror
the symbols pictograph simplicity mangled worse than even his tongue could damage
or it's something else entirely to which only the Modi bears witness
something seemingly drawn from a secret birthplace deep in the Hood before her
cause as it turns out.... his scriptish print is surprisingly neat

[ There is nothing more frightening than learning to truly live once again. Remembering you know how to breathe for more than necessity. Or that your heart beats strong for something other than Blessed Gaia. Few of us are lucky enough to get that second chance. Even less are brave enough to risk taking it. Abandoning what may be for the sake of protecting old wounds which may or may not open yet again. They forget when the Mother smiled at our births and granted us today.... she made no promises of living tomorrow. Fiercely embracing what we have within arm's reach is the Garou's greatest victory - be it in the midst of battle, or at the threshhold of love. ]

he worries not his thoughts sound preached lessons to a young weanling cub
somehow..... he knows it is something she can sympathetically understand

[ I doubt you would ever forget that, AnneMarie. Just like I doubt any fault in your bravery. What I'm impressed with is your courage. True courage. It's a rarity among the endless Glory of our kind. ]

James draws his pack and Zippo during the silence as she reads
smoke rings aimed lazily at the ceiling - as if they spoke of things far more casual than matters of a Warrior's heart
only after she looks up once again does he offer the increasingly familiar soft and crooked smile

"'talian, Frensh-Med, 'r Eclecti' Wine?"

(am)
Kemp has wandered off in search of... gaia knows what. That by can be infuriatingly unpredictable. As a result, however, when the Adren is finished writing, she takes it much the same as he did, and reads it carefully. There are things within her that no one knows, that no one has cared if they existed. She had done remarkably well hiding them, extremely adept and only letting things leak into her expression that she fully intends to be seen. She is Modi. She is a product of her Grandmother's obsessive need for perfection and overcoming the stigmata of her birth - which, ironically, she believes would have been easier had it been something other then mere muteness. Oft times, it seemed she could not even be deformed correctly.

As if she had a choice.

But now, here, in a packhouse with an Adren elder who has gotten more from her then any of the others, she is keenly aware that she could not be more naked in front of him in this moment, then had she stripped down and danced in the moonlight. There is an innate understanding in the care he puts into the words, the hints of story that he shares without taking power from her own in need of solution.

He speaks - writes - of things that her grandmother insisted were for others. She is Fenrir, she is Modi, she is Metis. There is no room for compassion, for softness, for anything but the quest for perfection until at last it is not enough and she falls in battle. These battles of the heart, they were always for others.

It is the last bit that holds her attention the longest, though each word struck a chord somewhere in the Modi, writ on a soul that has been barren for far too long. She is only 18 - but it is a lifetime of protection, of control, of intensity that begins to unravel. Not all at once, a mere string that someone can get ahold of, to tug and perhaps reveal more of what is buried so deeply within. The realization of it all causes her expression to... soften. There is less hautiness about the edges though no less pride. The difference is subtle, but it is there, and it is enough to be noticed. He, a Garou and packmate that she has barely met, is impressed. He believes she has courage. True courage.

It would be no lie to say that her hand trembles as she takes the pen again. Not a lot, just a quiver that suggests something deeper at work within. Hidden. Protected. (..it’s a matter of trust...) She has no reply for a long time. She is unsure if there is a way to formulate the words. Instead, she takes refuge in the verbal question, carefully setting the board down so as not to muss the writing just yet. She lifts her gaze to his for one brief, shining moment - were it is all bare, naked in the pale depths, before she turns to the staff across her lap. She takes up her tool then, and nods as she takes a breath.

Italian. Something must remain comfortably familiar.

It is shot across the totemphone with a twitch of her lips - it is not the grin seen last night, hungry and thrilled with sparring battle. It is a mere hint of what may eventually grow up to be a smile.

Someday.

And then, the true teaching of the Rune Carving begins.

(james)
there is something to be said about the complexities of communication
the greatest writers in the world penned masterpieces of literary brilliance
the greatest composers in the world drew overpowering passion from little more than wood and string
the greatest artists in the world sculpted color or clay into the very expression of creative soul
yet none..... none have relayed the sheer magnitude of what these two creatures abbreviate into a single, momentary glance

herein lays the fortitude of primal body launguage
telecommunications cast in the lexicon of animal muscle and bone
a dictionary's resource surpassed in the solitary catch of chemical-laden scent
an eye's reflection glitter that truly is the window opened into a wordless soul
and most importantly of all - the absolute sureity these signals cannot be tainted
no creature dares expose themselves at this degree while harboring intent to lie

this languange cannot be twisted into the nuanced fallacies of forked-tongue speech

those branded by Mighty Eagle are well known for their swift communication in the chaos of battle
somehow clearly relaying intricate bits of information with nary more than a glance or chuffing grunt
it should be no surprise such prowess holds in battles against an enemy not born of the Wyrm

following in the footsteps of that seemingly too-breif glance
his lopsided, almost boyish smile relates far more than worthy of words

"Heard good thingzzz 'bout Stef'ni's 'n Pane Caldo.... look'm up a see which you pref'r 'n we'll go fr'm there."

and now their roles will switch, and the true teaching of Rune Carving begins
the Elder Gnawer's experience exchanged for pupil's endless query and hunger
the Cliath Fenrir's uncertainty replaced with familiar rote and structure
James warned her he was different from what she'd learned to expect
already treating her as an equal beyond the deference of packmate bond
the Adren finding no shame in being taught to "draw" by a Metis-born teenager

Posted by james at July 15, 2005 12:00 AM