December 06, 2005
.12.06.05. - .....philistine! [tristan]

[downtown]

(tristan)
So - it's 6am, and what is a pretty boi like Tristan doing out and about at such an hour? Well, that's simple! It's always wise to eat something after a night at the clubs, even if the drinking was minimal. Thus, said pretty boi kin can be found slouched in the window of Denny's, looking out at the bitter cold day, working his way through a plate of hangover special. Guarenteed to put meat on his bones, or cure his hangover, or kill him with a coronary before he's 30.

Can't go wrong with that.

Coffee by one elbow, the plate of some sort of omlet mash and pancakes on the side with bacon and sausage and - well, quite frankly, it makes one wonder just WHERE does he put it all? Really?

Without his beloved violin - he'll pick that up later - he's simply a tall, good looking (if tired) man with curly hair. But then again - here in Chicago, is anyone 'simply' anything?


(james)
six a.m.
nine de.grees.
and what is a seasoned veteran Gnawer doing out and about at such an hour and temperature?!
James' answer is not quite so simple as his prettier cousin
(brother)
the Garou is on some semblance of patrol
even if this, likely, ventures far out of his normal district o' command

there's rhyme and reason for everything in this darkened world
question is surviving long enough to find the answer

so - here's tonight's equation
one tall, good lookingly tired man with curly hair
comfortably recharging within the climate controlled retreat of Denny's all-night service
settled near a window slowly growing overcast by the steam rising from just-refilled coffee
on the other side of paned glass divisor roams a far chillier fellow
dreads tumbling about the layers bulking up already muscular shoulders
hands tucked into pockets nice and snug
quite frankly - the portrait of a derelict bum who would stop just outside man's chosen diner window
forlornly gazing at the plate of fast-disappearing food with whimsical wishes it were filling his own panged stomach
begging, perhaps, a stray bit of change from the sympathetic fellow in hopes of earning enough for a similar meal by late morning

yet, as the Adren recognizes just who slouches across the barrier glass
there's a moment when any schooled mathmetician will realize the growing chance
that
something sure ain't adding up

the vagrant raggedyman gazes not through the window with figments of well-fed wish - oh no
he has taken, quite resourcefully, a piece of chewing gum guilty of losing it's cinnamon tang three blocks ago
drawing the poor confection limb from limb into four distinctly tortured pieces
and stretching the first into the long, wormy line of what appears to be a capital "U"
just to the left of it's central margin, another, smaller "U" connects both its ends at a rather jovial angle
adding above this strange symbol twin dots of rolled up sticky substance seeming to lack any meaning at all

unless, of course, the man inside were to look at the whole picture.... backwards as it may be

(tristan)
Somethin... something is simply not adding up. Well, to most people anyway. To the pretty boy there is the distinct feeling of (lu...Brother) that eminates even from the other side of the windowpane, and it's that feeling of tightness along his spine that gets him to look up. And then the DoubleMintPicasso does his finest, and the boy inside takes another (largely fattening) bite.... chewing contemplatively...

A slim brow arches, slowly.
He looks around.
He doesn't put his fork down - of course not!

but he does? Stick his tongue out.
(SeeFood, anyone?)

Then, he simply chuckles and waves his brother inside out of the cold, while gesturing with the other hand to the harried waitress to bring another serving of.. well, everything. They are Gnawers, after all, there's a certain reputation to uphold.


(james)
given the method of commentary his dawn masterpiece received
James, appropriately, curls his upper lip in a look of obvious(ly dramatized) disgust
he actually THUMPS the window with his fist
.... thankfully the moon is quite slender high above and the Ahroun doesn't crack glass.....
creating quite a resonatingly sudden sound that draws the attention of one harried waitress
and probably quite a few other souls scattered about the restaurant
most of which were likely hoping for a far quieter start to their Tuesday
not some dreadlocked madman hollering

"PHILLIH-STINE!"

through the double-paned insulation glass
after which there is a drawn out second or six of silence
filled only by the faint echo of still-vibrating glass
and the white-noise mew-zak of Denny's Holiday Top 40 List on eternal repeat

(.... wait... did Mr. Art Critic just invite that guy inside??)

for those that wouldn't know any better
this scorned artist appears, well, upset
and.... as a matter of fact... seems to be stepping away from the window
and. towards. the doors.

(... anyone remember if the manager locked those?)

quite fortunately - it is not venomed protest that breaks the standing silence
no, no scathing retorts commanding respect for "modern urban expressionist art"
instead, the tall mop-haired stranger seems to be emitting a lowly rumbling chuckle
gesturing a promise to clean up the window on his way past shocked-to-standstill-harried waitress
and otherwise uneventfully sinking onto booth cushion's opposite the pretty man sportin' curls

(tristan)
The THUMP on the glass certainly gets a reaction, as everyone stumbles, or moves, or races, or.... holds their breath. Tristan? Dark eyes glitter with mirth and merriment as he simply takes another bite and keeps chewing with that oh so easy grin that's gotten him oh so many boys (but never quite the boy, hm?)...

Eventually the raggedy man joins the Art Critic and slumps into the cushions, and his foot brazenly lifts to flank Jukebox's thigh, pressing against the seat as if to bar any exit until their 'discussion' of 'art' is finished.

Or he's simply stretching his long ass legs. One can never quite be sure.

"Mornin." The deceptively dry greeting. "took the liberty of ordering you some chow. And what, I thought your picture was a request, and treated it accordingly." Oh the innocence - marred by decidedly devilish gleem in dark eyes partially hidden by the lower of dusty lashes...


(james)
dark eyes drop to the scuffed up boot flanking his thigh
brow lifting marginally as the corners of his mouth twitch downwards in thought
whatever that may mean is concealed by the twist of lips a different expression than he wore outside
whatever distaste there had been is exchanged for a strategically darker presence
that would, then, be borderline challenging smirk

"Since when I ev'r reques' wh't I c'n deman', uh?"

followed by slow and slurred drawl that must be popular with the decadent arteests these days
(.... young people, tsk. always think they've gotta prove something.....)
before his attempt to cast a surly smouldering burn towards arriving waitress
it works.... for about the first two seconds before her shocked blue eyes narrow, enlightened
realizing the playful glitter dazzling some muted reflection deep in umber pools

James would have pulled this off much more convincingly if he'd brought his sunglasses along
too bad he finds no need to state how cool he must be by wearing them after dark
ruins his constructed machismo completely
no more the mysteriously brooding artist, is he, reduced further towards mediocrity's banter by his own growing shadow of a smile

"Thangssss hun." winked at the waitress before turning attention back to his brother, tease half-hidden by immediate direction of food towards and into mouth "See yeh 'membered a bathe 'fore spendin' night out'n th' town......

.... mos'ly."

(tristan)
That brow arches slightly higher at the first, studying the gloweringly smouldering raggedy man across from him with what must seem an unusual amount of calm when viewed by the other's in the establishment, but well, he's been glowered at before.. and bellowed at, and murmured at, and begged....oh - the begging....

or was that the other one? Hm.

He just chuckles at the Waitress' obvious relief when the humor is seen, and the food dropped off, and the smile lingers as he takes a swallow or four of his coffee, and resumes shoveling - erm, eating.

"Was all clean when I started the evening.... sometime yesterday. Honest." Though there's a sheepish grin for the state he was found in last time, blunt nails scraping along his jaw in a scritch before falling to grab a piece of toast again. "Couldn't see how it could have been more impressive then last time, so figured I'd take a.... cleaner... route."


(james)
the Gnawer Elderman smirks somewhere around his food
polite enough to swallow and wipe his mouth before allowing the chuckle to rumble free
(... sorry, the See Food show is only once a night, come back tomorrow for....)
head shaking slow enough for dreads to merely shift weight across broad shoulders

"Ih work f'r yeh?"

curiosity tips his jawline towards an almost nod-up
the trademark-serve-all-gesture curbed by food's greater importance
after all, their Tribe's got a rep to keep and the prettyboi got a head start at plate clearin'

"Cuz I'm still c'nvince' yeh hadda try f'r tha' las' state. Surprise' sum've it really cay'm'awf'n o'ly th' secon' scrub'n rinse."


(tristan)
He ducks his head, letting those springy corkscrew curls hide his face a bit. He's damn embarrassed to have been caught in the state he was last time, but well, some things just... happen.

But he can't hold back the wicked grin. "Always works for me. When I want it too." Oh the cockiness (heh.heh.heh.) of a pretty youth!

A moment passes, before he admits though. "Had t'try, your right.. don't think I saw anything but the bottom of a bottle for a week or so... Don't remember much of it, just started drinking, and... didn't stop till shortly before you found me. I'm surprised I had any skin left the way you were scrubbin..."

......grin. "not that I wasn't enjoying it anyway... I'm sure there's some dirt somewhere from tonight, if you feel the need to pick up the loofa again..."


(james)
humiliating as he knows it must have been for Tristan
especially as the "Den Mom" kinsman is normally the one to tidy up his loose and filthy ends
James teases with the good-natured affection of only the deepest bonds
scoffing away the barb in prettyboi's cocky (heh.heh.heh.) remark

"Got tabs'n'a pow'r wash'r f'r nex' time." empty fork is used to point in emphasis, before it's noticed as empty and that deficit is quickly remedied as James carries on "I learn' my less'n las' time.... ain't was'in' elbow grease I dunn'av' to. Ain' no way a teach you yoars if all yeh do'iz'njoy th' repriman'."

chewing as he is, the Full Moon easily covers the shading grin admitting his own take of that particular situation
but what Elder is he to not teach the brethren in those chances so readily available?
sure sounds better than saying it just cause it's excuse to give his brother endless shit

(tristan)
He shakes his head with a rueful grin, scratching at the back of his neck before he slops up the rest of his eggs with the last of his toast, and munching on it in concentration to hide the flame creeping along his jaw, down his neck, as well as up to those pretty hiding curls.

"Well, was the least you could do. Though, I recall, last time I cleaned YOU up"

Pause, swig of coffee, oh so innocently wicked grin. "I used my tongue."


(james)
there's almost a full minute of silence as James regards that wicked remark
contemplating the artistic arrangement of the foodly scraps left on his plate
and how best to herd them all onto this last-half-piece of toast for efficiency
slowly drawing a complex map through syrup dregs along his chosen path
flat white upper teeth smoothing over the chap that will never get far past beginning to roughen warm lips

"'n I recall......." slide. slop. scoop. "......shade'ly, mind yew...." fold contents within ......"I near blew th' back've y'r skull awf." bite. chew. swallow. look up with a dark-eyed smirk

touche

(tristan)
A nod concedes that point, as he lifts his coffee in toast and leans back, his foot knocking a little tattooed beat along his brother's thigh. "True.. I recall that very well... and, as I said then - or after you recovered..."

He digs out the crumpled bills needed to pay for their feasts and drops it on the table so as not to forget should he have to, oh, run or something...

But that grin - it just won't stay away, and now it's downright hungry - and not for the weight of food he just put away. "If you wouldn't wait so very long between.. explosions... it would be every bit as satisfying, and make sure I maintain the back of my skull. It's a useful thing to have and all."

(james)
the foot knocks little tattooed beat along outer thigh
James allows the aimless tune few moments liberty
before movement's ceased entirely beneath his palm's vice grip
locking around boot, sock layers, and ankle snug beneath without hint of effort
pressure digging boot's heel into cushion's newly formed sponge-like brace
a twitch or two of protest later, and fist tightens to pull
slipping Tristan a good inch or four forward on the booth's bench
and given the obstruction of table lips right junction of stomach and ribcage
physics reigns over the pivoting hinge drawing prettyboi quite a bit lower on his seat
Ahroun easily leaning across the table to look pointedly down at rearranged kinsman

"Why reques' ev'ry coupl'a few nigh's..." (grandpa, when did your whisper get so low and coarse?) "..... when I know f'r a fac'......" (my, what a.. what a toothy grin you have) ".... y'r crank turn hard'r f'r a deman' tha' cums.,..." (i never noticed what big, darkly glowing eyes you have) ".... when yew all but f'rgott'n a 'spect it, 'r that'ch' ev'n need th' back've y'r skull."

back atcha, bub
there's a friendly pat on the outside of Tristan's ankle
James paying no heed leg's barring stretch to lift, rearrange, and easily excuse himself from the booth without backward glance
has a promise to keep, after all - before his brother does the chore and sticks said gum vengeantly in his dreads

[end]

Posted by james at December 06, 2005 12:00 AM