November 30, 2002.11.30.02. - lead on, dr. slaughter - part 2 [imogen] *fv[north jersey, at the morgue, cont'd from previous scene]
(james)
holding his breath worked in the short foray into the pack apartment
it doesn't work here
the road is entirely too long and narrow
he remembers the place, and the way, allright
how could he ever forget?
and if he did?
he's only to follow the smellImogen's used to it
Imogen's nerves have begun to deaden to it
Imogen's got the mind to just ignore whatever filters through
the nicoteine stain of exhaled smoke only lasts so long
soon enough it begins to seep into his awareness
beyond the tingling that's running up and down his spine
it's the smell of stagnant deatha smell that every animal loathes
a smell that most animals instinctively fearand his grip on the gurney tightens
hands pointedly placed so that the weld marks and joined bars dig into his palms
providing his own little distraction above the sound of sqeaking wheels and footsteps in the empty halls
the Cornish kin is a beacon of saturated hue in the gray walls
like some little floating sphere of light in the darkness
like some little lone flower in the middle of desert's waste
even though he's covered in the most haphazard mismatched rainbow imaginable
by the time he's standing in the morgue proper
he wishes he could do what the colors of his coat's patches have already done
just. fade. away.odd, the times you can't do that, Mr. Gnawer
he doesn't like it here
for a thousand reasonschin dipping in a nod
gurney number one parallel parked with gurney number two
then he stretches across number two to lift/drag the trunk over
whatever you do, Jamey-boy
don't. in. hale.(imogen)
"Wait," spoken quietly, barely heard above the scrape of wood against metal, shaking her head slightly, causing flamed hair to spill forward over her shoulders, dancing before her face. "I can't x-ray through that. Sorry, I wasn't thinking."I need to get it out of the trunk," she explains, pulling thick latex gloves from a box on the table, and quickly fitting them over her hands. She doesn't need to worry about fingerprints on parchment skin, nor can she actually destroy important evidence, if they already know the killer. however, she'd just as soon not touch her skin against the dead mummified flesh of the child.
James is showing signs that she's seen a hundred times, a thousand times on a thousand different faces. Interns, coming to watch an autopsy. Police officers, seeing their first one. Politicians, other doctors, new pathologists. The white-around-the-mouth haunted look that so many get around the dead. The Gnawer may kill things, but that is fresh death, and it is a thousand times different (a thousand times better) than the reeking dry, crinkling death before him.
He doesn't need to do this (he doesn't even need to be here), it's not his job, and at the very least, while she is not jaded to everything, she is at least able to put this aside, until some time later. Because of what needs to be done, and why, and that it's her job.
And sometimes it helps. Somehow. She thinks.
"I'll move it..." she begins, stepping forward as she settles the latex more firmly over her hands, slid like a second skin over her flesh, moulding to the shapes of her fine bones and skin. "I need to make sure nothing's damaged."
And she steps forward, around the gurney, and begins to reach into the trunk to pull out it's sad, pathetic occupant.
(james)
Wait
pause, dark eyes lift
I need to get it out of the trunk
oh bloody fucking fantastic
or more, dryly crumbling fantasticsooner or later he knew they'd have to open it
and while anticipation may be the greatest of all enemies
he sorta was hoping for the laterlower lip draws between his teeth
a thoughtful slide of hard enamel of skin
pressure whitening the skin before capillaries refill
it was just something to unlock the clench of jaw
as she moves up, he moves to the side
rotating the trunk to give her easiest accessclicksqueeeee
the slow opening of the dented lid
creak of hinges considering misalignment
held up so she can concentrate on not damaging the body
(since the trunk is beyond repair)
the waft of airpressure change breeze that stirs the tiny tomb
such a plain, little sarcophagus
such a small, forgotten mummy
lip curling in the jumpstart to look awayand it's like a fucking car wreck
you don't want to look
but you do
he doesn't want to look
(you'll have to see it eventually James)
but he does
gaze dropping to the little OshKosh overalls tucked neatly around the folded body
dark umber slowly finding the features left behind after the processes that are so far from naturalmost would be sick
most would feel their stomach's rising in revolt
most would want to join and turn - run - away
most would spit a curse at whomever did this
most would snarl at the the dead child before themhe?
he isn't most
he doesn't wretch
he doesn't run
he doesn't curse
he only looks very, very sad(imogen)
"Thanks," as he moves the trunk, and she pulls up the lid, in two pieces and many shattered splinters, because Decker broke the lock and the lid in the process of finding out what was inside.It's the first time she actually looks at the body, dark blue eyes passing across the tiny form, made that much smaller because it has shrunk in on itself, half curled as the tendons and muscles shrunk on itself, the skin pulling tighter, away from small white teeth, now yellowed with age, leaving them exposed, and leaving tiny moon shaped nails jutting out from the skin like a storytale witch's.
Like him she doesn't recoil. Nor does she retch, or snarl. But she doesn't look sadly upon it, either, instead reaching in and carefully slipping latex sheathed fingers beneath a pencil thin neck, while the other hand shifts beneath the child's knees. Lifting carefully, slowly, not because the weight is heavy (in fact, it is incredibly light), but because she does not want to damage fragile skin against the rough sides of the trunk, the child is removed carefully from its makeshift tomb. Cradling the child carefully away from her with a gentleness that its parents should have shown when it's alive, she deposits the child on the gurney, with barely a sound, only the faintest crinkle of dried and stiffened clothing against metal. Released of its sarcophagus and placed on a gurney designed to hold all manner and size of body, it looks that much more pathetic, barely taking up a quarter of it's length, and half of it's width. Displayed now in the cold white light, without the benefit of softening shadows of the trunk, that much more has been drawn into light.
It still has its socks on, the fabric hanging because much of the flesh has been worn away. The clothing is discoloured and stiff. White latex hands reach over, and carefully unbuckle the clasps for the overalls, because metal will get in the way of the x-rays.
If this were a horror movie, the body would move, now, twitching and moaning horribly, trying to kill our two "heroes", and finish what it's sister had started. If this were a horror movie, this moment of horrible silence would be broken by some sudden chaos. Instead, however the body just lays on the gurney, stiff and still unmoving, it's dried flesh a parchment yellow, it's teeth a similar colour. Like so many things in this place, the body is a monochrome of yellows and not quite flesh tones.
The firehaired doctor turns her head to look at James, speaking as she lays the overallstraps by the child's tiny head. "I'll take it through," a tilt of her chin toward one of the many doors in the autopsy suite, "there and x-ray it... Then perform at the very least an extlernal examination. There isn't much I can do by opening it up, at this point, but I'll see what I can find out." He can stay and help her, or leave her. Perhaps it's simply because she cannot imagine anyone else but her doing what she does, that she provides so many ways out.
The trunk by James is now empty, the insides stained by old old fluids, and hair trapped in the dried mess, because much of it had fallen out as the child had slowly petrified in the dryness.
(james)
if it were a horror movie........ you mean it isn't?
depends on your definition of a horror movie, one supposes
pulling a mummified child out of an ordinary trunk would qualify as Hollywood Only for the populus
of course, so would sprouting fur and battling the Apocalypse
quite the quandry, isn't it, Jamey-boyhe simply unlocks fingers their raptor grip of the lid
slowly lowering it
rather than outright dropping it
thewhoomph of air would probably do somethign detrimental
and so far, he's been doing pretty good
so let's keep the record goingfingers drum absently on the lid
soft sounds hollow even in this soul-empty place
the internal conversation is obvious
a move screen made of his features
the script scrolling across dark eyes"What can I do to help?"
finally lifting his gaze to look at her
earth's dark soil to sky's dark bluehe remembers what happened last time she was alone with a child's (supposed) corpse
Decker would kill him for abandoning her should something like that happen again
the pack would only see another Bone Gnawer running when times got tough
not to mention that someone - even her - shouldn't have to do this alone
just because it's her job to do so on a daily basis doesn't mean it's fair for him to walk out of a situation they both don't want to be in
and maybe.... just maybe.... he has his own inner demons to face
whatever those invisable creatures are that placed the weight on his shoulders years agohe's having a hard time removing himself enough to think of it as another learning experience
almost any other corpse he wouldn't be having this problem
but this one(imogen)
It maybe a horror, but sweetie, this is no movie.She half turns to look at him, considering for a moment. It would be completely in character for her to say 'nothing, let me work', and it would be completely unsurprising, praticularly to the one who, after Decker, was the first one to be subjected to her cold eyes and demeanour. Finally, "I can do the x-ray myself, and probably should... But after that," and she is honest here, "I'd need some help cutting off the clothing, and removing it without damaging the skin, to take measurements. And if you can write down the measurements as I take 'em, so I can guestimate an age."
Above them, the vents begin to whirr, air conditioning starting up, circulating the rooms atmosphere. It's just a degree or two colder than is comfortable. Keeps the bodies in better condition.
(james)
she wouldn't have come to him in the first place if she didn't need help
in for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying goes
lungs filling as chest expands into the chilled circulated air
nodding silently
half absentlyyou really are going through with this, aren't you, Jamey-boy
she's got the gurney
and he's...... got a clipboard!
from the desk!
and a pen!
which is mightier than the sword!
or somesuch bullshitholding it up in something like a toast
attempting that grin he had found earlier
his attempt fails miserably"Just call when you need me."
funny he says that now
(imogen)
She disappears into the other room pushing the gurney before her, door slamming behind her. She glances warily at the camera that surveys the room as she enters, beginning to set up. The only camera she cannot be sure as to whether or not it's working, and aside from the fact she cannot think of anything he could do as she does this, it is the reason she did not want him in this room.Outside, James can see a red light turn on over a sign declaring in english and spanish "if light is on, do not enter room', and sensitive ears can pick up the whirr of machines.
He has his pen. And his clipboard. And a desk. Everything about the room is clean. Sterilized formica counters, stainless steel sinks. Heavy doors, one that leads to the hallway, another that apparently leads to showers (or so the sign would lead him to believe), another into the obervatory room. Everything crammed into the high ceiling space, and kept clean by what must be anal maitenence staff.
It's a good five or ten minutes before she returns, putting a heavy and wide envelope on the edge of the counter where she leaves it to be developed, and pushing the gurney with it's unfortunate victim back into position. Gloves had been removed, while she was touching the machinery, and after a moment, she removes the lab coat, tossing it by the envelope, goose flesh rippling slightly in the over her arms. She wears a blouse the sleeves of which fall only to her elbows. Hiding the tattoo, but not hiding the white marks of small finger nail scars on the top of her wrist.
"You may want to put on some gloves," she offers, nodding toward a package of extra large gloves, as she slips on her own, which are smaller (and she likely had to insist they buy when she began to work here). "If you can slit the clothing, and I'll get it out of them..."
Unfortunately a job that would be tedious with only one person doing it.
(james)
he did his best to go on pause while she was in the room
amazing the tricks you learn when you're put in situations that you have no choice
he spent most of the near ten minutes staring at the floor between his boots
attention snapping upwards and back to the present as the doors opened againhere we go, Jamey-boy
the nod, once more, is absent, reserved
(uncomfortable)
the tattered trench shed and folded to place on the deskchair
the clipboard laid on top to match
dark gray bandana taken from a pocket and used to tie heavy dreads out of the way
gloves carefully pulled onto his hands
fingers flexing into fists to settle the latex across his knuckles
the hairs have risen across his forearms for an entirely different reason than the cold
the same reason he can feel it bristling invisable up his spine"Any particulars to the process?"
when he takes the bandage scissors held out to him
his hands don't shake
hesitant, perhaps, but not shaking
there's a slight hitch in movement before gloved fingers finally make contact with bitter fabric
the cut a slow and methodical line as directed
so damned careful
as if any errant move would wake the child from it's nightmare
moving only as quickly as she can keep up with him
peeling the denim and cotton away
making sure it doesn't fall to mar skin beneath
(imogen)
"It'll be stiff... so you want to be as careful as possible. Start with the overalls, and cut down to the crotch, and then do the pant cuffs. I'll start with the shirt," because the shirt is like to be a more difficult process. "Try not to pull at anything, because you might damage the skin," or worse bring it apart all together.The process is completed in silence, with only the sound of scissors, the faint hiss of breath and the whirr of vents and cold air as their companion. The body is very unwilling to be removed of its clothing, and the clothing seems just as unhappy to have parted from the body. They do not do any further damage to the body, though it's a near thing, particularly when they were trying to remove the dingy once white cotton shirt from the tiny back, where fluids had stuck it to skin.
Finally, the clothing has made a card board stiff pile at one end of the gurney, and the body is without it's final last protection of the glare of lights.
Congratulations, it's a boy.
Without further ado, she motions to James to take up the clipboard and writting, and she begins to measure bones. Skull size. Shoulder width. Length of arms and legs done awkwardly because of the position of the child. Each one is carefully read out, slowly spoken to give him time to scribe.
Everything is tiny. Three years old does not give you much time to grow. Three years old does not give you much in height or width.
(james)
there is no time wasted moving from the now unsheathed body to the desk for the clipboard
already beginning to write on the slow steps back to the gurney
not exactly in a position to rush back and help
so why not keep the distance comfortable
but at least make it so she doesn't have to raise her voicethe numbers and assignations written down the left hand side of the page
neat, orderly, in all capital letters for ease of later read
space remains on the right side for whatever informational sketches were to comehis jaw has begun to tense up again
that chord of muscle that stands out above the bone
the tendon that tightens down through his neck
into shoulders futilely hidden beneath thin tee
the deep sadness remains in his eyes
whatever it is that gets to him, still
it isn't the smell
it isn't the sight
it isn't even the situation anymore
that much is obvious(imogen)
For what must seem like forever, she informs him numbers and designations, even taking a look at the teeth, because how many teeth the child has might be a small indicator of age, at least when taken into account with many other pieces of information.She indicates that the bone structure, the disproportion of head to body, even at this young age, is a possible sign of malnutrition. That the teeth are decayed, damaged.
For him, it must seem as if she is terribly unfeeling, as she just rattles them off, carefully slowly moving the body so she can measure spine, knobby and sharp against parchment skin.
Finally, without a word, she leaves the body, exhaling sharply, clearing her lungs of all the air she has, and hopefully clearing it of the smell of decay. Across the room, to the formica counter to a large stiff envelope.
X-Ray film, one after the other is placed on the light box, clipped carefully in place. A switch is flicked, and bones are ignited in sharp relief, bright and powerful white against dark inky black. Because she can use stronger x-rays than most doctors; her patients cannot be damaged by radiation.
Gloved hand hovers inches from the film, tracing paths of bones, slowly. The leg bones connected to the... shin bone... the shin bone's connected to the....
(james)
as she rattles it all off
he keeps writing it down
just as automatically as she says it
the right hand column now used for the details
the decay
the disproportion
the devastation wrought upon the young body by neglect and timeno emotional investment by either of them means no pain, right? riiiiight....
occasionally, he does glance up at the x-ray
plucking what knowledge he can from her prattling
you learn from every situation, Jamey-boy
even if you don't want to(even if you don't want to think about it
even if she would have been about this age)(imogen)
The neck bone is connected to the ... skull. Well. He's dead, Jim. Graveyard quip smothered as her lips harden into a thin line.The movement of her gloved hand stopped hovering over the x-ray of the skull, her fingers above hair line fractures showing as dark cracks on the x-ray. "This kind of damage can be caused by falling out of a third storey window. Or from being.. Well. Repeatedly slammed against something." Her hand moves again, this time tracing the spiderweb of a skull cracked like an egg. Not broken, just... cracked. "More likely the latter, though bones isn't my specialty."
(james)
that's about when he finally looks at the x-ray
not the cursory glance
but a good old fashioned study
stepping closer
standing just behind and to the side of her
nibbling lower lip in thoughtan arm extends to use the pen as a pointer
continuing to keep the distance between
every little bit counts"Repeated blows get fragments chipping off the cranium as it shatters and caves in.... you can see it there... there... and there. I'd bet on the latter."
not saying a word on how he knows this
it's not your common intro medical book knowledge, is it(imogen)
A quick glance, a vague flicker of surprise as he points out the slight things she had noticed, and repeats what she had suspected, but with much more certainy than she had. Bones are not her speciality, as she had said."Yeh," she agrees, a sharp sound, turning back to look at the x-ray. "I don't see any other actual unhealed damage... arms were broken," finger points, "here, and ..." sliding to another x-ray, "here, but it's been healed." She exhales slowly, as she looks away from the x-rays, in sharp contrast of bright whites and dark shadows, turning to face the Gnawer.
"I should be able to tell you soon how old he was, and I guess we know how he died. Should I do anything else?"
(james)
they aren't his either
unless you count bashing them in
but he doesn't go there
no. sir. ee.the surprise in her glance was not enough to warrant an explanation
she'd have to ask
that's when he looks away and back towards the body, then quickly down to the clipboard
but he's not studying it, it's just something to look at"I'd guess two or three, four at the most if you take malnutrition into it. I.... don't know what else Decker would want to know, so I don't know what to tell you to look for. Is there a place you can keep this until he gets back so we can get his questions?"
there's something missing in his voice
its normal warmth is gone
leaving it fairly unspoken that it's back the pack apartment if all else fails(imogen)
She'd have to ask, and likely when a Garou shows a large amount of knowledge toward skull damage, she considers this a fact she'd rather not know.She frowns, looking at the body for a long moment, "Do you know when Rohl will be back?" she inquires. "I can keep it here until Sunday, but no longer. They would notice an extra body just sitting around, particularly one in this condition."
She begins to remove her gloves, one finger at a time, slowly releasing her hands from the grip of latex.
(james)
his head shakes"He said he would be back around Monday, but there wasn't a guarantee. If you pack it up we can take it back......"
though noting she's already removing her gloves
well...(imogen)
She stops midmotion, beginning to shove her fingers back into the stretched plastic. Perhaps she doesn't want the body damaged more than it is, and didn't want to risk him touching it. Or more possibly she didn't think he would like touching the child anymore than he already has.She repeats the process recently performed, only in reverse, picking up the long dead child and carefully depositing it back in the trunk (all the children she ever holds are dead). As an after thought, she picks up the clothing and places them carefully over the decrepit naked form, and closing the lid behind them, with a creak of hinges and a faint scratching sound as the broken pieces rub together.
A part of her feels like she should have done more. It was no autopsy, and she's hardly done anything for the body. Carefully removing her gloves again, she half voices the thought, beginning to remove the films, "There isn't much more I can do... any other examination would likely involve tests I can't explain, or a forensics anthropologist. Which, unless you know of a kinfolk anthropologist, I can't call in, anyway."
The gloves are thrown into a garbage declaring "biological waste". "Hopefully this'll help some." Though lord if she could see how. The films are returned into their envelope, and tosses her lab coat over one arm. The envelope of x-ray films are then tucked under her other arm, to take with her. Trying to remove all evidence that this child was even here, beyond gloves tossed into a designated waste disposal. And hopefully, nobody would think anything of that.
(james)
she returns the baby mummy to its sarcophagus
he doesn't watch
instead removing his own gloves with the snap of latex
clipboard returned to its rightful place, as with the pen
his trench shrugged back on
trading her the orderly notes for steering of the gurney holding the trunk
he now has all he came with....
unfortunately"Maybe Livingston can find something, too.... or Rune might have connections... I'll ask then when they return, but I'm just the lackey on this one."
when is he not?
there's not much of a conversation through half of the gray maze of hallways
finally his voice finds her attention once more
quiet
so very quiet"Once everything's done.... I can bury the kid."
something in his tone
it definitely isn't the first time he's done it
(imogen)
A faint breath of what might be a mirthless cough of laughter, "You and me both." She replies, a faint smirk slip sliding across her lips as she slips passed the gurney to walk toward the elevator doors.It's in the elevator he finally speaks, and she looks at him for a long moment, dark sky blue eyes meeting the earthen shades of brown. "I'll help."
She's never had that particular pleasure before, however, it is not something one does alone, nor is it something one allows another to do on their own.
Because the dead deserve to be buried.
And children deserve to live.
And somebody should have done this years ago.
Better late than never, right?It's a long silent drive back to the pack apartment and then through the city streets to reach the isolated condominium plaza where they have both made their homes.
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 29, 2002.11.29.02. - lead on, dr. slaughter [imogen] *fv[north jersey]
(imogen)
It had been a relatively uneventful week, especially in light of recent occurances, one that was nearly welcome, and nearly abhorred. Between the regular vigours of autopsies and crime scenes and difficulties, many of her evenings (and late into the night) had been spent, searching through the ineffective filing system of the morgue.Somewhere, in there, there was a file she wanted. And in that file, would be one piece of information, that would lead her to a funeral home where a child was supposedly buried. Once the funeral home was found, she could actually attempt to find out the information she wanted, which was the burial plot of a little boy who apparently died of sudden infant death syndrome.
So far, the results have been distressingly fruitless, nigh depressing. So, on this long weekend, she turns her attention to another little child, another body, one who's tangibility would perhaps make things less frustrating than the smoke trials she was chasing in the sub-basement of the morgue.
She takes the stairs up to Rune's condo two at a time, noting the windows replaced, and the general return to normal appearances. One hand digs through her racuous mass of titian hair as she raises the other hand, fingers loosely curled, rapping lightly thrice on the door.
The weather is cold and her breath hisses past her lips as she weights for whoever it is to answer the door, hands dropping to her sides, digging into the pockets of her jacket, trying to find what warmth she can from the thin wool.
(james)
eyes dark as Gaia's rich soil swing towards the sound of footsteps over the low tv
myriad colors form the screen reflecting in that dark theater
by the time the knuckles sound against wood
his body was beginning to unfold
back stretching in feline lengthening of form
beer settled on the coffeetable
socks sinking into the plush carpet in their path towards the doorthe last of the workers had gone home hours ago
glass fully replaced, the condo warm by its own means
he had begun to relax
he wasn't expecting anybodyso its with some apprehension that the tall Gnawer peers through the peephole
brows lifting beneath heavy jungle vine dreads to see whom it is
deadbolt throws, and the door swings open"Imogen....."
needless to say he's a little surprised
not only by seeing her, but at the blast of cold air that smacks into his chest beneath only a t-shirt
stepping back with a halfnod"Common in."
(imogen)
He steps back, and she steps in, as he offers, hands still dug into her pocket as her eyes pass across him, and then beyond in the condo, the replaced windows, the mostly replaced decor.Her boots remain on the inner mat, that most people (and certainly Decker) would ignore, as she tilts her head faintly, eyes sweeping back to the Gnawer, "Rohl wanted me t'take a look at the uh," a moment's pause, because sometimes the impersonal words one can use are hard to grasp immediately, "trunk from th'house; an' it's contents." Without even a hint toward the body. Instead, focus on the trunk. It might be because she hates it when it's children, or it might because when you spend so much time around bodies, they cease to be anything more than their defining features. "And, really, the only way I'll be able to do anything, is if I can get it into the morgue."
Her weight shifts faintly, "Long weekend seemed like the best time to try it." Reserved words, quietly spoken and lulled by her thick accent as she explains why she's here, without preliminary or dancing around, skipping all preamble and cutting straight to the guts of the matter.
(james)
again, that brow climbs slightly higher
he had barely gotten the door closed behind her
and she had begun her.... speel....to the point, as always
inside of his lower lip nibbled in thought"....good evening to you too...... so, uh, what's the plan for me to get it inside for you?"
he's already sinking back into the plush leather
pulling on his boots
zippers thick growl to join leather
(imogen)
A smirk curves her mouth, amusement flickering in dark blue eyes. "Evenin'," she responds ruefully, before the amusement dies, and her shoulders lift, slightly, one hand leaving the pocket of her jacket, to lift up and push away a half coiled corkscrew of flame, tucking it behind her ear. She's glad he's simply agreed to do this. She's relieved she didn't have to ask."Unless you have a better plan, we'll drive up to th'morgue, and I'll park and go inside, while y'go around, for me to let you into the back. Nobody's 'ere this weekend, with the holidays, 'n' all, 'cept for a security guard. He won't follow me to the back, and he sure won't come downstairs to the autopsy rooms while we're there."
The hand falls to her side, long delicate fingers brushing lightly at a spot on the thigh of her jeans, real or imagined. "As far as I know, that will give you the least chance o' bein' seen."
(james)
he can't help the rueful chuckle that answers her response
she wouldn't have come by if she didn't need someone's help
he could guess how heavy it was from the way Decker had to move it
he may not have her college education
but he can put the facts togetherchin dropping in a bit of a thoughtful nod, but then a shake of his head
dreads dancing over shoulders in the rise to find his coat"You know the place better than I do.... I trust your judgement."
fabric mutters in shrugging heavy coat on over the tee
whatevers in his pockets jumbling and clinking before settling to gravity
shoulders tilt, following his head in question"You want another layer? We're gonna have to drive to the other apartment to pick up the.... trunk."
she may think of it as only a body, only a box, because it's easier
he can't think of it in any other way that by what's inside
he wonders if she knows the sole reason he's even going to put himself through this(imogen)
For a moment, she looks at him, a wordless glance. She may not know why he's doing this, but there is at least some suggestion that she might know that he doesn't want to. Reluctance. It's a feeling she can sympathize with, what with the white scars of the body's possible sibling still fresh and visible on her white skin. She shakes her head slightly tendrils of chaotic hair quivering with the movement."No," she says, a shrug punctuating her words, "I'll just turn on the heat in th'car. I'd rather not dawdle, if at all possible." A faint smirk, brief on her lips, "Little cold never killed anyone."
She turns slightly, fingers curling around the door knob as she pulls the door open, stepping out and aside, one hand holding the door so the bone gnawer can follow.
(james)
there's a bit of a nod
it's just his way to offer
he didn't have to rely on heightened hearing to catch the near chatter of her teeth
it's brisk, baby
flicking the controller on pass-by to turn off the tv
offering a smile as he passes through the door
heading towards what he knows is her car"Nah.... quick is good, in this case."
he was relaxed
shoulders already beginning to wench tighter(imogen)
"I agree." For a moment, he might possibly think she would rather be doing anything, but this. Then the moment is passed, the words already disappating, and he may have imagined it.She shuts the door behind them, hunching her shoulders as a particularly firm breeze runs down the half open collar of her jacket, one hand reaching up to zip it up the last few inches, irritably, before being replaced into her pockets, quickly following in the wake of the Garou.
The SUV clicks as the locks open, and chirps as the alarm is disarmed. She rounds to the driver's side, pulling open the door, and entering. The engine is turned on first, with it's heaters full blast, the wash of air still warm, because she's only been out of the car maybe ten minutes at most. Her seatbelt is drawn across her slender frame as he enters, and by the time he's safely inside, she's turned on the SUV's headlights. Before placing the vehicle into drive one slim hand lifts, held lightly over the heater, as if trying to absorb some of the warmth, before dropping down, to shift gears, pulling the car from the parking space.
"Where'm I going, exactly?" as they approach the entrance/exit of the condominium plaza.
(james)
for a moment
a lot of things can happen in a moment
lives begin and end
a thousand thoughts ebb and flow
she would rather be doing anything, but this
he's right there with herRohl wanted me t'take a look....
that's all that needed to be said
she's not pack
but she's Decker's girl
and he wanted it donehe doesn't even question why he's doing this instead of Rohl
he could answer himself with a dozen answers"Take a right."
pointing over the leather dash
the directions contiue, softly, through the winding streets
taking her to the pack apartment fairly nearby
convenient enough for them
far enough away for Rune's convenience
weaving through the parking lot towards the parking space for 204"Pop the back.... I'll run up and get it?"
dark eyes glancing
maybe watching more of the firey red than deep sky blue
maybe it wasn't as much of a question as it seemed
he's already out of the car(imogen)
He doesn't even question why he's doing this instead of Rohl. She doesn't even question why she's doing this at all. Someone needed to do it. She was there, and James was there, and so she takes a right, following his directions as he navigates through the winding streets. Conversation is a long dead subject for her, so it's only the sound of his soft words, and the faint echo of quiet music, barely audible through the stereo system.The parking lot is full of cars, many of them misparked and careless, so the SUV is parked crookedly in the centre of two parking spots. He speaks, and she glances sideways at him, her hand lightly tapping against steering wheel. "Right, then," her accent makes the first word almost "roight", as she slurs it, carelessly.
He departs, and she gets out, as well, beginning to go around to the trunk, keys jangling as she finds the one that will pop the trunk.
She watches him as he walks toward the apartment buildng, a faint frown touching her brow, before starting to pat her pockets for a package of cigarettes, searching them effeciently until she comes up with a packet of Camels.
(james)
he doesn't think about it
he doesn't think about it
he doesn't think about ithe -won't- think about it
boots climb the steps
keys jangle for the door
breath held as the door swings open
avoiding the blast of dry dust rot air that creeps out sentient to twist and tangle through his dreads
gaze sweeping the apartment for the dented trunktwo steps cover the floor
the ungainly box swooped into long arms
something in his gaze hollowing to ignore what's cradled agaisnt his chest
edges of the box digging into muscle ove rhis ribs, biceps
door slamming in his wake
trench tails billowing behind himthey're not wasting time, right? right.
moving down the stairs and back towards the SUV
not a damn word passing clenched jaw
dumping the trunk into the state vehicle
reaching over to snag the pack before she slips it awaybetter for his sinuses to burn from cigarette smoke than what was in the trunk
(imogen)
Her fingers fall open as he snatches the cigarette package from her hands, and she glances up at him sharply, startled, "Thought you didn't smoke," uttered without thought, mouth shutting around the final syllables pratically cutting them off, as she shakes her head. She turns around, walking back toward the SUV, cigarette still burning sullenly between her fingers. She hates smoking in her car, in her home, the smells that cling and remind her of smoking when she's stopped again.Better the musty smell of cigarettes than the smell of decay, old skin, and dried out flesh. Rot. She should be used to the smell. For the most part she is, beyond a small section of primal animalism that recoils at the reminder that she is mortal.
She enters. He enters. The engine starts and she starts to back out of the parking space, cracking a window to allow cigarette smoke to curl out into the cold brisk air. This time she doesn't need directions, as she follows the twisting roads to reach the freeway, SUV speeding up to reach speeds that will draw them to the morgue as quickly as possible.
(james)
"I don't."answered as thoughtlessly as she had stated the observation
the door closes
the seatbelt clicks
the Gnawer stares out the window at the city passing them bysure she knows why he stole the Camel
sure he knows why she hasn't quit yethe watches the freeway in silence
he watches the streets in silence
he watches her pull into the familiar avenues around the morgue in silencedead silence
just like the long dead child not even five feet behind them(imogen)
It's not a silence where there is nothing to say. It's where nobody wants to say anything. Silence broken only by music, the rare click of the signal, and both of them inhaling and exhaling poisonous fumes.She reaches the parking lot and stops at the gait. There is no security guard, only a scan. Her weight shifts in the seat, hips twisting to reach into her backpocket. A badge is scanned, and the bar lifts, and she drives on, into the empty parking lot, finding a place close to the door.
Silence is broken as she turns to face him, breaking the silence for the first time in nearly forty five minutes. "Give me five minutes to get inside, and get around back." A hand gestures, lightly in the direction she needs him to go, "Go around there. There's a ... driveway of sorts, and a large door. I'm going to open that, to let you in. I'll be as quick's I can."
The seatbelt releases, and she is out the door, walking briskly through the cold air toward the front door, scanning her badge again to get inside.
Five minutes will seem like a long time, now. Seconds crawling by as James is stuck near a body he stayed on the streets for two days to get away from.
(james)
there's a curt nod
dreads jumping across the lapels of the patchwork coat
snagging another cigarette from her pack before she leaves him with the bodythe very thing he did everything within his power to get away from
he slept in the uncertainty of the streets for two days
he slept away from the comfort of the waterbed
he slept away from the safety of his pack
he slept away from the safety of his family
not even getting within a mile of the condoit wouldn't have been that bad
if he didn't have the reason to stay away
if he just did it of his own choicethe door opens
the Gnawer switches over to the driver's seat
in any other situation, there would be amusement that he, of all people, was driving this car
but it was all he could do to force himself to get back insideit's easy enough to find his way around the back
and once again the door opens
the smoke smell was dissipating and vestiges of the dry musty rot were creeping back into his senses
soon his hip is leaning against the SUV's fender
soaking up the warmth rolling off the engine
car's lighter igniting the cigarettegood enough excuse to be waiting, right?
can't smoke inside
pointedly looking away from the car while he waits(imogen)
She left him the pack, on the dashboard, not bothering to bring it with her.Seconds become minutes. Finally, minutes become five. There is a creak and a whirr, and the large garage-like doors shudder, beginning to raise with agonizing slowness, creeping up to permit assumedly, large vehicles entrance. Delivery vans for bodies. She steps outside, her jacket abandoned and replaced by a lab coat, mostly out of habit and for the simple fact that more than likely, someone would notice if she wasn't wearing it. If anybody showed up at all (though if that were to happen, lab coats would be the least of her worries).
The cold smacks against her flesh a hard slap of crisp air, a fine shiver running across her form, and then suppresses it as she turns her eyes to the Gnawer who leans smoking against her SUV. It must still be shocking that she can meet his umber gaze as she holds out her hand for the cigarette, "There's a gurney inside. If you want to put the trunk on there, I can probably do m'work, and call someone when I'm .. .done. 'Less y'want me to burn it."
Her tone carries a certain reluctance. Be it for placing her position (tenuous as it is) in jeopordy, or suggesting that he leave her alone with several year old corpse, when really, taking the fragile bones and rotted flesh from the trunk should be a two person job.
(james)
there's a smooth arc of hand moving from his mouth
arm stretching to hold the Camel to her
it may be a shock to others, but he's used to it
(one thing Gnawers are good at is accepting)
half the exhale is smoke, half the exhale is his breath fogging in the chilled airand his head shakes
"What..... and miss out on our earthshattering conversations?"
there's a grin that rakes across his features
half his mouth pulling up
it finds a place in his eyes
some shine in the darknessa packmate wants her to do this, he's here to help until the end
because he knows that both of them don't wan to be here
and it's not in him to abandon her with the task, in any shape or form"Gurney, right?"
a bit of a nod up
now or never, eh?
and she's got the cigarette.... so.....
he moves within the garage
wheels rattling on asphalt
pulling the gurney to the back of the SUV
and dragging the trunk on its padded surface"Lead on, Dr. Slaughter."
grip knuckle white on the push-bar
(imogen)
A brief flicker of amusement at his quip, more subtle than his, a twitch of her mouth, half hidden as she raises the cigarette to her lips, a momentary flash of dark blue eyes. "Gurney," she affirms, taking another deep drag of smoke into her lungs before exhaling it slowly, pinching the end of the cigarette, extinguishing the cherry between her fingers, before pocketing the butt into her pocket for later use.She turns, grabbing the other end of the bar, helping him to pull the gurney up the small ledge that seperates the parking bay from the outside, the tips of her fingers tinged pale white-blue with cold. Once inside, and one person can handle the weaving motion of the gurney, she lets go, hand thumping the button that sets the bay doors into motion again, slowly creaking down toward the ground.
The docking bay has two levels. One presumably used to put vans, and other vehicles (including a black state behemouth parked in the left hand corner), and remove bodies from their backs and trunks. The other is led to by a ramp, the cement worn from years of usage, bumpy as he navigates the gurney up, following in the wake of Imogen's steps, as she leads up to the door.
Her security badge again lets them through, holding the door open for him to pass her, "Go left," she informs him, and as he follows her instructions, he can see the elevator at the end of the hallway.
Grey tones, depressing lack of colour, it's all familiar to her, and certainly remembered by him. Worn walls, worn floors. It is, as promised, empty. They meet no one going down the hallway and into the large service elevator where her key is inserted and turned, allowing them to proceed down to the first level basement. The morgue.
Doors open, revealing more bleak hallways, almost the same colour as the one's they just left. She begins to walk first, leading the way past the room he'd been in first before, a room where Rune had chased a small hand skittering across the floor, before shoving it in a wastebasket. Not quite as far as the crematorium, two doors away, as she opens the door, leading them into a large room, with great vents for ventilation, and large metal sinks obscuring pratically every wall. Above them cupboards with locks and presumably keys, and below them, more cupboards. A telephone with a stern message in both english in spanish to please not wear gloves when answering the phone. Other messages dot the walls. Wash your hands. No Smoking. Please wear gloves and safety glasses at all times. 6 steel tables, cold and bare, 3 of those with wheels, for easy movement. What is presumably a freezer rests in the far wall.
Her hair is a beacon in all this grey, all this bleakness, vibrant and shocking against the lack of colour, as are her eyes, a deep night sky blue as she turns to face him, her head tilting toward one of the gurneys. One with wheels.
"We need to get it on there. I'll start with x-rays."
[pause]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 27, 2002.11.27.02. - imagination [butterfly][north jersey, condo]
(james)
it's...... quiet
Luc is out doing his own thing
Decker is out doing his own thing (or doing Imogen, one or the other)
Livingston is out doing his own thing
Eric is out doing his own thing
and Rune?
Rune is 3000 miles away on another coast living beneath a different sun
and still doing her own thingthat leaves one Bone Gnawer comfortably condo-sitting and workman-watching
half the windows were replaced today
the other half will be completed on Friday
the nightly ritual has been completed so that, even with that known fact, the heater is running and the skin is waaaaaarm - probably warmed more by the third or so beer that's sitting open on the table, he hasn't broken into the Thanksgiving Feast left for them, instead ordering Chinesetwo and a half empty white boxes later
he's watching the Cartoon Channel
and getting used to actually having control of the remote(imagination)
There is always some reason to not feel good enough and it's hard at the end of the day... need some distraction, oh beautiful release... memories seep my brain... let me be empty and weightless then maybe I'll find some peace tonight...Everything always faded, blended, melded differently from this perspective. Everything was still fresh and new and bright besides the old and faded and decayed: all and nothing at the same time. Floating, weightless and without substance, was the only way to escape this gilded cage. To explore, to know, to find, to discover, to watch and grow and learn. Here was where you could stretch butterfly wings and truly fly...
(james)
flip
flip
flipthis control of the remote thing is a decidedly new and intriguing experience
though he will still pause to watch the commercials when so many others take them for granted
half the time the television is on he either isn't watching it or paying attention to something else
but now
sunk against the plush leather of the couch
haphazardly wrapped halfway in the blanket
sprawled more comfortably than he has any right to be
he actually pays attention to it
surrounded by this collection of walls that's become...... home?(imagination)
You live in a church, where you sleep with vodoo dolls and you won't give up the search for the ghosts in the halls... you wear sandles in the snow and a smile that won't wash away... can look out the window without your shadow getting in the way... you're so beautiful... isn't it charming... so careful when I'm in your armsThe barest flicker of something not quite there, not quite real, not quite within existance passes just out of the corner of his eye. Like the corner of a translucent sheet that rippled in the wind, the corner flickering in and out of sight through the portal of a kitchen window. It was there, or it wasn't.
(james)
dreads whispering over leather
head turning to the side
he did remember to close the sliding doors, right?
so the drapes shouldn't be movingnope
doors closed
drapes closed
they're still as can bedark brows furrow over umber eyes
you've been watching too much television, Jamey-boy(imagination)
And I forgot to tell you I love you... and the nights too long... and cold here without you... I greive in my condition... for I cannot find the words to say I need you so...Sometimes when the eagerness to learn and behold became more insistant, like a hammering against a mere representation of a heart, and would press between here and there and they would sometimes notice something that they knew shouldn't be there. Sometimes it was dismissed as indigestion, a bad piece of cheese after dinner, a sip of settled wine or flat beer. There were always explanations and reasons and theories. Many of them so wrong, but it made the world a happier place when ignorance was allowed to lie and live. Learning, exploration, a friendly face; there were what was sought.
Movement in the kitchen, barely noticeable, although image caught only in the corner of the eye.
A breath between us could be miles... let me surround you... my sea to your shore...
(james)
okay, that he saw
head snapping to throw gaze in the opposite direction
hand reaching up to rub across his eyes
waaay too much tv(imagination)
Come and lift me from this place...Nothing was quite real, tangible, able to be gasped and felt and touched. It was akin to staring at the wide, wonderful world from within a glass house. Never touching, never quite knowing, always hoping.
hello..... whisper to me, whisper to you... can you hear me... as I hear you? it was almost nonexistant, a nonsound that just toyed at the edges of his hearing range.
(james)
the rubbing stops
umber eyes slowly open
his head sloooooowly turns back towards the kitchenblink
the comfortable sprawl changes to slow rise
beer set pointedly back down onto the coffeetable
brows climbing"Hell...o?"
(imagination)
hello...Louder now: whisper to me and I whisper to you. Watching me and watching you... Something someone(?) danced just outside the ability of his eyes to properly focus upon - a constant shift of something that mottled the open archway between kitchen and living room with a faint outline, a translucent haze that was less there than here.
(james)
"......woah."the slow rise changes to very. fast. stand.
blanket swooshing to the ground in an uncerimonious pile
Gnawer on his feet and effectively placing the length of the couch between him and the..... uh.... haze?
fingers press into the padded leather of the sculpted furniture's arm
weight shifting as his head drops
dreads dangling down the length of shoulders and biceps
sorta.... staring... .really.he didn't have that many beers, did he?
one bottle... two... three....
....no
then what the....
what is....
how...."Uh...... who are... you?"
(imagination)
I've got nobody by my sight and surely that ain't right... surely that ain't right... can't any body see... we've got a war to fight here... never find our way... regardless of what they say... how can it feel this wrong? From this moment, how can it feel this wrong?Exertion and a remarkable drain upon the mind and body, a feeling that will leave both crippled for perhaps hours or more likely days. The need for rest will seep through muscle and bone and tissue, a fatigue that spirals into deep slumber upon return.
please... don't go... it's so hard...
A gossamer plea of childlike memories and timbre interwoven among the rippling of a figure that almost floats (autumn leaves fall) forward... towards. The outline of hands reaching forward, palms turned upwards in an agonizing geature begging for acceptance and acknowledgement. Outlines and ghostly apparitions focus, solidfying and condensing but never truly real to the eyes with the vague outlines of wall, pictures, furniture peering, peeking through. Not there, not here. Somewhere inbetween. Dark tumbling curls let loose and alabaster skin, eyes caught between light and dark flooded with rejection and fear of the possible and impossible. A dress floating on an imaginary breeze, the stitching and fall of material from an age long ago.
(james)
pick your jaw up off the floor, James, that's rudehe takes a step back
who wouldn't
but that's about it
hands raising, palms towards her"Not going anywhere, this is my place, remember?"
you're talking to a.... ghost? boy
what next, Dire's goblins?"I'm stickin around.... if you stay.." waves generally "... over there, cool?"
what else do you say to a..... ghost.....
(imagination)
I can't... hurt you...Each whisper of sound like the valiant beating of butterfly wings against the hurricane. A trial, a preasure and a chore. The apparition moves no further, but one gossamer hand passed slowly through the thick leather back of the couch, at the other end of which he stood.
I just want... a friend... they won't let me out... not alone...
It was a guess, perhaps, but this manifestation of the imagination (?) looked no older than perhaps 15 years of age, but the voice held resonance of more time having passed than those few cycles of seasons.
(james)
hm.
he knows its rude to stare
but he's just never run into a.... ghost? before
although her words make him begin to think differently
movement is at first slow, then it speeds up
leg lifted to half-climb back over the couch
making himself comfortable on the arm
gesturing for her to do the same
if she... can... of course"Who won't let you out? Uh..... what's your name?"
(imagination)
He fears for me... He fears the others will find me... He calls me his Butterfly...She was almost floating forward as her apparition approached to the edge of the couch, but sitting upon it was beyond her ken and means. Her shoulders quiver, the reaction of the mind knowing, even if the body cannot feel, and imposing instinctual actions upon the imagry. She would be so tired... He would know...
I am real... I am just not... here... and I am so tired...
(james)
he just sorta.... nods"You mean this is sorta like..... astral projection?"
dream walking
spirit journey
whatever
the books call it astral projection
so we'll stick with that
head tilting in canid curiosity"And.... who fears for you?"
(imagination)
Yes... I... think so... I never considered... beyond... doing it... and He fears for me... He who saved me...The apparition flickers and fades around the edges, the translucent haze blending in with the colors of the surroundings making where she starts and where the world finishes difficult to percieve.
I like where the roses bloom in spring... in Jersey City... in the gardens... Its quiet there...
Again, the figure slowly continues to fade, each of the words echoing as they grow into fainter whispers barely heard across the small space between he and she.
Will you be my friend...
The whispers, the ghost of sounds, taper off again, dying a slow death among the stronger, louder noises of the room - even the hum of the stereo system is louder to the ears now. As the words die, so does the imagry of the girl standing at the end of the couch, arms barely able to be outlined as they lift again in that pleasing gesture. The naive, innocent gesture of a lonely soul looking everywhere and anywhere for a friend from outside the walls of the gilded cage.
please...
(james)
his chest fills with air
an intake of breath sharp and sudden
as if by that alone he could stop her from disappearing
eyes widening at the fade"I..... uhm.... just......"
weight shifting to sink socked feet into the couch pillows
as if to reach for those outstretched translucent hands
only an afterthought stops him
(still paranoid, are ya, Jamey-boy?)
murmuring
sighing
barely breathing"....yes."
(imagination)
A very faint echo of sound whispers through the apartment with no definate source, the attempts at become real just so hard, so tedious, so dangerous to try again... but the words come floating in the warmth of the apartment.I will wait for you... however long it takes...
Forever is no distance at all when you are alone...
[fade]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 26, 2002.11.26.02. - welcome home [rune] *fv[condo]
(rune)
Rune rented a pick-up truck to cart the chest from her condo to the pack apartment earlier in the day, then finally managed the transfer under the cover of darkness, because she certainly wasn't driving that thing across town in her baby. The scent would ooze into the leather much as it oozed into the carpet and the walls of Decker's room. Incense left burning in the condo did much to disguise the scent, but keeping the door to his room was even better defense against it. She actually dragged out the carpet shampooer and cleaned all the carpets (domestic work - the horror) in a valiant battle against the lingering scent of scorched flesh and dry-paper skin.And so for James it was at last safe to return, after two nights on the familiar streets (she cannot begin to imagine. She will not begin to imagine. She would not begin to imagine were it anyone else out there, when the sleet started to fly and snowflakes drifted down from the burnt orange sky. She certainly did not imagine it last night, as she curled in the electric warmth of her heated waterbed beneath a pile of soft blankets and comforters. She certainly did not imagine it tonight, as she sorted through her things and packed a pair of suitcases for the brief trip home.)
This time tomorrow night, she'd told him the night before, you can come back. There was no other elaboration, for words failed, all words failed. A child in a box, a dead child in a box, the house blooming into flames and then collapsing upon itself, the memory of the stain beneath the carpet that they hadn't even bothered to try to scrub out of the floorboards: all words failed.
And so, now that it is yesterday's tomorrow, now that the remains have been transferred and the glaziers summoned and the tickets (first. class. baybee) purchased and the bags (mostly) packed, she settles into the embrace of the leather couch and draws a heavy blanket over her shoulders, around her slender form. On the lacquered coffee tale, an open beer. In her hand, the remote control. On the television, CNN - mute. On the (brand new Bose) stereo, the Clash.
It's yesterday's tomorrow, and she's waiting for him to come home.
(james)
home
for two decades, home had been the streets
in the warmth of summer
in the dusk of fall
in the sleeting rain of winter
in the dawning blush of springthere were times he was more comfortable in that unknown
the he would ever, could ever be beneath the closed in walls and shallow roof
how odd things change
now he's heading back to a place he considers.... for now.... homejust like with everything else
he's not sure how long it will lasttank boots thunk up the front porch stairs
his hand pausing fingertips on the handle
images flashing through his mindburnt flesh
singed hair
crumbling clothes
and the trunk
the mummy-in-the-boxthis time tomorrow night
shoulders roll
you can come back
settling muscle beneath patchworn trenchcoat
settling beneath haphazard dreads
strains of "Lost in the Supermarket" vibrating through the brass knobwhat the hell
he trusts her word
and the handle turns to let the guttermutt back into her expensive world(rune)
Dark eyes lift from the never-ending parade of bodies and chaos and stocks (they're up, or down: it's always news) and men (or women: equal opportunity bullshit these days) spewing some sort of ideology, or none, as their preference goes. CNN is better with the sound off. The Clash is the perfect accompaniment. She knows what they're going to say; or she doesn't know, and doesn't particularly care. One thing bleeds into another. The world's like that.At the sound of the front door, she drags her eyes from the hit parade (five minutes ago it was war. Now it's fashion, brief glimpses of the perfect outfits for the coming spring, as long as you have the cash and the body, even though winter has just set in. ) and they flash across the scalloped shadows at the edges of the living room, which would be bland if she did not inhabit it, which is bland (at the corners, behind the doors) even though she does inhabit it, and find their way to him.
She begins at his feet, dark gaze trailing lazily upward over the folds of the trench and the shadows beneath, over the frayed BDUs and haphazard layers above them, over the tangle of dreadlocks spilling around his shoulders, over his mouth and nose until her eyes settle on his.
"James," she doesn't try to hide her smile. Maybe she's not even aware of it. Oh - but - the corners deepen, widen, turning the smile into veritable (welcoming) smirk. "Good to see you."
(james)
the door opens
she smiles and he......just.... grins
dreads slipsliding to dangle freely when head ducks
even if his eyes never leave hers
door closed securely behind himthe trench (filthy) shed
the boots (muddy) wiped on the doormat
the Gnawer (tired) making his way from the foyer onto the plush carpet
haphazard layers shift across skin as he folds to sink
sitting not onto the plush leather but instead the coffeetable
as a pauper before the throne"It's good to see you, too."
murmured through that silly grin
fingers reaching to skim thick weave of the blanket"Need me to warm the place up?"
(rune)
Rune's hand curls around the edge of the blanket, traps his skimming fingers between her own and the blanket draped over the curve of her thigh. She shifts forward, half-rising to uncurl one long leg from beneath her, propping her bare foot on the coffee table beside him. Toes curl and uncurl, dragging her foot completely onto the table proper and then higher: the muscled curve of his thigh, firm beneath the chill fabric of worn BDUs."Yeah," half-a-grin, half-a-smirk, curving her painted mouth. The expression is familiar as breathing. "You won't need to do that much longer. The Fang's check cleared. The window people are coming tomorrow or Friday. Told them I'd leave the key under the mat, since I'm going to LA for a few days. Unless you'd mind letting them in, keeping an eye on things?"
Her eyes leave his, and she nods over her shoulder toward the matched set of luggage parked beneath the breakfast bar. Then her gaze sliiiiides right on back, lashes lowered, dark against her pale skin.
"Maybe when you're done, you can warm me up too?"
(james)
"Not a problem."turning the trapped hand into hers
boxer's wrapped rags rough agaisnt her palm
his other finding its way to explore the pull of blanket over extending leg
there's only a breif glance towards the luggage
but always, inevitably, she draws him back
just as his hand draws some strange dragging line from ankle up her calf, to her thigh
leaning forward to blaze a trail back and around her hip
muscle flexing
dragging her from the couch - blanket and all - to straddle his lap"We could reverse that order...."
how far away they've been these last two days
suddenly so. very . close.
trapped hand guiding hers around his shoulder
both his arms settling about her waist
lungs filling with her incense scent
his skin, dreads, and clothing smoked with asphalt and exhaust"Because I.... desperately.... need a shower."
(rune)
He drags her - blanket and all - into his lap, and already the blanket is falling away, shaken from their tangled hands, shrugged easily from slender shoulders to spill down her back, until it is trapped only by his arms settled around her waist. He drags her, and she moves with him, curling forward when she is at last secure, slender arms, muscled thighs wrapping around him familiarly.The lights are on. The windows are open. Cold November air spills through, stirred by every sudden gust of winter wind. She doesn’t seem to notice.
Her smirk - her favored, unselfconscious smirk - widens and darkens by slow degree as she lowers her brow against his, as she breathes in his scent (it’s there, beneath the smoke and asphalt, beneath the remnants of two nights on the streets sleeping catch-as-catch-can, it’s there: peculiarly and distinctively him, clinging to his skin beneath it all) and breathes out a warm rush of misting breath.
“You do need a shower,” she concedes, her familiar voice grown hoarse (and not from the cold), red lips moving across his in slow caress. Teeth, then, scraping a line from his jaw to his mouth, closing around his lower lip - hard - as her hips rise and her thighs tighten to drag her a scant half-inch closer to him. And laughter - rumbling low, vibrations unfolding against his hands splayed across the small of her back, laughter and that smile, laughter and that look. “...but I’m not sure you’re going to make it that far.”
Welcome home, James. Welcome home.
[fade]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 25, 2002.11.25.02. - slum epiphany [rune] *fv[north jersey]
(james)
there are some things a Bone Gnawer just can't handle
the little mummified jack-in-the-box was one of them
bad enough he knew where they were going and fretted in the hours after his declination to join
(she said it was okay not to go)
but when they walked in kentucky fried Garou?
that was pushing the limits
Decker uncerimoniously dumping the trunk on the floor?
that went well, until he found out what was in itneedless to say he's been walking a tight rope since
excusing himself at a convenient moment
they know how to find himhe just couldn't hang around with that there
so he's been here
on the streets (at home)
for however many hours its been
long legs folded beneath him in the half-crouch against the wall
long arms winding knees in loose embrace
tatters of his trench pooling a patchwork puddle around his ankles
dreads falling in disarray over finally.... finally.... relaxing shoulders
deep umber eyes simply watching the traffic go byanother vagrant on the streets
another homeless bum huddled against the building for shelter
another broken story left to crumble by the wayside(rune)
On these streets - these dark, dangerous, crumbling streets - upscale cars are remarkable, but not that unusual. They come from the city, from the suburbs, from the bucolic faux countryside, looking for sin: drugs, sex, sex, drugs, trouble of some sort, or just a good slumming story to tell the folks back at prep school. But mostly: drugs and sex, sex and drugs, the only commodities of any worth remaining in neighborhoods like this. In the space of an hour, he's seen a Mercedes, a Lexus and two BMWs - slowing as they approach the corner, inspecting the wares on display and moving on or stopping, as is the driver's preference. And so on.The only particularly unusual thing about the Z3 now coming into view is its color: metallic purple. There's another unusual thing though, too. Instead of slowing and stopping at the corner, where neighborhood's entrepreneurs congregate, this Beemer slows and stops in the middle of the street, pulls in parallel between a gutted Chevy and an unfortunate Yugo still apparently in service to someone, somewhere.
The driver kills the engine (another oddity, that. People who drive those sorts of cars never turn them off in places like this. They certain never exit them, as Rune does now, long legs swinging onto the pavement, lean body rising from the low carriage. Booted feet - those heels. She's almost as tall as he is in those heels - ring out against the cracked a buckling asphalt, and long strides carry her to his side.
She sinks into a crouch, an easy, low-slung crouch, beside him, arms draped carefully about her bent knees, mirroring his own posture, though she does not rest her back against the dirty brick wall as he does.
Nothing then. Just silence: companionable silence, and the slow unfurling of her breath, misting in the cold November air.
(james)
focus changes
the camera pulls back from pinpoint across the street
panning to follow metallic purple as it leaks into his vision
then parks
then diesa slow blink as chin lifts
gaze following
the heels beating the sidewalk into submission
the long leather curves of legs
the warm, generous fluff of jacket and scarf surrounding her torso
long and lean and skyscraper tall(uptown girl)
until she sinks beside him
until she sinks down to his level
his jaw following the turn and melt as it tucks near his shoulder
patchworked and stitched with layers that don't match
rags that would never, ever be riches(downtown man)
one arm unwinding
haphazardly (boxer) wrapped knuckles finding way to brush down stretch of calf
barely skimming leather... as if in a hobo's disbelief that money would find its way beside him
(those eyes know better, this silent hello)
he isn't sure how much she's healed in the past endless hours
..... Decker would be happy, a night he didn't spend in her bedhe hated leaving
but he couldn't stay(rune)
Her hands are wrapped in gloves: leather again, but softer and more supple than the leather encasing her legs, kid gloves, for all intents and purposes. One of those hands opens like a dark bloom, fingers spread wide, tendons flexing, every movement visible beneath the supple second skin, and swings down to brush against his own, light against her calf. Fingers open, and then half-twine with his, a slow gesture mirrored by the rising curve of her cheeks, which suggests the curve of her mouth: a red, red half-smile buried somewhere beneath the muffling scarf.Some few strands of dark hair have worked their way free of the wrapped scarf, and fall across her cheek as her head sways forward, the movement rhythmic, the acknowledgment oddly gentle. The stray lights of a passing car cast them in sharp, even stark relief - the sudden light in the weaving darkness shades her pale skin bone white whereever long shadows do not fall.
"Better?" the question murmured in his direction, though her eyes do not follow. Not now, not yet. Pupils contracted against the sharp assault of passing headlights begin to dilate, adjusting to the darkness once more, and remain trained on the edge of the trash-strewn curb as if it were the end of the known world.
(james)
her hand encased in delicate leather
her hand encased in expensive tailored warmth
her hand encased in finger tip to sleeve cuff warmthhis hand bound in filthy rags
his hand bound in whatever he could find and tear into strips
his hand bound in half warmth that covers his palm and leaves digits chilled against her glovefingers and leather and rags meet and tangle
grip firming into the embrace that will not happen (not here, not now)
umber dropping to this flesh tango before rising to the swelling curve of scarf
a soft smile finding its way to his face to show what hers will not"Yes."
does he speak of the frigid, lonely night in the city's open air compared to the warmth of a shared bed in a decay-riddled condo
does he speak of the simple touch that found its way between them
or does he speak of something else entirely
and does it even matter?(rune)
Dark eyes crawl at last from the edge of the sidewalk, over pressed and stained and littered concrete, over the crook of his knee, over the crook of her own, to the quiet clasp of such different hands, hidden from wider view by the shadows cast by their own bodies.She doesn't speak, at first. She says nothing in response to his quiet affirmation - of any of that, all of it, none of it, or something else entirely - and is content with her silence for a time.
The sun - bare, spare, wintry, but still somehow, somewhen warm of an afternoon - has long since set. Chill creeps through even the fine gloves. Chill creeps through the well-lined designer coat. Chill creeps little wintry fingers through the warp and weave of the scarf and finds its way through skin and muscle to bone.
The city is hers as much as his, but she cannot begin to imagine how he survives - has survived - a single night like this, much less two decades' worth.
"You must be cold." That's what she says, when she speaks at last. If her voice catches on a syllable, it is no doubt the cold fire in her throat, the frost in her lungs that makes it so. "Want to grab something to eat?"
It's then - at last - that her eyes find their way from his hand, and hers, travel up the length of his arm, over the broad sweep of shoulder covered in a spill of tangled dreds to find his eyes.
(james)
the sheer....ease..... with which he survives this night, this moment, this single kiss of cold that creeps and seeps its way into her very bones and core
.....makes one wonder how much worse he's seen
there is nothing but nonchalance in his shrug
the way patchwork quilt lifts and drops the tangle of dreads
the way chin ducks in the smallest of nods
yes, but it doesn't matter anymore"I'd love to..... c'mon."
now it is the guttermutt that stands
unfolding in slow procession that stretches muscle over bone
that unfurls the tails of the trench around his legs as some sweeping cape
shoulder dropping as arm stretches, wrist bending to keep their fingers twinedhow strange it must be for a Bone Gnawer to look down at someone
no matter how innocent it ismuscle bunches through bicep and forarm
this electric wire that bridges their divide curling
lifting her to his level
(in her heels she's almost as tall as he)
drawing her to stand infront of him
drawing her up to his level
the two Ahroun stand as equals
so close, yet still miles and miles away on the open city street
fingertips linger across her palm before dropping away
never once did his eyes leave hers"Walk or ride?"
(rune)
Walk or ride?His eyes never leave hers, but her eyes leave his now, as she half-turns to scan up and down the dim expanse of the neglected street. Three streetlamps are out, and most of the street is cast in eerie, watery shadows stretching into pools of close to utter darkness. The windows are barred from within and without, banded iron without, tattered vinyl shades within, dingy from years of neglect and tainted with the ugly brown stains of cigarette smoke. The cars between which she parked - the gutted Chevy, the Yugo so broken down it would cost more to have it towed than it would bring at the junkyard, and farther down the street, some ancient 1970s boat, all rust-eaten wheelwells and tricolor doors appended to it thoughtlessly, with a sign in the window: No. Radio. It looks like some modern, mechanical Frankenstein's monster.
Her eyes find his once more, then slip away - self-aware, perhaps even (dare you think it?) sheepish. The things she takes for granted. The things he does not have. The things she expects as easily and thoughtlessly as she expects her breath to come, minute after minute, hour after after, ceaselessly.
"...drive?" lowered eyes contrast with the smirk rising at the corners of her mouth, self-mocking. "Not sure I want to leave my car out here."
(james)
just as sheepish
just as self-awarehis smile tells that things she needs as much as breath
are the things he never thinks about
the things he never even dreams of having
much less ever needingothers need
he providesa laugh finding escape through the grin
(so, backbreaking sex first, then worry about the fumblingly shy dinner date?)
bandanged hand reaching to feint chuck her shoulder
as if the air compressed between his knuckles and her sleeve were too much to passhe still doesn't know how much she's healed
"Tell you what... you drive, I'll buy."
he still owes her dinner
that much comes through the teasing tones
though after having slept in an alley
he's sure as fancy as she'd like and dressed for won't accept him
they'll have to make do(rune)
His knuckles come so close, and no closer (he still doesn't know how much she's healed) as if they were magnets, forces opposing. She breaches the space between them, slim wool-covered shoulder bumping gently against his wrapped knuckles."Livingston." That faint smile. That faint smirk. "Decker wouldn't. I'm not that proud."
Her head bobs in acknowledgment - you drive, I'll buy - and the scarf slips down from her mouth, bunches beneath her chin, soft fabric compressed as she completes the nod and reveals her faint, smirking grin to him at last.
"Denny's?" she offers, brows rising in question as she beeps the alarm off, beeps the doors unlocked and circles the car to climb into the driver's side. Her own laughter - rueful, amused - escapes into the night then.
(james)
a nod up
(he's learning)
as enlightenment shines in his eyes
that would make sense
on all partspride doesn't always go hand in hand with wisdom
he knows of that the hard way"Nor as much of a masochist."
teased, still
sliding into luxury and closing the door on the (natural habitat) slum
seatbelt clicked with departing finality
how easy, it became, to step from one world into the otherand once more, the Gnawer reaches for the Walker
across the slim center console
as if his hand ached to catch up with his eyes
the eyes that gaze at the profile of pale face
the arm that reaches hand to just above her elbow
fingers sliding over soft wool to encase steel muscle beneathgrip firm and strong
a moment shared in the dark Z3 confines
a grin quirking only as she looks towards him"Denny's sounds divine."
I'm so glad to see you.
(rune)
Dark eyes closing, dark head lowering (almost like prayer) as his hand finds her arm. The pressure of strength - she can feel his in the warm grip, he can feel hers, solid beneath the give and clutch of soft wool - is both palpable and familiar and welcome as the dawn (or, for those who sleep all day: 4 p.m.).Sleek hair falls across her cheek, obscuring her profile as she starts the car. When the engine purrs to life, she looks to him at last: one long slow breath, the dance of eyes over his countenance, and the grin, mirrored and returned, returned and mirrored back at him: all the irony has bled from her lips and the expression is so raw - so disarmed - so unshielded that it is almost painful to see, that it burns like silver against the skin.
The moment is passing already. She turns her eyes to the road that unfolds beneath them, dark and broken as the buildings that surround it. His grip loosened, her arm slung casually around his seat after shifting into reverse as she backs up. Fingers brush across his shoulder, spill across dreads, graze the length of his arm (familiar) as her outflung arm folds back down to the gearshift.
The road, then. A corner taken sharply, a light just missed, the quiet silent idle until it changes again, and so on, and so on.
She doesn't like silences. He knows how she fills them with noise - CDs blasting, her own mouth running a mile a minute in desultory, meaningless commentary. She doesn't like silences, but she's quiet now. She doesn't say anything in reply, and perhaps the slow murmur of her breath and his drawn in tandem, perhaps the brief, bright grin, perhaps these are all the reply he needs.
[fade]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 24, 2002.11.24.02. - happy dale - part 2 [decker-rune-bastion] *njb[con't, somewhere in wonderland, .11.24.02.]
(ST)
As the door pries open Rune tumbles forward onto a deep blue lush carpet. When they deign to look around they are in a child's room, the toys are slightly larger than expected as is the bed. In one corner of the room there is the sound of someone pouring water into a bowl that is already filled with liquid. It appears to be of Victorian motif. [repost](rune)
The lupus Glass Walker pads quietly through the room, nose lifted to steal scent from the air. Her senses are not as honed as the country counsins' might be, but in this form they are nonetheless refined. Carpet - toys - water, relaying the sense of the scents to Decker through the mindlink, particularly any for which she has no point of reference, citygirl that she is.(st)
Rune also smells the faded scents of rum mixed with a hearty, rich beef stew. She can hear someone quietly singing, but the words are unintelligeable and foreign.(decker)
Decker pads to the edge of the door and, there, halts. Last time they all walked one way, the passage back closed off. If he didn't move, would it stay open? Or would he simply be trapped when the door slammed shut - in a forest of fur rapidly closing in?Unpleasant prospect, that. The thug exhales shortly, nearly a snort, and shrugs his coat on closer as he steps across the threshold into the odd room.
(james)
Stay backallright.
how long?apparently not much
because he's leaning in the 'doorway' fairly soon after the lupus tumbles through
looking around as much as she's smelling
he can't help the glance to the sides of the portal, just to see if it's a door, a closet, or a damned mirror they're moving throughnone would really surprise him
making way for Decker as the Modi draws up behind him
what block's Rune's view by height, he can see right over
pretty damned wary(rune)
The lupus pads through the room, circling the oversized bed while relaying the information gleaned by her lupine senses back to her packmates. Stew, rum - some voice, singing in a foreign tongue.The wolf paces across the room to the bed, nosing beneath the ruffled sheets.
(st)
Bastian comes up behind Decker, whistling under his bretah that annoying X-Files tune on the odd occasion as he examines the furry trees that seem to have morphed into fur coats hanging inside the closet doors. He pauses in the whistling long enough to step around James, giving the Bonegnawer a faint, strange smile before taking in the new surroundings. Especially all the toys heaped along one side of the bed.(st)
As Rune circles the bed, snuffling under the frilled undersheet that reaches down the plush blue carpet with it's own pale plus color. A little ugly man in a nurse maid's outfit, complete with bonnet, smiles and waves at her, then continues to pour water from a large earthen pitcher into a bowl already containing a fair amount of the liquid. That, apparently, is the source of the trickling water sound."About time you got here!" His voice brings the memory of the goblin, Hoggle, from the Labyrinth movie to mind for any of them that has actually sat down long enough in their lives to watch such a movie.
(rune)
Well, then.Ugly man. Nurse's maid. Pouring water. In a child's room.
All this, plus a vampire in close proximity while she's in lupus. All this, and she ruined her new winter coat by shifting in the first place. Lovely.
The Glass Walker shifts then - if the ugly man was not unnerved by the Glabro Decker, or perhaps the fur-forest outside his bizarre door, which morphed into a closet and well, so on, he was unlikely to be unnerved by the sight of her shifting through her forms all the way back down to comfortable, sleek, familiar homid. Pale arms cross across her abdomen, slender hands chafing each opposite arm a bit warmer. Lifting her chin, she offers a faint smile to the - uh, man?
"You were waiting for us?" Fucking. Hell. (across the mindlink, because she must curse SOMEwhere.) "Do you know the way out?"
(decker)
Decker stares down at the half-sized man, a frown of sheer disbelief turning into a scowl of sheer displeasure. He reaches out to touch one of the fur coats as though to ascertain that it was real, then reaches out to open one of the dresser drawers at random, peering into it.He has a question for the little man, too, his southern drawl undercut by a hint of gravel, a dash of rasp. "The hell you pourin' water into that for?"
(james)
he just blinks as they all waltz inside
sound of someone singing and we just barge into the room?
this is going to go real well
the return smile to Bastion is somewhat more skeptical than strange
his head snaps up at the sudden salutation
rising up on his tiptoes to peer at the figurethe.... nurse... man....
he's seen stranger
but it still gets a brow lift
they were expected
why is that not comforting?but he's still silent
(st)
"Out of where, Miss?"But his attention was already on Decker and that wonderfully shiny wallet chain hanging at his side.
"So you can wash your hands and face like good little children." This is reply to Decker's gruff question.
(decker)
Decker catches the direction of the nurseman's glance and scowls all the more fiercely, unclasping the chain from his belt-loop and dropping it into the pocket of his lowslung, oversized jeans. A glance slices toward Rune, eyebrow cocking up. The fuck?(rune)
"Out of the bedroom, of course," Rune replies, her smile turning a sickly sort of saccharine sweet. "We're expected for croquet in an hour, but I'm not sure we're going to find our way. We've just forgotten everything, haven't we Bastian? Unless you've remembered something I've forgotten, which would be most helpful right now, if. you. have."The speech finished, she returns Decker's glance, shaking her head quietly. Fuck if I know.
(st)
"I could maybe know the way out." He says slowly, weaselling tone, as shis eyes glue to Decker's pocket where the chain vanished.Bastian, on the other hand, is inspecting the teddy hears and merely looks up at Rune giving her an infuriatingly bland shrug before going back to his inspection. He picks up one particular bear and holds it out towards James.
"Recognize this?"
The bear looked like... Dimmy's... the one she left at his feet, staring up at him with lifeless eyes, while he was having a mental breakdown.
(decker)
Decker keeps his mouth shut. Rune's game here, being the most vocally eloquent of the trio.(james)
he's still just listening
thinking
where others jump into the frey
he analyzes, firstlistening to the word game begin
watching where the nurseman's eyes have gone
he can't help the slight smilewhich vanishes immediately when he looks over towards Bastion
chin jerking in a sharp nod
how could he not?
a step finally taken towards the vampire
hand held out for the bearthough still quite aware of the conversation at hand
(st)
There is also a very small door behind the goblin-dwarf-thing in the nurse's outfit, about half again his small stature, which leads one to believe that most here being able to fit through is wishful thinking.(rune)
"You could maybe know the way out, but you want something for your troubles, right?" dark brow rising as she studies the weaselly man - dark eyes slicing to Bastian as he confronts James with the fucking teddy bear. "I'll give you a link from that chain if you tell me the way out, and leave another link for every question you answer accurately. If you help us enough, you might get the whole chain."Sorry, Decker.
(st)
Bastian hands the teddy bear over to James with a sad smile tinging the edges of his lips. The bears cold lifeless eyes look deep into James, it seems...Right before it blinks....
Then... sneezes
In a deep baritone the teddy bear then speaks... "Is there a dog in the room somewhere?"
(st
"Allllrighty!" The little man slaps his hands together, rubbing them in a greedy manner. "Now you're fuckin' talking, little miss!"(decker)
Decker moves his shoulders is a slight shrug to Rune's apology. It's a twenty-dollar chrome-plated chain, twenty-four inches long, but what the fuck. He'll just make Rune buy him another one. Silently, his hand delves into the pocket, careful to unsnap it from his wallet while both are still out of sight.Drawing the chain out of his pocket - a sussurant hiss of steel over denim - he holds it out to Rune.
(james)
whomever thought a teddy bear could be cold and lifeless?
it's something a child pours its very heart and soul into
smothering it with love and companionshipsomebody. obviously spent too much time with this one
he doesn't even flinch as it blinks
he doesn't even drop it when it sneezes
he's good at accepting, remember?
easy smile crossing over his lips"Take care. And not.... exactly. How'd you end up here?"
last he remembers is (what he thinks is) it on the floorboards of Rune's Beemer
(rune)
Arms and shoulders tightening as - well - the teddy bear wakes up. Someone please tell her they just smoked some laced pot and are sitting in the living room, staring at the lights reflected on the ceiling through the shattered, open windows.The chain clanks as she accepts it from Decker, palm curving over the middle of its length. The swinging bits of chrome-plated chain are then gathered into her palm with a satisfying hiss.
"The deal is good, solid, accurrate information. Don't try to fuck me over, or I'll keep the chain. Help me, and I'll be generous." pause, mouth twisting into a flagrantly unnatural grin. "So, first. How do we get out of here?"
(st)
The teddy bear's baritone deepens as he lifts a stubby, fingerless arm and rubs the side of his head."Well... it's like this... it was dark... it was stormy... the toilet light was dim... and the teacup was sinking. Fast."
The goblin, meanwhile, is fair on salivating over the chain clutched in Rune's hand.
"Which way?"
(rune)
Rune eyes the small door opposite the goblin and lifts her shoulders in a swaying shrug. "Whichever way we can fit - " a brief nod toward the door " - and it doesn't look like we could make it through there."(st)
Bastian arches one well defined eyebrow at the teddy bear now conversing with James. He turns around and takes a step away towards the bed. He slides both pale hands back into the pockets of his long coat, ignoring the slide of raven black hair over his shoulders.(st)
"Well, if you wash your face and hands, you'll be able to go and play."He indicates the bowl of water and then gestures towards the tiny door set into the wall. Then he shudders profusely, pointing under the bed.
"Or, there is that way."
(james)
dark eyes flick upwards at Bastion's movement
most would think it would say
..... well didn't you talk to your toys when you were a kid?
but perhaps there's something else in it, too
after a moment, it's gone, and his attention focused back on the bear
(mostly)"Have you been stuck here since?"
(decker)
Decker shifts his weight from one foot to balance between both. Decker's far from a rocket scientist, but nor was he an idiot. He could put two and two together and right now two and two equaled a very small four. I ain't likin' the idea of gettin' even littler.(st)
"Well... yeeeah. It's kinda a bit of a bummer, really. There aren't even any girl bears here and talk about trying to find a decent bar! Just tea all they fuckin' drink is tea"This was the teddy bear's conversation with James, as he was held between the Gnaswers two hands around the waist, glassy brown and black eyes blinking every so often.
Under the bed there is the faint sound of nails scraping and scratching at wood.(rune)
Rune flashes Decker a glance and nods, faintly. Then her dark-eyed attention returns to goblin, as her fingers work deftly to pry one link from the long chain. The polish gets scratched, but - suprisingly enough - she hardly notices as she tosses the first promised link to the goblin."What's behind the small door? What's beneath the bed?"
(st)
"The Hall and the band. Under the bed? Well..... ummm..." He gulps a little, looking nervously at the bed after snatching the promised chain link out of the air and wrapping a thick, chubby fist around it, so that it was out of sight."Stairs."
He then mumbles under his breath.
"And Erekia."
(james)
Alice got smaller to take the longer path..... Sarah took the path of least resistance and it became the long way to get to the castle....
apparently he is still paying attentionnodding at the bear
"So you haven't found a way back to Dimmy yet?"
(st)
"Nooooo. No I haven't"He looks around, twisting his bulbus head and 'scratching' at his cheek with one stubby paw.
(rune)
"Is there a way out of the hall?" dark eyes lowering to focus on the chain in her hand, as she pries out a pair of links and tosses them to the creature in succession. "And I'll give you three links if you tell me everything you know about Erekia."(st)
"Yes, well, right. I guess there is a way out of the Hall. Ummm... and as for Erekia. He's big. He's stony. He likes to tear things assunder... ummm... he does weird things with yogurt and goats... and don't insult his mother, he really doesn't like that."He picks at his nose, thinking a little more and you wonder just how much of his hand he can fit up a schnozz that large. He's definately giving the attempt his all as he contemplates Erekia.
"Oh and he has a door in his chest."
(james)
contemplation fills his silence
at least for a few moments"What has prevented you?"
(rune)
"What do you mean you guess there is a way out of the hall? Are there any doors other than that one?" She nods toward the door, dark hair swinging across her pale cheek, dark eyes lowering to focus on the links in her hands rather than the hand up the creature's nose."...and where does the door in Erekia's chest go?"
(st)
"No fingers." The teddy bear waves his stubby little arms around to show his point."The Hall? Never walks down it that far, how should I know?"
He picks his nose and then looks at what came out with his roughly shorn nail.
"As for Erekia, do I look like a brave man to you? I'm a lover not a fighter."
(decker)
James is talking to a teddy bear. Rune is talking to a goblin. Decker...folds into a crouch after a moment, opening the door up and looking through it at the hall.(rune)
Two more links. One more glance shearing away from the creature, as a smirk crawls across her face."You gonna eat that?" with a nod toward the uhm... buried treasure he managed to recover. (Yes, sometimes she's 12.) "Is it tasty?"
Two. Three. Four more links, tossed in his direction.
"Do you know anyone who's been that far down the hall?" Another pause, the flash of a half-smile. "And, about Erekia, how do you know he has a door in his chest if you've not been down there?"
(st)
Decker can spy a vast golden hall with no ceiling that he can percieve. Directly across from him six munchikins wave, all of them wearing heavy metal gear and tuning various instruments.(decker)
Decker gets down on all fours, putting his head close to the ground to look in through the door. Finally he calls down at the waving munchkins, "Hell's in there?"(set)
The goblin just rolls his 'treasure' into a nasty little goblet ball and flicks it across the room, all the while smiling lecherously up at Rune. Kinda that Hey baby, how ya doin'? look."I've seen Erekia, just never been through the door."
(st)
Of all the band members, one of the little white munchikins, the drummer by all appearences, seems to not be entirely confused by the question . He gives Decker a Bill&Ted type grin and thumbs up."A hall, dude!"
(james)
Decker crawling
Rune still bargaining
and the Gnawer is talking to a toy"What did you need fingers for?"
noting that, obviously, you don't always need them to open doors
wolves don't have fingers, either
and they got in here, didn't they?(rune)
Rune rolls her eyes, and settles into an exagerattedly hip-slung slouch. If the creepy disgusting little man wants to smile lecherously up at her while answering her questions, she'll give him something at which to leer."So. The door. ...is actually in his torso, as opposed to the sort of chest in which one stores treasures. Do you know where the door goes?"
(st)
"Yeah, but that door has a door handle, man." He gestures with one studdy arm towards the direction of Decker, of which they now have a nice view of his ass.Bastian, meanwhile, has stopped exploring the vast amount of teddy bears and cocks his head to one side, looking at Decker's ass as it sticks into the air.
"Yes, its in his torso. As for where it leads, that is beyond my knowledges, little miss."
He poses like a superhero in the nurses outfit, trying to outdo Rune's posturing or maybe just trying to impress her.
(decker)
Decker straightens up, about to slam the door on the munchkins, and then thinks better of it. Leaning down again, "There a way outta the hall?"Bastian had a nice view of his ass what with his jacket pulling up and his pants sagging down. The waistline of his boxers ride about three and a half inches over the waistline of the jeans in standard ghetto-thug style - until, of course, Decker feels the eyeballs and reaches back to tug the pants up.
"Like a...fuckin' exit 'r somethin'?"
(james)
a brow lifts
bears obviously haven't learned of tools or traction
he can't help but wonder if Bastion could be any more interested, perhaps if Decker's tail were flagging through the air?
(that's just wrong, James)"Do you know what's down that hall, beyond the band? Or where the door in Erekia's chest leads?"
(st)
"No one. Have you seen how high the fuckin' thing is??"The goblin seems truly amazed at the question and the sheer idea of someone managing to drawl into the bed.
The drummer, quite some distance away, strains to hear what Decker was saying and then nods slowly, almost becoming hypnotic in the gesture. Someone was definately stoned.
"Down that way." he points to the right. "for half an hour, turn 180 degrees and you'll find a laneway. If you go that way." he points to the left "That's our house."
The bear, clasped by James who hasn't learned how to use tools apparently, scratched his cheek again.
"Nope and nope. I been in here for awhile now. They done me for drink drivin'."
(james)
one can drive, but not open a door?"And what would happen if I left you here......?"
brow lifting to ask the name
(rune)
"Yeah. I saw how fucking high that thing is."Rune tosses the goblin another link, then settles her hands on the curve of her hips, fingers of her left hand still cupped carefully about the remaining links. She's turning back toward James and Decker when she thinks of another question.
"...so. Any idea what Erekia would take in trade for us going through his door?"
(st)
Bastian examines a chest in one corner, opening it and rifling through the contents which was mainly toys. A shrug, closing the chest again. He slides his hands back into his pocket, glancing over at James for a moment, shaking his head to himself at a thought that came to mind. Patience is a virtue, but in this place... this was just bizarre.The goblin, deep in conversation and perve-mode with Rune, scratches his thinning gray hair that sticks out from under the bonnet.
"Not 'less you have two cows, an oxen and a horse."
The Bear: "I'd go back to the corner."
The bear did sound rather depressedly resigned at the idea of spending more time in the company of stuffed animals.(rune)
"Do you know where I could find two cows, an oxen and a horse?" Another link sparkles end over end, as it sails toward the goblin, flung from Rune's pale fingers. The chain clinks satisfyingly in her hand as she draws it against her abdomen and glances around the room.Y'all seen any toys like that?
(james)
Got it covered
flick of a glance towards his packmates
there's a slow nod
back to the bear"Precisely.... stuck here, no girly bars, no beer, just these stuffed animals and tea..... lots of tea.... and no fingers to get you out of.... what was the name of this place again?"
(st)
"Maybe in the fields?"Did he look like a farmer to you? No... he looked like a fat little goblin in a nurse's outfit.
(decker)
Decker opens up the door again and sticks his head down near the floor to call through it."Got any cows, oxen 'n horse near yer house?"
Worth a shot.(st)
The Bear: "Happy Dales."(st)
The munchikin drummer in heavy metal gear thinks about it, chewing on a lip for a moment."No, but I'm pretty sure there are some near the laneway, dude."
(st)
Something moves apart from the munchikins, which would not doubt catch Decker's attention and imagination. There was a little guy burling down the hall, on the right for the munchikins, in a small buggy towards the laneway. The buggy is drawn by two purple cows, a giant rainbow oxen. His only passenger is a horse with a multicolored mohawk. They were moving at break-neck speeds.(st)
The drummer notices the buggy and points towards it, moving in slow motion."There?"
(james)
again, that slow nod"How was Happy Dale created, Bear?"
since he didn't give a name
and sometimes you can't help the whim questions
since it seems Decker and Rune are covering the other bases(st)
The bear shrugs stuffed shoulders. "I dunno. Do I look like I get out much?"(rune)
Rune's eyes narrow faintly, and she glances toward Decker, head tilted to catch the munchkin's reply, not wasting another question on the goblin as this point. She crosses the room and offers the remaining length of chain to Decker - his pockets are deeper, and therefore a little more convenient for carrying the last 10 inches of the chain."Thanks for your help." tossed over her shoulder toward the goblin. "One more question," she murmurs, fingering the chain lightly. "If bathe and shrink to fit through that door, can we bathe again and get bigger once we come back through?"
(st)
Beneath their feet, almost undetectable to the eye at first, the carpet slowly starts to swirl and change. The once perfectly white walls start to become smoke stained and the bed gets a hardened appearence. There was also the sound of twisting and creaking wood as the room appears to be growing in width.Bastian lifts one of his feet, looking down at where the carpet used to be under that particular spot but now has a look of brown tiles.
"Curious." Mummured to himself before he looks up at his unwilling companions.
"I suggest we pick a door and leave some time soon, children."
The bear, held still in Jame's hand, starts to warp in the Gnawers hands. His ears begint o get longer, as does his snout. A puppy like tail starts to develop, as does the soft beat of a heart.
"Should you need to. I guess so." Slowly even the goblin was changing, although not in appearence, merely in clothing. The skirt of his nurses' outfit elongating into checked pants and the bonnet rearranging itself into a chef's hat.
(james)
shoulders shrug beneath the tattered trench
mimicking the bear"I don't know, thought maybe you would have heard something, somewhere, in passing or whatever. So give me a good reason, Bear, of why I should take you with us, back to the land of girly bars and beer. You don't get out much, so you couldn't have any useful information anymore than what you've already told me..... so what would pay your trip, Bea......"
blinking
looking around as things begin to warp and change
a warmth replacing fluffy cotton against his hands"..... Puppy."
a glance to Rune
he'll fit through
hefts the be....er..... pup a bit
to anyone else it would seem like he was just pointing this oddity among oddities out, right?(rune)
"Don't refer to us as children." The wintry smirk is directed at Bastian. "Particularly when you're not doing a fucking thing to help."Dark eyes lift from the changing carpet, and her words go to her packmates on Eagle's wings. I think we do the munchkin thing, get the animals, and try to make it back to get through the door in the... thing's chest. Anyone prefer something else?"
(decker)
Decker grunts as he sees the animals waltzing past. Ain't got a better plan. Still, I don't gotta like it.What appears easiest often isn't. Nonetheless, the Modi gets up and heads for the basin, hands poised to wash.
We doin' this? Or we gonna try to send that damn dog?
(st)
The puppy, now fully formed, licks James face with enthusiasm. The floor is now almost fully tiled like that of the kitchen. Or bathroom. Take your pick. The bed has alsot taken on a very bench-like appearence and most of the toys have being converted into various foods.(rune)
"Puppy."Dark brows rising as she returns James' glance, red mouth curving into a much more generous smirk than was offered to Bastian a moment before.
"We'll take you with us if you go through the door and come back with two cows, the ox, and the horse we need. "
Send the dog. If it doesn't work, we can always follow him.
(st)
The goblin, now fully garbed as a chef, leans over to Rune and whispers."It's just a puppy."
He looks more concerned for the safety of the puppy and slightly hungry.
(james)
there's a half-smile beneath the...... bath
a pat on the head after setting the puppy down
it helps, or it gets left
(or it runs off into the distance never to be seen again)
decisions aren't his to make(st)
Bastian shakes his head again with something akin to a soft sign and walks to the basin that Decker was hunkered near. He splashes his face with water, rinsing his hands in the process.To those standing in the room he vanishes, but they can see him not outside the small door, regular compared to the munchikins.
The puppy bolts out the door, seeming to change size to equate with Bastian's on the other side of the door.
(rune)
"Fuck." Rune murmurs, as James sets the puppy down on the tiled floor, dark eyes sliding from the puppy now bolting through the door back toward the goblin. "...well, I guess we bathe."Nostrils flaring with irritation, Rune follows Bastian's example. If it's bad, I'll warn you guys when I get there. If you don't hear from me... a lilting shrug as she dips her hands into the water. ...maybe you should wait for the room to change again.
"Thanks," she flashes a smirk toward the chef before dipping her hands in the water.
(st)
Rune finds herself in the grand golden hall standing, no doubt, a little too close to Bastian for comfort. At her feet, behind her, is where she came from. A small victorian doll's house and on the wall is a picture of a door. Other than Bastian and the puppy, the only other occupants to the eyes are the heavy metal Munchikin Band and the buggy disappearing into the distance.The only thing that Bastian says, looking from Rune to the tiny open door of the doll's house is...
"How curious..."
(decker)
Decker shoots James a glance. He didn't like the pack splitting up. He didn't like letting Rune to go off alone. Nor would he like leaving James behind, alone. Nor did he like everyone marching through at once. Nor did he like--Rock. Hard place. Eyebrows rise: We stayin' or goin'?
(rune)
I'm fine. Not dead or anything. It's all rather... she takes two steps away from Bastian and toward the band, in the direction of the disappearing buggy. ...well. C'mon through before that exit disappears as well.She flashes Bastian an irritated glance, and then continues following the buggy.
(st)
Above them, the ceiling of the grand golden hall, was not blue but a strange twilight purple with clouds constantly shifting pattern across the open area and every once and awhile rain, hail, or snow would fall from the clouds onto the unsuspecting below. To watch the ceiling of the hall was akin to watching a nature video of the sky in time-lapse.The Muchikins were now staring at Bastian and Rune, stoned eyed wide and glazed... finally one of them utters...
"Gnarly..."
Bastian turns his head to watch Rune, catching her irritated glance and merely raises an eyebrow in reply. Infuriating, wasn't he?
(james)
he?
does not like this situation either
and he's half a mind to say something about it
(but knows better)
most definitely wanting to protest at that shrug
(he ..REALLY.. knows better)
sighing deeply in thought
brows raising a bit in reply
She told us to wait, but I don't like it.that's about when her voice comes through
decision made
(no, that isn't sheer relief Decker's seeing, honest)
he heads to wash in the basin(decker)
As James heads toward the basin, Decker's already washing up. Water splashes over his face and when he opens his eyes, he's the size of a munchkin, standing in front of the munchkin door.He waits for James to catch up and go through first (leave no man behind), and then the Modi brings up the rear.
(rune)
Rune flashes the munchkins the universal symbol of heavy metal rock fans everywhere (she saw it in Wayne's World. She was never into hair bands herself.) as she passes them. Her feet ring out on the gold floor, as she passes them swiftly, careful to keep the disappearing buggy in her sight.It doesn't matter that the other path is closed (maybe it'll open again?). It's just that the buggy, the cows, the ox, the horse, the price, the other door - is the only thread of logical connection remaining in the topsy turvy world. She's not going to lose that. Not yet.
Half-a-eye out for her packmates behind her, and her thoughts flow to them too.
Following the buggy. Thing. Don't think the band knows much. Ideas welcome.
(st)
Bastian, hands in pockets as always, follows Rune at a more leisurely pace, nodding his head politely to the Munchikins in passing. He starts to whistle the theme from Wizard of Oz as he continues to walk across the golden floor of the vast hall.(james)
he doesn't bother keeping a logical connection anymore
(he was just talking to a teddy bear that morphed into a puppy, after all)
jogging a few paces to catch up to Rune
knowing the Modi keeps right behind him
(a vampire and three werewolves walked into a bar....)
skirting around Bastion
only slowing when he's just to her left flank
the band was ignored
the ever-changing sky recieves only a glance
(it seems rationality and logic abandoned them long ago)
shoulders rolling in a shrug
Not. a. clue.(decker)
Maybe we oughta catch up to the buggy... The Modi's thoughts form a third voice to their two, as he comes abreast of Rune at her right side for a moment, casting a glance across his packmates before simply...dropping forward, his body swinging rigidly down as though he were a door, and his feet the hinge, as though he had simultaneously tripped on a rock and lost the ability to bend his joints -- hits the ground a grey wolf, and breaks into a steady ground-eating lope after the buggy.
(st)
In the distance, some way off and now small to the eye, the buggy does a 180 and starts to come charging back towards them. However, it doesn't grow in size as it does so, always that small size, and then...Poof
It vanishes in midair.
At this point they also pass a sign that they didn't percieve earlier that has an arrow pointing in the direction that they were already going that reads:
Laneway 20 Mins(rune)
The laneway, then.She doesn't even sound surprised anymore, not when the buggy turns around, not when if fails to grow in size as it should, not when it vanishes. Right now, she wouldn't be surprised if Decker put on a pink tutu and started belting out show tunes while perfecting his tap dancing routine and petting a bunny rabbit and making eyes at Bastian. Nope. None of that would surprise her a bit.
So, when they draw abreast of the sign for the laneway, Rune slows to a somewhat slower pace, hitching a half-step so that she and James can walk abreast as Decker forward and ahead of them. She has the sudden, strange urge to reach out and take his hand, but manages to supress it in favor of a casual brush of her hand across his shoulder, a faint twist of her torso towards his, so his swinging arm grazes her flank.
High-ho, high-ho. It's off to the laneway they go.
(decker)
...uuh.The Fenrir stops ahead of them, one forepaw raised as the words filter through his lupine senses and find meaning (of a sorts) in the core of his mind.
20 mins..?
(st)
"We're late, we're late, we're late for an important date."The words coming from Bastian as he walked behind the trio of Fuzzballs, breaking his whistling of the theme of the Twilight Zone to do so.
(james)
well, there's that too
or.... there was that... too
he hadn't quite gotten into his shift yet when the buggy turned
and charged
and fuckin' disappearedoh that's just lovely
there's just a sigh
will somebody please hand him his ruby slippers now?
Size ten and a half, please. Thank you.
It'll take 20 minutes to get there, Decker.
probably no matter how fast they move
turning somewhat to look at the vampire
a brow lifting in the frame of heavy dreads
allowing his weight to shift shoulder against Rune's"You've been rather quiet through this, Bastion. Are you going to continue to wait for us to do everything and get you back home, or are you going to start being helpful instead of contrite? Tell me about New Jersey, why he would create that little box to get us here and what, if anything, you percieve as a plausible plan for getting the hell back home."
(decker)
Even as James speaks, Decker's teeth grind together hard enough for Rune to hear. If the little vampire didn't shut it soon - or get helpful soon - he was gonna....(st)
He considered James' comment for some time, as if drawing his thoughts out on purpose or considering what he would and would not tell the trio."This seems to be far-fetched, even for New Jersey, although should this be of his construction, then even I would find even myself in fear of his whims in the future."
A pause.
"Indeed, if there is a future."
(rune)
"That?" Rune's dark brows lift as she follows James' spin, but she still keeps walking - so slowly - backwards, so as not to prolong their journey to the laneway even while chatting with the oh-so-charming leech with whom they have been saddled. "...was not helpful."The words are flatly spoken. She heard the grind of Decker's teeth. Now James can hear the grind of her own teeth, can feel - faintly - the curl of her fists swinging at her side as she continues walking slowly backward.
(james)
the Gnawer actually..... stops
rather than just looking over his shoulder
hands sliding into his pockets
dark eyes raise to the sky
contemplating the shifts of weather high above"That wasn't very helpful, Bastion."
and he just.... watches the sky
for another dozen seconds or so
musing"So why bother going home? Sort've like the Fire Swamps..... we can get used to it given some time. At least we have that here, rather than the question of whether or not the future even exists.... think about it. No wars. No sewers. Just happy little bandmembers with their happy little songs. Just happy little chain hogging trolls. We're in the happy. Little. Box."
the smile turns on Bastion
savage
gleaming"What on earth do we have to worry about.... what's your rush back, Bastion?"
(st)
"Time is only a perifial concern for one such as myself, as I am assuming you have discovered, judging by your charming sentiments towards me, my dear." That comment directed at Rune before he slowly tilts his head, studying James curiously."I'm in not particular hurry, as you have probably noticed, but I do have things to attend to that would be quite difficult to accomplish in this... how did you put it? Happy little box?"
He arches an eyebrow sardonically.
"If we are indeed in a box."
"I doubt it will relax your overt display of paranoia and annoyance, but if you must know - New Jersey is of a similar ilk as myself. Different family, same shit."
Yes, the polite well ennuciated facade of his voice dropped away towards the end of the commentary. He was no doubt as frustrated as they were, but he had more practise dealing with bizarre happenings than them.
(decker)
Decker, too, has stopped. Thus far, though, the Modi's back remains turned. Likely because the sight of Bastian's too-young too-pretty face would further inspire him to return it to so much mush."'N why would 'New Jersey' wanna put yer ass in a box?"
Besides the obvious, that is.
"'N how the did he do it?"(st)
"New Jersey is prone to do what every he wishes on a whim. His family is not known for sanity, after all. As to how he did it, I am not a student of such arts as his family possesses."A breeze picks up, stirring the clouds high above them as they take on a rainbow hue that casts a brighter coloring, almost like sunlight through a diamond, across the gold floor. The words "Belial Eborua Lovari Iravol Avrobe Laileb" whisper through their senses, followed closely by a shower of many multicolored jewels that were, at smallest, half an inch in diameter and an inch at the largest.
(james)
"I don't think it matters if Happy Dale is in a box or over the river and through the woods, do you, Bastion? What matters...."he actually takes a step towards the vampire
that same easy grin still plastered around his teeth
if someone is annoyed and paranoid?
it certainly isn't him".... is that you want to get home, too. So why not lend a hand rather than run the commentary, hm? Your normal wit and charm is not quite up to par and your avoidances help nobody."
there's only a soft laugh, then
you know when you get past the point where everything just becomes amusing?
yea."He's one of the Kooks, isn't he?"
once more, kids, those urban legends are popping up truths
but this is obviously not the work of someone that's conventionally sane
and he had heard about one branch of the family tree that was a little wobblier than the others(rune)
"Gee, that's helpful." Rune snots, turning her fucking back on the vampire and walking. the. hell. away. "...because, you know, I never would've gussed, considerign the corpse and the stink and you and the creepy bone coffin and fucking what-not. Hell, no. I never would have guessed."Actually," ...and here goes all her frustration, all her vitriol and anger, sharp words hissed past curving red lips, short and clear and bitten off. "Before you fuckin' clarified that, I was thinking that New Jersey was your blue-footed purple-nosed winged tinkerbell of a gnome boyfriend. Or, you know, a talking car. Next year from Disney? Bastian and the fucking love bug. It's the new Chitty Chitty Bang Bang with a touch of fucking Lestat thrown into the mix.
"Now." still walking. Still. walking. Rune holds out her hands and watches the, ah, gems fall from the ceiling sky. Or whatever. She wasn't going to think about it to closely. Nice and calm and controlled, she continues, mostly (at this point) for her own amusement. "Lemme guess. You have no idea what those words just meant?"
(st)
Bastian is disturbed by the fall of jewels, but seems to take no harm from the hard stones falling upon them. He raises a hand to sheild only his face, frowning breifly before speaking to James once again."Completely fucking nuts is another term commonly used."
His eyes shift slowly to Rune while she was running off steam, raising an eyebrow and merely looking... bemused.
"I believe Belial is a demon of some ilk. One of the four princes of Hell, I believe. Reassuring, isn't it?"
Up in the sky is a transparent image of a small forlorn boy looking down upon them, tears streaming down his face. He mouths the words "Get the bad man away from me..." Then a taloned hand reaches out and covers the boy's face, which is pulled away from sight. In his place is the pale face of an old man with jet black eyes and teeth, two black curling horns protruding from his temples. He yells "WELCOME FRIENDS!" which is followed by maniacal laughter as he fades from few in the skyline.
Sebastian, having watched thes, pointed up to where the visages were and says far too calmly (snap).
"That was definately not New Jersey."
Then the falling jewels turn to soft, warm gummi bear lollies and throughout the land a child-like scream can be heard.
(james)
"Considering they were saying the same thing forwards and backwards it only negated itself, didn't it."shrugged
head shaking to dislodge some of the jewels... and then gummi bears out of thick dreads
the theater of the sky didn't impress him
and that scream isn't sending chills up and down his spine beneath the trenchcoat
he turns?
and just starts walking again
how far to the Emerald City again?(st)
"If you had listened closely you would have noticed that two of the words were actually different. I wouldn't count on anything being negated just yet."He slides the hand that was sheilding his face back into his pocket after picking a gummi bear out of his hair, flicking it aside before catching another in his palm and popping it into his mouth, sucking.
The puppy was still following them, running in mad circles, eating all the sticky lollies littering the golden floor.
(rune)
One foot in front of the other. The other in front of the first.And on, and on, and so on. Some demon-thing comes into the sky, and a child cries. Jewels fall from the ceiling and turn into sticky gummi bears. A puppy runs around.
Rune flips Bastian off and walks. ever. forward.
Until the sign, of course, catches her eye. Well, then. 180 degrees?
Rune spins on her heels. The laneway better be there, or she's gonna find someone's ass to kick.
(st)
When Rune turns everyone has caught up to her regardless of where they were originally, staring at her in the face (or crotch, depending on form) from only a few inches away. Behind them, in front of her, is an L turn to her left. There was a glimpse of the buggy disappearing around the corner of the L turn.
(james)
lips twitch as he repeats the phrasing again
brows lifting"You're right."
though he doesn't seem to particularly care
180 degrees, huh?
seems about where the buggy was
so he just does an about-face within step
rotating weight on the ball of his foot
he's not about to charge, though
he'll just keep walkingoh look. buggy. yay.
(st)
Sebastian turns as well, watching the buggy charge around the corner and vanish from sight again. He does a flowing, flowerly (vaguely sarcastic) gesture for Rune to proceed - since she appeared to be the one that the two boys were paying heed to.(rune)
........aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand forward march. Rune has the sudden urge to link arms with her packmates, and skip off after the buggy like an extra in the Wizard of Oz trying out for the Dorothy role. She doesn't.Instead, she walks in the wake of the buggy. around the L-turn, and so on, while fumbling through her pocket for cigarettes, lighter, little bag of pot. The last is stuffed back into her pocket as she walks onward, lighting a cigarette as she goes.
She really. really. needed that first poisoned puff.
You don't know how much she needed it.(st)
Each time that smoke falls from Rune's mouth, it emerges as smoke encapsuled in bubbles that rise upwards and upwards and upwards... and you get the idea.Turning the corner, as there didn't seem to be any other way to go, they come upon a set of Three Doors.
The one to their left was old rugged wood with the following scribbled upon it in bright colored crayon:
'Twas brillig, and the slithey toves
The right door was made of gold with black embossed letters emblazened across it that read: SCHELAGON
The door directly in the middle was nice wooden door with a stainglass window (view obscured by the pretty, frilly curtain on the other side) with a letter slot that has Tea Party on a tag above the slot. There was a fine sand spilled around the bottom of the door.
(decker)
Decker looks up at the scribblings on the wall. The writing on the wall. It's fuckin' there, he's fuckin' seeing it, and it don't make no sense.Twas brillig, and the slithey toves. SCHELAGON. Tea party.
What. The. Fuck?Someone hasn't read his Lewis Carroll. No matter if the smoke's coming out in bubbles. He reaches out, 'borrows' the cigarette from his packmate's mouth, and takes a drag. Coughs. Hands it back. Goes down smoother than pot, but he still didn't have to like it.
(james)
the vampire flounces
the Walker stresses
the Fenrir seeths
and the Gnawer?
just strollsthe same ground eating stroll they see on the Jersey streets
he can go anywhere and not look like he's putting out the effort
it's energy efficient and sufficient for his needs
it's a casual reach that stretches to steal the cigarette in its jouney back to Rune
deep drag pulled into ample lungs
the smoking stick handed back as his head, then, leans back
picing his tongue up from the hollow of his jaw
blowing smoke rings towards the ever-changing skyhalf disappointed they aren't pink
or bubbly like Rune's
then his head tilts, infront of the doors
pointing to each in turnthe slithey toves
"Jabberwocky."
schelagon
"I have no idea."
tea party
"Alice in Wonderland."another long breath
"Do we want flaming dragons or a hat tricks with a tea party before croquette with the Queen?"
(st)
Bastian gestures towards the golden door, clearing his throat slightly. See, he was going to be helpful. Wasn't he nice?"I suggest we avoid that door, on principles sake, based on the other Abramelin commentary so far. Unless you feel that a demon is the least of the three evils?"
(rune)
With three Garou sucking on the cigarette, well, it burns down pretty quickly. So Rune lights another one, ignoring the bubbles of smoke spilling from her mouth, offering it around to everyone.Well, everyone except the leech, that is. Fucking leech.
Her mouth tightens into an unattractive line before curling outward into a familiar smirk.
You've read 'em, James, haven't you? What do you think?
(You didn't think she was going to let the leech in on this conversation, did you?)
"Thanks." The curt word spills bubbling smoke in Bastian's direction. "That was somewhat helpful. So. glad you came along."
(st)
The door marked 'schelagon' opens and the little goblin from earlier in the dool house comes out wrapped in a thick, snow covered fur wrap. A mutter..."Damn that's cold. Next time they can clean theur own teeth."
He pays no attention to the four of them debating which door to choose, opens the one marked Tea Party, enters and closes it behind him.
(james)
there's a slow nod
taking the smoke for his turn
ignoring Hoggle
just as if they were passing a joint on Rune's couch back home
and the troll was just some strange cartoon at 6am
somewhat pleased the smoke comes out blue this time
Jabberwocky ends with a big fight against the dragon, I think it's a vorpal sword that kills it - which I don't think any of us thought to bring unless Bastion has one hidden up his sleeve, I don't know if an axe will do glance slid towards Decker, and the smoke handed over ..... Alice goes on trial before the Queen for the theft of tarts, so that's a battle of wits versus brawn....... and I have no idea what the demon thing is about.....(rune)
Nodding, faintly - accepting the cigarette from James and passing it back to Decker - Rune absorbs the information from James with a lowering frown.No offense, but... not sure how we'll do with wits versus brawn, unless we get to be the brawn, or you get to be the wits. Or maybe we can just toss them witless over there - faint nod toward Bastian - and be done with it. Do they find the sword in the Jabberwocky poem, or is someone just carrying it around? If it's something we can track down in there, that's where I want to go. If not, looks like it's tea time.
(st)
"Then again, I could be wrong about the Shelagon. Or I could be lying. Who knows? I am what I am, right?"Ask for help or suggestions and then exclude the guy from conversation and little huddled trio. Someone was feeling unloved, perhaps? Or maybe the icy demeanor was finally starting to chip away - after all, they were all in this together... Of course, considering what he was and what they were, it was all the be expected. But it didn't have to be liked.
He slides a hand out of his pocket with a hait tie between two fingers. He gathers up his weaist-length raven hair, tying it back out of his young, alabaster skinned face.
(james)
there's a bit of a chuckle
glancing at Bastion"We all are what we are, Bastion, the question is more whether or not you can endure the silences you treated us with while you waited.... all in good time."
the Gnawer is either asking for it
or doesn't care anymore
He already had his sword in hand while waiting by the Tumtum tree. It was a looking glass book though, read only in reflection.(st)
"Tiiiime is on my side..."A faint singing lilt to his voice, lips curling at the corners with sour bemusement. For when they were naught but bones and dust there was a good chance that he would still be there - the Watcher of North Jersey. Time was on his side...
(rune)
"They're changing the guards at Buckingham Palance," Rune mumbles - a half-remembered poem from her childhood. This is her only answer to Bastian as she takes a last drag off her cigarette and offers the remains to Decker and James. "Christopher Robin went down with Alice."The pack had made its decision. It was as much a feeling as a word, shared between James and Rune, offered to Decker, then at last voiced in their minds. Tea Party. Let's not all go in together. Give me half a minute to give you the okay before coming through.
Long legged strides, the familiar creak of leather smooth against skin. She lifts a hand and shakes it through her hair, then exhales a long breath of smoke.
"And so are we."
Hand on the door. Door opening. One Glass Walker Ahroun walking through.
(st)
Not that Bastian heard any of the plan, therefore he follows Rune through the door, perhaps glad that a decision had been made...(st)
On the other side of the door, for Rune's appraisal was an overgrown garden with all sorts of plants - from jungle to backyard. There was a mummur of a thousand voices whisperingfrom every direction that seems to grow louder as both Rune and Bastian enter via the door. Their steps take them directly onto a cracked concrete path and behind them... just the door and more garden stretching out. Through the open door, Rune can still see Decker, James and the puppy that is currently trying to attack Decker's shoes with mock ferocity. At the end of the path is a rusted gate, leaning against it on their side is... well, I guess nothing is odd here anymore, hmmm? ... the nervous little man from the bus station that had asked Rune for the time, save that he was now sporting rabbit ears and a fluffy tail. He was speaking to Mr. Tumnus, a fawn. They appeared to be sharing a bottle of elderberry whine.(rune)
S'all good guys. Well, except for the fucking leech. That's never good. But, you know. Just the guy from the bus station with bunny ears talking to a - uhm - animal. They've got booze, though, so I'm happy.Offered back at the pair of packmates through her mind. She doesn't pause to wait for them, though. Rune just continues to walk forward, offering a chin lifting nod to the nervous man from the bus station.
"Wassup? Y'all wanna give me directions on how to get back to the bus station, or should I just keep on walking?"
(decker)
James' complacence has not spread to Decker. If anything, the Modi was winding silently tighter with every passing moment, his impatience ratcheting up and up and up with every step. A snort precedes his stepping through the door.
(james)
a part of him wants to remind Bastion that even though time may be on his side
and he may still be here long after their grandchildren's grandchildren have turned to dust
(unless, of course, Decker gets hisway)
the longer he is in Happy Dale with them
the less of his important business is getting done
trifle hard to conduct business when in the happy little box
but, as with other choice phrases of the journey
he does not share it out louda slight glance to the puppy growling at Decker's boot
which probably weighed more than it
sighing a bit
Why does... time.... keep coming up.
then just steps on throughWhite Rabbit
Mr. Tumnus
someone's mixing up their books
(like that's a surprise)(st)
The White Rabbit - if you'd like to call him that as James seems to think of the nervous man - turns to Rune with a wide lopsided grin of a drunk, cheeks flushed red."Why hello Alice!" He burps and staggers against the gate, throwing up at Mr. Tumnus' hooves. Mr. Tumnus looks at his hooves, pulling a grimace and staggers back - apparently he has been deep in the elderberyy wine as well.
"Ew!"
He then looks up at Rune, swaying as he focuses his eyes slowly and then smiles.
"Hello Child of Earth and Moon." When he notices James and Decker, he corrects himself."Children of the Earth of Moon..."
He bows to Bastian, grinning like a fool still and reeking of alcohol.
"Child of Caine..." he sees the dog and raises an eyebrow... hmmm.. "And.... puppy?"
A little confusion there as he stares at the puppy then shakes himself like he were drenched in water.
"As for the bus stop, I know of none. Maybe the lovely man in the hat can help you!"
(rune)
"And puppy. Or teddy bear. He's having a bad day." Rune flashes the man a tight grin, and digs into her pocket for yet another cigarette. Lighting up, she breathes out a long stream of smoke and continues, "...well, maybe you can tell me how to find the lovely man in the hat?"Anyone else have questions to ask? It's probably best that we keep moving, given all the damn time references. Or, whatever. Given the fact that it's something to do rather than standing around talking.
(st)
"Just keep following the path, dear daughter of the earth or moon. Just keep following the path."He offers her the bottle of elderberry wine, finds a small clump of grass and promptly passes out, snoring like a small child. The White Rabbit also appears to be out for the count, mumbling "Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock" in his sleep.
Bastian approached the gate without waiting for anyone, tugging it open and accidentally, the whole gate comes away in his hand, taking the post it was attached to with it. Ahem... he slowly turns and places the gate up against one of the trees, takes a deep unneeded breath to compose himself and... walks...
(james)
white rabbit
brer rabbit
thumpereither way
the library has combined the entire children's section into one unabridged volume
(or nightmare)
he's cool with it
more for your money
bigger bang for your buck
or whatever cliche fits in this ridiculousness
he just flashes both the men that easy grin
steps over the puddle of vomit
and right on up to the gate all the staggering back made way for
and that Bastion opened...... well.... rather Decker-esquely
(how cute)
strolling on through like it's just a walk in the damned psychadelic park(rune)
Well, well, well.Rune manages a nod of thanks to the bunny-man, then follows in the leech's wake. At least if they were going to fall off a cliff or into a flaming pit of lava, the leech would go first.
That little thought brings an oddly lovely smile to Rune's red mouth, and she just... saunters on past, smoking and strolling in her James' and Bastian's respective wakes like she was walking down Fifth Avenue, heading straight toward Saks, that Silver Fang's check burning a freakin' hole in her wallet.
(st)
Minutes, minutes, minutes, minutes. They pass and pass you by... like the sands of time through the hour glass... these are the Days of Our Lives... oh wait, wrong sort of reference... but you get the point... Fatigue seemed to leach into their bones and oddly enough it even seemed Bastian was losing his vigor. A leech... getting tired... uh oh, right?The path was laid like a wave, weaving back and forth through a thick, rickly scented forest (not as thick as the original forest, no worries) until they hear the sound of clinking of china, mad laughter and really bad jokes.
(rune)
"It's either a tea party, or an evening at the improv, or a weird combination of both. Might as well check it out, mightn't you Bastian?" Rune flashes him a faint smirk if he turns around to look at her. "Let us know what happens, won't you?"(james)
he's used to walking across cities
but even he's getting tired, achey..... hungry too
not necessarily the cigarette smoker of the pack
but he damn well gets his sharelong slow breath hearing the clinks up ahead
Here we go.(st)
One voice in the distance asks: "Where are your buccaneers?"... a short pause and that voice laughs uproarishly loud... "On your buccan'ead!"
Bastian flashes Rune a look that could wither stone for a moment, then shrug and continues forwards... a lone it would seem. Through the trees and shrubbery, disappearing along the footpath into the clearing from where the voices were coming from.
Bastian's voice is faint, barely a whisper of sound, just before he disappears...
"Or I could leave you behind..."
Then he was swallowed, as mentioned before, into the clearing and the party held within.
(st)
Tick. Tock. Tick... Tock... Tick...Then there is an ugodly scream of sheer undulating delight.
"BASTIAN!"
Shortly followed by the sound of flesh hitting flesh and a sharp crack of bone snapping under impact.
(st)
Followed by girlie shrieks of dismay..."Don't hurt his hat! I made that! Oh you bitch! You hit my friend!"
After which a small rat dressed in a rainbow colored coat, white vest, white pants and spats comes flying through the trees, hitting the ground, tumbling and ending up at Rune's feet looking the worse for wear.
(rune)
Rune shrugs faintly as Bastian's voice drifts back to them. She listens for half-a-moment (no screams yet? Pity. She wouldn't mind - oh, there. That was nice. Too bad it wasn't someone else screaming.)"Well, same routine. Y'all wanna wait here for a half-second while I go see if our potential hosts have eviscerated our erstwhile companion and whether they're inclined to do the same too us?" The words are offered over her shoulder - she's already heading toward the clearing - but even as she utters them, something else comes through via the totemphone. ...promise I'll be quick. Be ready, guys.
And with that - well - she stops and looks down at the rat.
"Your friends going to kill us if we walk into the clearing?"
(james)
he just.... stares... really
joke scream slap crack fling
not like he has much else to do
a glance to Rune
a glance to Decker
a glance back to Rune with yet another nod of acqueiscence
a glance to the rainbow doormou.....rat.... doing a flying squirrel impression
and not a very good one
shoulders rolling beneath the trench
already moving ahead, but slower, giving Rune that half minute
just because he's been calmer than than a dopefiend on payday doesn't mean he's not ready(st)
The rat dressed in a rainbow coat gets up, woozy, holding onto Rune's leg for support and shakes his head."No no... we're alll friends here..." his voice slurred, considering he went sailing through the air at a remarkable speed before impacting with the ground. He then straightens up and clears his throat, regaining his composure.
"Come join the birthday party. We have tea!"
Upon hearing the word 'tea' the puppy skids the halt and charges back to quiver behind James.
There is several more sounds of flesh hitting flesh and bone breaking in the distance.
(rune)
"Great. That's just great. I'm really looking forward to meeting everyone." That grin on Rune's face? It's not a pretty thing. It's stretched at the corners, fragile as fucking glass. Oh, yeah: someone could go crazy. If someone ever considered psychedelics, she's crossing them off her list.Too bad her Xanax was in the pocket of the ruined jacket.
Half-a-nod to her packmates, and Rune walks off into the clearing, long strides, wary dark eyes sweeping forward.
(st)
Rune walks boldly forth into the clearing to see Bastian in a state she has never seen before. He looks well and truly shitty.He was holding a weedy looking pale guy by the back of the neck attempting, it would seem, to drown him in a large bowl of punch, occasionally bringing him up and revealing half a crumpled face. If what Decker did to that kids' face with the wall after repeatedly smashing it into the wall looked nasty, this looked like it was done with a singular punch. The bones had caved in, the eyes was squishy goo and teeth were missing on one side of the other young man's face as blood poured out in dark waves, although it appeared to be healing of its own accord and rather quickly. The young man's arms also appeared to be on strange angles, as if broken, as were his legs.
Bastian notices Rune and takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck and then gently places the "Man In The Hat" back into one of the large chairs around the banquet table. He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wipes his hands clean of punch and blood. He stares at Rune, unblinking.
(rune)
Rune can adapt."So, mind telling me why you did that, Bastian?" Dark eyes settle unwavering on the vampire, and her red mouth curves upward in a painful smile. "Or should I ask your friend?"
Haven't been attacked yet. C'mon through.
(james)
soon enough, he rounds the corner
and seeing what's left of the guy.....
..... has this itchy feeling to call him....Meet.... New Jersey
Bingo.
(decker)
So Decker follows in the wake of his beta, side by side with James. By the time he gets there Bastian is likely all cleaned up again, leaving the mess that is Bastian's 'friend' something of a mystery.Meet New Jersey.
Uh. Okay. Decker scowls at the venerable New Jersey, shifting his weight to balance between his feet. This s'pposed to be the fucker that landed us here? How we know if this Bastian fuck's tellin' the truth?
So he wasn't in the best of moods.
(rune)
We don't. Rune's shoulders rise and fall in a faint, lilting shrug. But, our dear leech-friend-thing beat him the hell up, so, it's not a bad guess that he's telling the truth. More or less."Hi New Jersey. How about telling us how to get out of here? Or at least where we can take a nice, safe nap in your... lovely domain. Or whatever it is."
(decker)
I meant, the mindvoice is very nearly a snarl - the Modi is tired, physically and not mentally, for the first time in god knows how long, how do we know New Jersey's the one responsible?(james)
the Gnawer is strikingly quiet throughout their little exchange
he's prefer a nice nap at home if at all possible
silently studying the pair of leeches(st)
Bone reknits itself, skin slowly regrows and a napkin plus sucking fingers takes care of all the blood hanging like a stench on the air. New Jersey's eyes were really wide like a child that has been scolded and he doesn't understand entirely way, then something seems to dawn upon him and he jumps to his feet, spluttering blood from still healing cuts and bounces like a puppy on red cordial."You found my box! You came to rescue me! Oh I love you! I love you! I love you!"
He moves like a blur that is almost too hard for the eyes to watch and grabs Rune in a bear hug that was far too strong for such a small, wiry stature and plants a sloppy, bloody kiss on her cheek and then in another blurr he is back at the table and poised to hug Bastian, save for the fact he didn't stop in time and part of Bastian's fork was embedded in his chest.
"Don't touch me..." Deadpan voice issues from Bastian as he doesn't even bother to look at New Jersey, or the fork now slid into the other vampire's chest.
New Jersey has halted and jiggles from foot to foot like he needs to go to the bathroom or he just really wants to hug Bastian, his savior, or so he thinks.
"Where do we rest in this place, whelp?" The sound of the ages weighs his voice now, age beyond anything that the Garou could possibly comprehend. Beyond anything of their lifetimes, for sure. Age and the emotions stirred by that amount of time spent in one body, one lifestyle. It all hangs there, making the young-looking man seem so much older than his appearance.
New Jersey bites one lip and bobs his head, gesturing all around him with a wave of his arms.
"Anywhere and everywhere."
(decker)
Decker takes.
One.
Step.
Forward.His voice is quiet as ice cracking a million miles away. "R
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.11.24.02. - happy dale - part 1 [decker-rune-bastion] *njb[north jersey - .11.18.02.]
(ST)
Lighting kissed the sky along the line of the horizon before a whispering of thunder started to chase the wind, ending in a sudden roar. The air was wet and heavy, promising rain once more to fall in a deluge that would drown the streets. Perhaps it was a portent to come or more likely it was just the season. The rain starts as a patter before steadily becoming harder, denizens of the night scurrying for cover wherever they could find it.The bus terminal was filled with bums and hobos, tramps and trollops, shift workers and businessmen seeking shelter from the down pour. What a night...
(rune)
It's a late model... something. Non-descript, with generic New Jersey plates and a dull blue exterior unlikely to draw any eyes, even when it pulls into the bus station parking lot. Even when three Ahrouns climb out of the interior, underneath the light of the growingly full moon.One. More. Night.
The wind picks up, scattering Rune's inky hair every which way as she climbs out of the rental car and dashes toward the entrance to the bus station. She's dressed down tonight: leather pants, white t-shirt, leather coat over them, and a pair of well-worn hiking boots, clothing her packmates would recognize, by now, as her dedicated clothing.
...just in case.
As she pulls on the rightmost of the double-doors, it swings open more quickly than she had anticipated and sends a welcome blast of dry, hot air billowing out into the frigid November storm. She ducks inside quickly, pushing the door out behind her for her packmates and chafing her cold hands for warmth, then waits for James to lead them to the leeches' box.
(decker)
Decker rode in the back, lounging sideways in the seat, watching the rainwet world slide by outside. He gets out a beat slower than his packmates. The weather was getting too cold for a simple sweatshirt, so recently he'd made a trip down to the Goodwill store and picked out an old winter coat for ten or fifteen bucks. It probably used to be black, but years of exposure and weather rendered it an uneven charcoal grey a long time ago. There are mended holes along the collar. Overstuffed, it manages to swallow even the Modi's ripped frame.Let's do it. Let's finish it. Without a word, he waits to move with his packmates.
(ST)
A small pale nervous man, forehead blotched with sweat, with a slight hunch, buck teeth and fidgety eyes sidles up to Rune as she sweeps into the bus station. He wrings his hands with some degree of agitation."Do you have the time, Miss?" Shift. Shift. Nervous glance around.
(james)
during the rental of the non-descript car
he waited quietly
during the weaving of a path through the drenched streets
he waited quietly
during the steady walk towards the double doors of the bus station
he waited.... still.... quietly
the only sound is that of tanker boots in puddles soaking the hems of gray cargoscalm as the Gnawer's exterior may be
deep down, he can't help the slight itch of nerves
that creeping rake of the full moon shining down on the tops of the weeping clouds
just because he can't see it
doesn't mean he can't feel it
crawling up his spine beneath the t-shirt
crawling around him like the billowed breaths fogging in the chilled airrather than watching where he's going through the maze of lockers
those dark umber eyes are down, watching his hands
fingers spinning through a countless number of keys on a very strange ring
pausing over a fairly non-descript (since that is tonight's theme) brass number
and once that is removed
it's reattached to a bright orange hangtag produced from yet another pocket of the tattered trenchhe was playing it safe
only after he stops
does he look up
ah, yes, there it is
key slid home
tumbler turned
banged up old door swinging open to reveal!one. non-descript. cookie. tin.
after all they'd been through you'd expect so much more
key returned to its rightful home in the locker
the door flipping shut
let's go(rune)
The young woman flickers a narrow-eyed glance at the stranger approaching her, and glances at her bare wrist. Her mouth slip-slides into a customary smirk as she shakes her head mutely, then lifts her chin in the direction of the terminal proper, with its seedy waiting rooms just beyond the ticket counters."Try there." Dismissive enough, the words and the lifting glance and the body language, arms crossing defensively in front of her chest.
(decker)
There's an audible snort from the Modi as the cookie tin is revealed. What. Came all this way fer grammaw's cookies? After all that build-up, he'd at least expected something a little more...impressive. Like a sarcophagus or something. Or a jewelry box, at least.There's a rustle of old stiff cotton as Decker shrugs the oversized coat up a little, turns, and starts walking out. Still got that thug sway going. Still got his arms hanging loose at his sides, shoulders moving in the place of the swinging hands.
(ST)
The little hunched man's eye flick to the ticket counter. A shuffle from foot to foot. Far too much nervous energy as he wrings his hands, occasionally moping his brow causing his bad comb-over to just get worse."Yes. Yes. Thank you. Yes."
He scurries away like a cockroach would if you flicked on the bathroom light in the middle of the night.
(rune)
Rune spares a glance for the scurrying little man, then nods her head. Some faint echo of assent slipslides across the totem phone. Wordless agreement, unnecessary to be sure, but still oddly comforting, the awareness of pack's presence, the unspoken agreement, even the way they move almost in concert, like a well-oiled machine, like an orchestra guided by an unseen but skilled conductor.She's turning as soon as James has the tin box, outflung hand opening the glass door for her packmates. Dark hair flies as the changing air pressure sets the heaters to blast, once more engaging their neverending battle against the season.
Open, then out. And then across the parking lot gleaming wet and filled with refuse, toward the blue rental car.
(james)
a brow lifts
slightly
yea, he expected more, toobut if you think about it he did get the sarcophagus
the juicy mummy, toohe's also well versed in not judging something by its packaging
although now is not the time for such discussions
now is the time for returning to the car
and he does.... rather quickly(ST)
Thunder rolls, lighting flashes and the down pour continues ominously.(decker)
Decker follows...not as quickly, slamming himself back into the back seat and propping his now-wet shoes up on the far armrest. He faces the bus station and, from time to time, tosses glances over the trunk of the car as he waits for Rune to drive 'em out of there.(rune)
Rune dashes through the storm and slides into the driver's seat, turning the engine over and slapping the heat to high. Fucking. Rain.As soon as her packmates are safely inside, she flips on the headlights and pulls out of the parking lot, out onto the rainswept streets towards the lovely destination she scouted out earlier this afternoon.
Heavenly Hideaway.
VAC N YIt's not precisely heavenly: the decrepit pool, an eyesore of fading, peeling blue littered with fallen leaves; the cracked, weedstrewn parking lot, mostly empty at this time of the year; the seedy rooms with their sagging beds complete with Magic Fingers machines (25 Cents for Three Minutes of Bliss!); the greasy desk clerk who leered at Rune as he gave her the roomkey before returning to his feast of donuts and black sludge masquerading as coffee.
Rune climbs back into the idling car, cursing under her breath at the weather, and pulls into the space in front of Room 10. There's another dash between the raindrops, under the eaves, and ten seconds spent fiddling with the worn key before the door swings open. Paradise, it's not, but it's nice and private at least. Flicking on the overhead light, she tosses the key on the bureau, and then parks herself beside it, waiting for her packmates to join her.
(james)
paradise or not
it's shelter
it's private
..... in that don't ask don't tell sort of way
but the Gnawer doesn't seem to be affected either way
the ground eating stride taking him from the car and into the roomone Ahroun stopping to stand before the foot of the bed
one box held in his hands
one pair of eyes dropping to study it
silent
contemplativethen he turns
handing the little tin to Decker
those dark eyes finding Rune'sPlease don't do this.
sometimes, you don't need words to communicate
not in that way
not with that look
before the door even closes
he's heading back out into the rainhe gave his word
he made a deal
he's not breaking any part of it
no matter who he made it withthere's also the issue of that warning.....
(ST)
Thunder roars, tumbling across the darkened sky as lightning forks along the horizon, striking at some unknown point in the distance. The flash of bright light is enough, however as the illumination blazes the motel lot alight in a holy white-blue aura. It reveals a presence to James, a figure leaning in a doorway, one room down from where the pack had decided to 'set up shop'(rune)
Rune turns away from James' glance, looking down through the seedy room toward the darkened alcove where the sink and vanity are. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, the hard set of her graceful jaw, the opaque darkness of her eyes, the unfamiliar scowl curling her red-painted mouth definitively downward. She pauses then, studying her reflection, it seems, absently pushing a few inky strands away from her face and back behind her ear."Call him." The dark eyes close, and her hands curl up into slender fists. The red nails dig painfully into the pale skin before she flares her hands wide. She doesn't even manage to look back at him, though her gaze does drag away from her shadowy reflection in the dim, spotted mirror above the sink. "There's a condition, though. No more promises to leeches. Ever. At least not without Erik's permission."
Which, on reflection, means pretty much... ever.
(decker)
Decker looks at the box.
Runes speaks.
Decker looks at Rune.You want lightning? This is lightning.
The crackle in his eyes. The blaze in the grey. The-- no. Eyes drop. "Shouldn'a given 'im the go-ahead in the first place." No direct contest; no agreement either. But then, that didn't make a difference. Rune calls the shots here.
(james)
distraction is a beautiful thing
and that's what he looks for outside the door
not thinking about them
(not thinking about her)
not thinking about the box
not thinking about what could happen to her should the warning be true
distraction is what leads him to look around in the whitewash flarehello there
the words call him back
there's a breif ticktock of vision
the figure, the room, the figure, the room..... well shit
that made it simple
his head tips a little
before heading back inside"If I had known then what I do now, I wouldn't have made the deal. I should have stuck with my first instinct and not involved any of you, regardless of Pack."
instantly regretted
it was important to him but not them
what do they care about the rats
but it didn't deserve the harsh tone that colored the words
tattered tails flaring in spin to sit on the bed
dark eyes watching the still open doora lot of shoulds, a lot of woulds
at least they've lived long enough to learn
(and what will you do if a second pack dies because of you, hm, James?)at least he won't have to search his pockets for the number
(sebastian)
Lily of the Valley. The odorous floral scent that had been their first ofacultary impression of the young man that appeared in the doorway of the motel room not long after James wandered back in. He was framed by the door, illuminated by lightnight and then shrouded into a cloak of sem-darkness as the motel light outside the room door hadn't been changed since it blew several years ago. His hair was sleek with rain and slicked back from his face (milky, perfect complexion), his long coat dripping puddles around his feet. HIs expression... unreadable."Gentleman." A nod in the men's direction, although his eyes barely acknowledge Decker's existance.
"Miss." A bare nod to Rune.
"Shall we get this over and done with?"
(decker)
Decker isn't surprised to see the lovely young man sauntering in. Not at all.The Modi looks down at the box in his hands and, without any flourishes, any grandiosity, anything marking this as somehow different from opening a can of cookies - pries the lid off.
All that remains is hope, right?
(ST)
To the world, the time is merely a blink of an eye...To them: the room gradually starts to grow bigger in turn with the box that starts to enlarge right there in Decker's hands. Larger... Larger... LARGER. To the point that even the Modi wouldn't be able to cradle the cookie tin in even his Crinos form. Eventually Decker must drop the box, lest he finds himself crushed beneath its weight. As it tumbles towards the ground, loosened from any humanly grip, it grows evern larger, more quickly, flipping, tumbling, twirling as it goes.
The world distorts, changes, grows and warps. The box still tumbles, but they were shrinking at a rate faster than the box was to grow and.... then there is...
Darkness...
(james)
there's a bit of a nod
acknowledging
then his eyes lock on the Modi
and the growing box
and, well, he can't avoid the darkness......fuck me, Alice
(rune)
Rune's dark eyes flicker across Sebastian as he waltzes in, but her pale face is a shuttered mask. Her chin rises faintly in acknowledgment - but only faintly - and she says nothing.For the moment, she watches, arms crossed about her abdomen, her loose, even languid posture belying her underlying alertness, ready for whatever will come.
...and then. "Fuck." the curse, spoken aloud and echoing through the totem phone at one and the same time. It's a shame about her jacket - she should've taken it off once they made it into the hotel room - the sound of tearing leather as the world expands and expands and Rune changes into her mottle-coated (mutt that she is) war-form.
Her sharpened senses - scent and taste and even touch - must compensate for the loss of vision in the dark.
The hell happened? her mind-voice, not panicked, not yet, but far from calm, thrums with the awareness of rage so close to the surface, you guys okay?
Give her an enemy she can rend and tear.
(decker)
Damned if I know, comes the Modi's less-than-amused mindvoice. Funny; in his mind he still sounds the way he did before Asher's knife put an iron file into his tongue. Not as raspy. Less of a gravelly undertone.The sound of inhaling: the Modi sniffs the air. Then, the sound of hands running over bark, moving about, touching things to get the feel of his surroundings. Finally one hand lands on James' forearm entirely by accident.
Found James, comes the grim play-by-play. Goin' wolf.
Crack-pop.
(ST)
And the first thing that happens to Rune is that she soundly bumps right up into a thick smooth branch of some discription... The first thing that Decker feels is something small scarpper across one of his feet, a bare tap of little feet using his foot as a spring board... The first thing James would have felt in a delicate hand catch his upper arm, as if to steady the young Bonegnawer, before releasing just as quickly for many and varied reasons.For only a splash of a moment there is a gleam of red shining in the darkness, piercing the veil for before dying without a trace.
(rune)
Christ. Thrashing, as her overlarge war-form leaves her trapped within the thick growth. Distasteful as it is (and to her, with so few opportunities to use the lupus form, and little enough experience with it, it is quite distasteful), Rune follows Decker's lead, half-snarling as she shapes close-growing branches and limbs and her body folds back in upon itself to her lupus form, less blind in the darkness than her homid form. Wolf. Me too. Not as good at this as you, Decker. Take lead?The beast-mind is an alien thing, more instinctive than even her war-form. As she assumes the form, she struggles against the beast-mind, asserting her human will over instinct to keep some of her faculties intact.
Scents, sharp; sounds, just as sharp. At least she's not blind in the dark.
(james)
if you can't see the forest for the trees
where are you when you can't even see the trees?
pine-sol, perfect
that's all he needs
already he's going to be flattened should they survive this trip to Wonderland
now he can't even smell the roses along the wayTwo, ten, eleven.
his only reply, mumbled
other than the start at Decker's fist closing around his arm
the delicate touch on the other
steadying.... startling....
then the snap of bone and muscle as it shifts
now untouched arm shooting out to the side
(follow that warmth you know so well, James)
fingers touching fur before it gets below his reach
Found Rune!what the hell
less to snag on trees
the Gnawer follows suit
one gray wolf, one mottled wolf, and one shaggy shepard mix
aren't they the poster children for Animal Planet(decker)
It's the gleam of red that catches his attention first; his gut instinct - which is all there is in his mind now, really, unless he forced himself to hold onto what is human about him - is to follow it. Then the scamper of feet over his paw causes the wolf-shaped Fenrir to move - a fluid-smooth whirl as his teeth snap (delicately) closed in the direction the animal(?) had gone.Spiritworld still open? Inhale, exhale. Sniff. Still smell the pretty one.
(Sebastian)
"I am going to kill New Jerrrsssey."Sebastian's voice isn't as controlled and soft as it normally was, lisping and twisting on his tongue as he spoke, his r's rolling and his s's slurred.
(rune)
The brush of her head against James' flank, comforting and reassuring. At least, thus far, the pack had not lost each other. Her muzzle stretches out and forward, pushing against the invisible barrier that separates the spiritworld from the mundane world, so tensile in the city, but still permeable. Non-existant here.Can't sidestep. No... gauntlet. Dirt flies from sharp paws as she digs into the forest floor. Soil below. Hear that? Change back see what leech knows.
(decker)
Bristling, the grey wolf. His hackles are up and even in the perfect darkness, his packmates can feel it. Not natural.Rune begins to shift up, and Silence slips alongside her, the distal tips of his thick fur brushing along her thigh. Nonverbal statement: he's there.
Was a red light in the distance. Should follow after you ask. Maybe.
(james)
"Why, Bastion......"even just hearing the words
he already began the reverse
tattered tails (there's a reason he didn't wear the gift) snagging on the twigs and branches
boots sinking into the soil
crouched beside his packmates
reaching out to brush fingertips over fur
(returning the comfort on one end)
he can't smell them out here
not in this pine-sol
not even when he was lupus
his voice as soft as the slurred murmur"Who's New Jersey?"
(ST)
"Sssomeone who'sss going to get a verrry sssound thrrrassshing."Strange, coming from Bastian, these words. He'd never shown any penchant for violence in the past, being cool and calm and... creepy. Now he just sounded pissed off. Who wouldn't be in this situation?
In the distance, far away and faint, is the sound of a single word being chanted over and over again. The word "NIGIGIN" is carried on the wind and following the word is the sound of a twenty-five piece orchestra playing In 'The Hall Of The Mountain King'.
(decker)
Low, "Yer gonna git a very sound thrashin' if you don't tell us where the fuck we are."That voice came from approximately three feet too low. Either Decker was crouching, or he'd only bothered to shift his vocal cords. Likely the latter, given the slightly strained sound of his voice; the slightly different timbre and resonance.
A tilt of the wolf-head. "'N who's Nigigin?"
(ST)
"Don't start with me, boy."He never has threatened any of them before, and this was not necessarily a threat. It was a warning. A caution. Sebastian sounded to be in about as happy a mood as they were. His voice also came from a completely different direction than it did when he previously spoke.
"It's a word, obviously. Ritualistic in nature."
More calm, more sedate, his r's no longer rolling and the slurring ceased... and his voice from yet another space a good ten feet or so away from their location, if hearing is to be accurately judged in this strange, twisted place.
(james)
there's a bit of a nod
useless in the darkness, of course, but it's there
lower lip sucked in thought
thoughts murmured out loud"That's why Dimmy called you Aslan"
referring to the slur
"You wear a mask, too."
another moment or three of silence
and he has a feeling that growling voice is going to turn around and bite his arm off for this one
but he's figured out that Bastion is here unwillingly, too
and wants out just as badly"What's your take, Bastion. What do we need to do to get out...."
(decker)
A silent peel of lips back from teeth. None of them can see it; all of them can feel it. Stiff-legged, the wolf stalks forward a step, two."Where. are. we."
(rune)
Furred flank sliding along James' calf, still close enough enough to feel the heat from Silence's form, the Glass Walker tilts her head in a canine gesture and cocks her ears to the side, monitoring the lilt of music on the strange wind.The rustle of the forest floor beneath the gray wolf's feet, echoed by the creak of James' weight on the leaves, swiveling her head to catch what she can of the leech's movements in the dark forest and waiting for... answers.
(ST)
"Dimitria has a fertile imagination, I will give the child that."The voice was now so close to James that it may have well been whispered in his ear for him and him alone. A presence at his back for all but a moment.
"As to where we are, your guess is as good as mine right now. I suggest we follow the music, unless you'd prefer to just stand here?"
Carried on the wind, mixing with the insistant chant and orchestral music, was the words "Doberah Ora Ba" and but a flick of time later the glowing outline of a unicorn appears in the distance, leaping away from them and running through the forest.
(decker)
A sharp turn of his head: predatory. Eyes track the fleet and fleeing image of the unicorn. Beneath his iron pelt, his muscles tense, ready to spring after it - predator to prey, carnivore to herbivore.The unicorn passes from sight and the instinct subsides. His muscles relax, and with a single whuff, the grey beast turns toward the music.
Let's move, then.
Bastian does not hear that, but surely the vampire hears the pad of the wolf's large paws away.(rune)
Let's go. the response echoes through her packmates minds. Rune has not bothered to shift even her vocal chords, and the mind-sound is thick with feral overtones. Me first. Silence follow scent. Not too close. Bring James. Stay aware of leech.With that, the mottled wolf, too, takes off toward the music, drawing herself into a slow lope to pass her packmate. If they were to get separated, she would find it difficult to follow the Fenrir's scent, even with the instinctual drive of her beast-mind. The music washes over twitching ears and she adjusts her direction to track it, pausing now and again to triangulate as well as she is able.
(james)
"She is a child..... of course she would have that."were it a different situation, he'd be amused by that
possibly intrigued
by his thirst for knowledge
but then there's the issue of that unicorn
just..... frolicking in the darknessgreat, who invited the Coggie with the Shrooms and didn't tell him?
and since Decker was the one holding the box with the Shrooms, why are they in his trip?he just shakes his head
dreads rustling over shoulders
following the sound of paws in the darkness(ST)
Five minutes after they have started moving the forest begins to thin and there surroundings are bathed in an eerie purple twilight. Small creatues scarper around the woods and everywhere they look seems the same. The same trees, the same stumps, the same small furry creatures, the same colors, smells and sounds. The music has been replaced by the singing of songbirds, some familiar and some alien and again in the distance the unicorn fleets off again from a poised position, as if it had been waiting for them.(rune)
Fuck. Well, that was a lovely thought. As the forest thins and the light grows, the mottled world slow to stride apace with her packmate, changing direction to follow the fleeing unicorn now that the music has disappeared.(decker)
As the sense of sight is returned to them, they can see one another again. The Fenrir moves cautiously, not terribly accustommed to this form himself...ironic, then, that he's the most 'wolfish' of the pack, here.Grey beneath the strange purple wash, the beast lifts his head and scents after the unicorn. Music has faded: even his sharp ears, swiveling, cannot hear it anymore.
Silence slows to allow Rune to pass him, and then picks up the pace again to lope easily at her heels.
(ST)
To their right, over the top of every other sound, is the sound of small chiming bells. To theyir left, even louder being yelled by two similar voices is the following verse:Just then flew down a monstrous crow,
as black as an a tar-barrel:
Which frightened both the heroes so,
They quite forgot their qaurrel.(james)
just call him runs-with-wolves
what a sight it must be
the iron gray fenrir
the mottled walker
the homid gnawer jogging to keep up with their lope
trench flapping with each stridecourse, doubtfully that would seem strange, here....
a brow lifting at the verse
he distinctly does not remember a Looking Glass
he think a snide remark about the Walrus and the Carpenter
but with his luck they'd be waiting for tea
and he just wants to get home
so still, he only follows(ST)
Sebastian slowly comes into view, walking in a placid easy kind of way that was again at odds with the way he had spoken earlier when encompassed in darkness and was trading threats/cautions with Decker.(Rune)
Left. Right. Rune's lope slows, and she stops briefly to cant her head in the direction of the verse, apprehended dimly through the beast mind. Words or bells or the beast ahead waiting for them: she chooses the beast ahead of them and resumes her pace, but not before pausing to offer her packmates a choice. Forward?That's the choice, the question, simply phrased, that falls through their minds on eagle's wings.
(decker)
Up, utters Silence into their minds. With that, his body rearranges (if Sebastian didn't know what they were by now, he never will...). In his near-human form, the Fenrir digs claws into the bark and starts going up.And up.
And up.
And up.
And up.
And up and up.And.....up a little more.
Finally, when he's well out of sight, the voice filters back into their minds. Ain't like any tree I've seen before. Just...straight. Don't taper off none at all. Can't see no top. Comin' back down.
A few moments later, the Fenrir drops down five, six away from where he'd gone up. He stays in his near-homid shape, six inches taller, a good deal broader. Guess we go forward.
(ST)
As they walk forward about a half a minute after starting their trek forward, Rune thunks into something hard even though the forest appears to be continuing forward and the unicorn running into the distance, she appears to be able to feel a concrete and brick wall in front of her with no apparent gaps in it.From the left they can now hear the trickling of water into a large pool of the substance. To the right they can still hear the chiming of a thousand little bells.
(rune)
Ouch.Rune thunks headfirst into the wall (good thing she wasn't going very fast) and then backpedals a step or two to scratch at the damn thing. There's a low whine - unintended, merely a byproduct of her form - as she communicates an image of it to her packmates through the totem phone. She brushes her flank against it, and trots off in one direction, then then another, but the wall remains, apparently, solid.
The mottle wolf turns around lifts her muzzle, chuffing in annoyance.
Water? Bells?
The answer comes to her almost as soon as she asks the question, and the wolf changes direction to follow the the sound of water flowing into a large pool.
(james)
he's just.... silent
falling to a crouch beside the lupus walker
ragged sleeve brushing against her shoulder
watching the progress up
and out of sight
and back down againthe apology is never vocalized
perhaps only shown in the set of his shoulders
the gears simply churning in his mind to figure this riddle outblinking at the sudden wall
The hell?
he can't feel a top
and Rune's pacing shows it goes solid for awhile
dark eyes look back to see if Bastion is still nearby
but he turns to follow without comment(ST)
Bastian has his hand deep in the pocket of his longcoat, his hair almost dry which is amazing considering that it was soaked through when Decker wrenched open the tin not that long ago, it seems. Or was it?He just follows, occasionally stopping to look at a particular flower or fern and whistling a few bars from the X-Files theme. Yes. He had a television.
(decker)
The Fenrir is a few steps back when his packmates run into the wall. He shoots Bastian a dark glance, and then one (bushy, in this form) eyebrow hooks up. "Any ideas?" - elongated teeth, shifted vocal cords make it almost a growl, sussurant.(ST)
He pauses mid-bar in a whistle, crouched down to cup a single flower in one milky hand. He merely glances at Decker, shrugging a shoulder."Left or right, it appears, since we can't go straight ahead."
(Decker)
Decker smacks his hand against the invisible wall. It's a strange sight, the flesh of his palm flattening against what was not there. "I meant 'bout this."(ST)
"If we can't go through it and we can't go over it, I suggest we go around it."Well, that was logical. Three Ahrouns stuck in Candyland, this was bound to get even more amusing. Pity they didn't have someone good at this sort of thing with them.
(decker)
Decker's temper rips in two. His hand closes into a fist and smashes against unyielding brick and concrete. Snarling, " 'Bout what the fuck this is."(ST)
"It is obviously a wall of some description."Again, a purely correct and logical answer. If you can't go through something it is a wall or barrier.
(decker)
That's it. If there was any way to leave Bastian behind in the Twilight Zone, Decker was taking it. His packmates were heading for the running water. There's a tense moment: the vampire eerie calm; the werewolf coiled on the razor's edge of violence.Then Decker turns away and prowls after his packmates.
(ST)
As they walk towards the sound of the trickling water the forest grows thicker again in patches and then it surrounds them completely. Should they try to turn around to walk back out of the dense forestry, there appears to be no end or opening, even from the direction from which they came. As the proceed onwards, since they can't seem to do much else, the trees begin to get furrier to the point that it feels like they are brushing up against animal pelts. After awhile they come across a door with no handles.(rune)
The lupus Glass Walker's hackles rise as they continue through the forest, as the forest grows more dense, as it changes. When they come to the door with no handles, she scrambles to turn around in the thick growth and... nothing. No way out but forward.Stay back.
They might as well only risk one of them. The door has no handles, and - after a moment's puzzling over the hinges (in or out? out or in?) - there is the scrabbling sound of sharp claws on wood - below, and around the edges of the strange door as Rune pries it open.
(ST)
As the door pries open Rune tumbles forward onto a deep blue lush carpet. When they deign to look around they are in a child's room, the toys are slightly larger than expected as is the bed. In one corner of the room there is the sound of someone pouring water into a bowl that is already filled with liquid. It appears to be of Victorian motif.[pause]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 23, 2002.11.23.02. - you still owe me dinner [rune][north jersey, condo]
(rune)
Morning. Afternoon. Evening. Whatever. The days ooze together, without the definition of the workaday world, and half the time the only way to tell what day of the week it is is by the network schedule (or, more often, five-day forecast on the weather channel.) So: morning, or afternoon, or evening. Evening, to be sure. The windows are dark voids by the time she wakes up, stained by the white glare of the security floodlights beyond. There's still some fragment of dusk coloring the western sky as she slips from the bed and stumbles (aching) into the shower, but the long hot blast of pressurized jets goes a long way toward soothing her aching muscles, and a couple of Xanax popped into her mouth as she emerges from the steaming shower does wonders for the rest.By the time she saunters back into the dark bedroom, the last vestiges of sunset have vanished from the sky, which nevertheless glows vague, dull orange from all the light pollution. Silk (only the best for Rune) boxers whisper a quiet song against hips and thighs, as she circles the bed (dark eyes trailing over him, strange half-grin unseen on her red mouth) and settles cross-legged on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Rune runs a pale hand through the disorder of dark, wet hair, shaking it free and away from her face, then drags the discarded laptop into her lap.
Play.
Dark brows rise in a simultaneous arch - oh my - and in the clarity of aftermath, a wry little grin crawls across her lips. When she left the house yesterday, that wasn't exactly her plan for the evening.
(james)
strangely
he's gotten used to the sound of the shower as opposed to the rising flood of morning traffic as an alarm clock
the ways in which we change
though just because he wakes
doesn't mean he moves
it takes quite some time to reconnect the absent limbs to body
and a far cry longer to make them obey conscious demandeven after the severity of many of their nights together
last night discovered new places to ache
and even though he's quick to heal
he's. still. damned. sore.sloooooooowly drawing long limbs beneath him
if only to end up curling tighter beneath the warmth of blankets
that was supposed to be the warm-up exercise to moving
but to hell wi'that
unable to stop the silly little grin forming at the echoing sounds drifting from laptop speakers
unable to stop the silly little thought of not -quite- believing he did what he did last night
he hadn't exactly planned it either
though spontenaity isn't always a bad thingfinally gathering the troops and moving to reverse himself on the bed
arms crossing beneath his chest on the waterbed's frame
curve of cheek skimming to hollow of his eye skimming to bridge of his nose in caress against damp inky hair
peeking at the screen
oh. my.
indeed(rune)
Beneath the slow caress, Rune twists her head to the side. By the time he's peeking out through the wet strands of hair caught across his face, her mouth has found his cheek. He can feel the gentle sliiiide of fresh lipstick across his skin, and beneath the soft pressure of her lips, parting into a wider grin, more than a whisper, not quite a kiss."Good morning, sunshine. Or should I call you something else, now that you're a star?" He can hear the affection thick in her voice, and the amusement dallying there too, rich and dark and tinged with a fine blade of irony. She adjusts the screen back by a small angle, allowing him a better view, then lowers the screen by thirty degrees, so that the tangle of bodies is little more than a strange amalgam of modern art. "I'm not sure whether to erase the file or preserve it for posterity."
(james)
the laughter is soft, sleepy and warm
affection just as clear in the sighing sound
though the flush rising beneath his skin isn't only from her touch
it would be associated with the bitten lower lip smile, thereone arm snaking from beneath his chest to wrap around her shoulders
some loving cuddle or another opportunity to hide his face against her skin?
perhaps a little bit of both
spontaneous or not, this is definitely a new experience
(on screen and it's not a security camera?)
sinking further against the bedframe and her as the other arm reaches out to tilt the screen back again
he can't help the slight fascination
(that's you! that's me!! on screen!!!)
he's quiet, a moment's consideration"It could get you into a lot of trouble if you kept it...."
you, not us, not me
you
he's not concerned about himself
just about her
just about the pack(rune)
"It could get us into a lot of trouble if I kept it," wryly, dryly, she reminds him. She puts him back in the pictures, she recreates him when he erases himself. "which I won't."Before he hides his face against her skin, she catches that bitten lower lipped smile for a passing kiss, half-murmuring something not quite apprehended, never quite heard, against his mouth.
"...we can always make another."
He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she settled her free hand upon his forearm, just below the elbow. Dark red nails graze the sharp line of her collarbone, palm curves over muscle wrapped in skin still deliciously sleepwarm, as she lolls back into his embrace. Her torso rolls outward, spine curving in a vertebrae-popping stretch - smooth and easy and sinuous - extending his wrapping arm outward, and then back down when she settles against the bedframe once more.
"That reminds me, though," This time, she doesn't tilt the screen down, but she does half-turn to catch a glimpse of his features, obscured by the angle of her glance. "if Decker says anything to you, let me know?"
(james)
that smile, warm and sleepy like his laughter
remains in the mumbling, obscuring kiss
knowing how the wicked wicked red red paint will grant itself on his skin
the vestige memory of delicious sinin her stretch
he wiggles
just a little
so that when she settles back into the curve of his arm
the other can wrap around her
greedily gathered to share the sleepwarmth that still soaks from his skin
dreads spilling towards the floor
tilting as best he can to look at her within this proximity
the movement something of a nod as well
embrace loosening only enough so their eyes don't cross"He did, right at the beginning.... the night the Fang broke all the glass..... said to keep it quiet because if Erik ever found out he'd skin us both."
(rune)
Dark eyes half-lid in lowering acknowledgment of his statement, head tilting further back making their mutual glance that much less awkward, though still obscured by their relative positions."If he says anything more..." she's not quite looking at him anymore. Her focus has drifted down from the curve of his cheek, the half-a-mouth, the one dark eye visible, and the other little more than a shadowed hollow, down to his muscled arms wrapped around her shoulders, down to her body upright beneath, one arm curled at the elbow to touch his flesh, the other holding the laptop stable on the knot of her crossed legs. "...let me know."
That was more quiet than she intended, the words almost whispered, and folding into a sigh drowned by the sounds spilling from the speakers. Her falling gaze glances across the screen, then abruptly up away. The wall is neutral enough.
"Okay?" her mouth has found his arm, grazing it with a lingering kiss, breathing the word across sleepwarm flesh, warmed further by the humid breath.
(james)
he watches her gaze fall away
he hears her voice drift softer
and he lets them sit/lay in silence for a few, precious momentsconcentrating on the blood red touch against his arm
concentrating on the humid spill of breath across his flesh
concentrating on the showerfresh scent of her hair now beneath soft nuzzle
concentrating on the sound of her pulse as it reaches his ears
concentrating on her taste that still lingers on his lips"What did he say to you?"
(rune)
Mmmmph. The negating sound lingers in the back of her throat, barely voiced, mostly swallowed right back down as she draws in another long, slow breath. The breath lifts her shoulders and his arms in tandem, holds them high as she holds it back before releasing it again, necessarily.Otherwise, she doesn't move. Her hand is still settled over his arm, her hair spills over her skin, and his, her cheek grazes the smooth curve of muscle flexed beneath flesh, and her eyes remain focused on the far wall.
"It's not important - " movement, then, an eloquent shrug, half-a-glance to the side, and a wry level curve to her red mouth - "he's not pleased, that's all. If he gives you shit, I wanna know."
(james)
against the flexure of the waterbed, his chest fills to speak
the words begin forming in protest that it's not important
if it wasn't, he knows for damned sure she wouldn't act this way
whatever the Modi said bothered her
or else she would not be this contemplativebut something rationalizes silence better than pressing the issue
even if he's sure she knows he thinks otherwise
(damnable conflicting emotion)of all things a Gnawer knows how to do
they're quite adept at accepting
and that's what he does now
whatever her reasons, he accepts he's not supposed to know
she can feel it in the sink of his chin against smooth, pale curve of her shoulder
she can hear it in the quiet, easy tone of sighing exhale"Okay. I'll tell you if he says anything about it."
(rune)
"Thank you." Her voice warm again, and burred with - relief, or something like enough to it - a long exhale released mostly through flaring nostrils, on a trickle of breath enough for the words spoken finding its way from her mouth to his skin.And she stays there, silent then. Silence then - the sound turned down, the bodies on the screen still moving, their bodies now moving much more slowly, only the rhythmic surety of breath stolen in slow almost-tandem from the cool air. Silence, until her chin drops lower and her mouth opens and her teeth graze lightly across his skin, palm flexing closed - pressure, warm - against his arm.
"I'm going to erase it - " shame, really, she thinks as her gaze falls from the wall to the screen and heat begins to coil in her belly, distinctly different from the body-sleep-warm-goodness he shares with her, but delicious and familiar in its own way. "unless you wanna watch. Don't get too distracted, though - " another nip, teasing now, as dark eyes shadowed by smudged lashes slide from the screen to his arms folded just beneath her gaze, folded warm around her shoulders, smeared red from the passage of her mouth. " - you still owe me dinner."
(james)
as if he would have denied her anything she asked
for reasons far more personal than that she outranks him
for reasons he will never have the chance to say
maybe only the faintest whisper of it spoken through the tighten of muscle beneath her teeth
the rise of skin from flexing bulge into the warm touch of lips
the half-hide against disarray tips of her hair dangling around her neck"Of course I want to watch."
one arm keeping her snugly embraced, keeping him trapped in her touch
the other falling to let his hand and wander slowly down silk covered curves
shy smile waxing seditious"What good is dinner if you've no need to refuel?"
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 22, 2002.11.22.02. - got any film? [rune][north jersey]
(rune)
There's a salute for Lazarus, accompanied by the click of her heels. So Garou don't go by military protocol: someone's seen some war movies, someone used to live in the shadow of Hollywood.Hands sliding into her pockets as James (by whom she managed to sidle during his confrontation with Lazarus) approaches the Beemer, fishing through the deep pockets for her keys.
BeepBeep.
Alarm system disarmed, both doors unlocked, and her hands are still tucked in the blessedly warm womb of woolen pockets, though she does have to slip one out to open the driver's side door. Voice command, that's what she needs.
"Wee-elll," the faint substance-thickened drawl, offered across the center gearshift as she slides the key into the ignition and turns the sweet little engine over (purr, baby, purr) is accompanied by a little... grin. "You've got a fan club."
(james)
by the time they reach the Beemer
he's out of the damp trench
and it's rolled into a ball on his lap when he settles into the passenger seat
slightly wet dreads a far cry better than an entirely wet coat against leather seats
the rebar tucked onto the floor
twisting to get comfortable
a bit of a glance back down the street"I had been hoping to avoid her, to be honest."
then back to her
his grin a far more familiar site on features
easy, somewhat buzzed
even with the little game that was played
hands held out to warm infront of the heat belching vents"But she tagged along with Imogen for some reason."
(rune)
Dark eyes shift from his face to the rearview mirror, as she puts the Beemer into gear and starts un-parallel parking. Half-an-eye for the scene beyond (the last glimpse of Lazarus walking away, Imogen and Decker still there, their figures distorted by the mirror, the truck a car-length back and her own eyes, crinkled up at the corners, reflected back at her. It's a good thing the mirror reflects only half her face, and she can't see the answering grin lingering on her mouth."She's not so bad, if you take her on her own terms," shoulders rising in a non-committal shrug, then curling forward as she shifts into first and peeeels outta her spot, all easy like. Her eyes flash briefly across to him, then settle back on the road. "...'course, that requires taking her own her own terms. No idea what she wanted with Imogen?"
(james)
he.....
now, he just can't help but laugh at that
relaxing to settle back against the headrest
dark eyes only glancing over
he's still getting used to this being driven around thinga BEEMER isn't exactly like the bus he's used to
"She's a Lord, I'm a Gnawer.... that's water and oil right there."
meaning more than likely he'd never care to find out her terms
much less accept them
the whisper of shirt's fabric against the leather
muscle rolling in shrug"No clue... they were talking earlier, but I chose stalling with Jimmy and Decker over going up and making nice with the good Doc and Laz. And...."
now his gaze would be going out the window
the sheepish grin reflected in thick glass"..... you...... don't have to take me to the studio if you don't want to. It was just an excuse to get out of Laz's delightful company."
it was a little odd he actually asked for a ride somewhere
(rune)
"Not much of a Lord any longer, though I guess like Fangs they never lose their sense of entitlement." The statement is uttered with less... vitriol than any other mention of Fangs in recent weeks. Odd, that. "I just fuckin' hope Imogen hasn't acquired another stalker. That'll go over real well with Decker."The city - as Zoe says - is indeed loud, and in the snug confines of the nicely appointed Z3 now sliding down the streets at a (relatively) sedate space, there's less of it: some road and engine noise to be sure, the hum of the blasting heater, the murmur of their voices. No music, not now, not yet.
Rune eases to a stop as the light ahead flashes yellow, then red and flashes James another glance. Her sharp features are bathed in shifting, watery shadows cast by the streetlamps over the windshield, lit from just below by the green lits of the dashboard, highlighting the sharp curve of her smile and the slow arch of a brow. She deposited the Silver Fang's check in her checking account this morning, and will spend the rest of the weekend checking her account online to see if it cleared, but tonight there's no rush. No rush at all.
Left hand low on the steering wheel (six o'clock, to give driving instructors everywhere a fit), long arm slung casually across her leatherwrapped thighs, right hand curled around the gearshift between them, ready to move when the light changes.
"Well, I don't have any other plans, so I'm yours for the night. Anyplace you especially wanna go?"
(james)
the sneered smirk is offered to the street outside, rather than the driver
lip pulling back in a distasteful snarl"Ronin or not.... she's still a Lord."
doesn't that sound familiar
fallen or not, she's still a Gnawer
corrupted or not, she's still a child
oh, Jamey-boy, how strong it is your..... faith
how terrible will be the destruction when it crashes
for you hold onto it so tightly
no matter what it is you have to do
no matter who it is that dies at your hand
your Faith is always thereeven when you had to kill her
how much longer can you hold onto it, boy
what will you do when it is no longer there to fall back on
when you realize how much of your soul you've sold
just to defend. that. faith.on the outside
there's no clue of this inner gospel
only a smile that replaces the sneer
the outside street replaced in his eyes by luxurious interior
the ticktock of gaze that rotates its way back to herdark eyes slink from the sleight of hand over gearshift
the drape of arm over leatherclad thighs
tracing the curves he knows are beneath the wool jacket
finding their way up to the painted smiling smirk"You don't seem dressed to go wailing on bags at the studio.... so..... dinner? Movie? Bed?"
you can bet that smile is now. quite. shy.
he may be skilled at trading insults on the street
but when it boils down to this?
sometimes he still fumbles(rune)
"Dinner and bed." Her reply is so very matter-of-fact. The light has changed - she caught a glimpse of it, the sudden glash of green in her peripheral vision - and so her eyes slipslide from his back to the road as the shy smile creeps across his lips, leaving him some blessed space. He can still see her in profile, of course - the almost-haughty lift of her chin, the sharp line of her jaw just above the folds of her scarf, which obscure the long line of her neck, the dark strands of hair tucked behind her ear, and deliciously wicked half of a damnably familiar little grin. "How about we skip the movie?"There's a beat, and the brief flash of dark eyes.
"Unless you wanna make one."
(james)
pick your jaw up off the floor, James
that's rude
you're drooling all over the leather
(hers? or the cars?)for a good space of a block or three
he can only look at hernot in his normal way
not in the way that traces and memorizes every feature
not in the way that speaks volumes in a single glance
not in the way that tells her what he would never, ever say
this is flat out staring
and, well, grinning too"Got any film?"
(damon's interjection: (you go, tiger *ROTFLMAO*))
(rune)
"Film, camcorder, digital camcorder and a big-ass harddrive, baby," she's... tossing her head back and flashing him a look; she's accelerating without paying much attention to the road and just clips through a yellow light; she's flashing him an answering grin that's gotta make him wonder if they'll make it back to all that fancy equipment before the fun begins, and even though she never ever smokes in her car -- she already wants a cigarette.
"An' if that's not enough, we can always tape over Decker's Powerpuff Girls."
(james)
he can only grin
(what the hell did you just get yourself into, James?)
just.... grinfinally drawing out, from deep down in his little dumbfounded body, about the only thing he can think of to say
"Skip dinner, we can order in later."
(rune)
"Tch."The amusement in her voice belies whatever disapproval might be communicated by the clack of tongue against the roof of her mouth. Dark hair spills back from her face as she lifts her chin another fraction of an inch and practically guns the engine, crossing two lanes of traffic (light at this hour, to be sure, but still more than a bit reckless) to merge onto the parkway, preferable to the slow dragging no-man's land of stoplights and shopping centers and left-turn-lanes and no-left-turn intersections that could make the drive back to the condo interminable given sudden (animal) heat filling the confines of the little convertible, distinct in kind and texture from the dry blasting warmth pouring from the vents.
"Now you've gone and done it. I was gonna hold you to dinner, James," she murmurs, sidelong and sly as the Beemer hits speed and merges onto the parkway. Another grin, razor-edged and sure as sin. (Notice the past tense.) "I was gonna make you fucking wait."
(james)
yes, it is getting hot in here, isn't it
and it's not just the dry heater
this is the thick jungle humidity humans only dream about and animals know far too intimately
glad he was holding the trench balled up on his lap before this little conversation starteda shift of weight
a stretch that sends arm into the small space behind her headrest
covering the small distance between them in the Z3's cabin
braced to keep himself in the seat in the increasingly reckless driving"I'm still going to pay for dinner."
half chuckled
half whispered"And I'm still going to have to fucking wait until we get there."
(rune)
"Yes," amused, the twisting little smirk, the throaty chuckle that finds its way into that single fucking word. (or, not amused: something else, something else entirely masquerading as amusement, and not well, either. It's as hard to disguise as a war-formed Garou in the middle of Macy's Day-after-Thanksgiving sale. So: not amused, not just amused, not at all.) Leaning back until the muffling scarf makes contact with his circling arm, the blunt edges of dark locks spilling over like a waterfall of inky water, she doesn't look at him. Maybe she doesn't dare. "Yes, you will."Silence then. Not the companionable silence of long drives back from the Barrens, softened by amused banter about the luck (or lack thereof) of their packmates, unpadded by familiar strains of the Clash or the Mekons. Just (charged) silence. The still before the storm.
The miles pass in swift succession, and though the Beemer shifts and turns and passes and moves in around and through the light traffic tracing a serpentine line, the driver doesn't see much of the road.
She almost misses the exit. She pulls hard across the left lane, cutting off some helmet-haired middle-aged woman in a Volvo in the right lane to make the turn(just barely) onto the complicated four-leaf clover, and zips through the red light at the end of the curving ramp. Two miles, three turns later, and they're pulling past the manicured Rolling Meadows sign out front, jouncing over speedbumps into the parking lot, turning into the empty space in front of Building A.
The whole time, she has one hand on the gearshift, two fingers curved at the bottom of the steering wheel. Two fingers curved hard around the leather steering wheel, grip so taut the knuckles are white from the strain. After all, they both had to fucking wait, didn't they.
(james)
the doors openone sleek Walker releases the whiteknuckled grip of leather, spilling forth from spoiled interior, this controlled storm that has somehow decided to unleash itself upon the night, lightning in darkened gaze, thunder rolling a silent throb of Rage that pulses through her veins with each beat of strong strong heart, he can see her, he can see that look resting upon features highlighted by the yellow-glowing lamps, some latent fire that dares cast its heat upon pale skin, a heat that pales in comparision to what burns beneath her flesh, a heat that he can see in the vicious curve of that wicked, wicked smile, a heat that drives the long strides already moving towards the Condo
one frustrated Gnawer fumbles with the latch, all but falling out onto the painted and subdivided asphalt, during the last few miles the recirculated air did nothing to dampen the smokey incense that rolled heady from her skin, it kept multiplying, thickening and strengthening with each odometer number strolling by, there's a hunger, a wanting (needing) edge that's coiled itself into his smile, beneath the shaggy disarray of jungle-vine dreads, something that writhes electric beneath his skin, through his muscles, some strange teslic electromagnet that's wrapped itself around his skeleton, she can see it in his look (that wild look), she can see it in the shift in his stride
while the tattered trench and rebar sling is held in one hand
as soon as they pass the Beemer's shining grill
he takes a halfstep to the side
the other hand snakes around her waist
muscle flexes and contracts and arm lifts
his body folding in the little spinning bow
her body folding over his shoulder in straighten
three hundred and sixty degrees later he's carrying her towards the condojust because he has to wait doesn't mean he can't play
(rune)
There was something she was going to ask him. There was something she was going to say to him. There was something on the tip of her tongue, lurking in the corners of her mind and - before the dinner comment, before the bed comment, before the movie comment - she was going to bring it up, all casual-like, offhand and passing, like dipping a toe into an unfamiliar pool to get a sense of the temperature before diving right on in.There was something like that.
Notice the past tense? It kinda slipped her mind.
Somewhere in the middle of that drive. Somewhere in the middle of all that electromagnetic storm that rumbled quietly from full-blood to full-blood, full-moon to full-moon, lover to (admit it? Never.) lover, whatever-it-was curled up with the rest of her rational mind and went into hibernation, baby.
James bows and folds and lifts her, and she manages not to shriek. out. loud. It wasn’t that hard, even if the world is suddenly 180 degrees from where it was, and the spinning sky is now the spinning concrete, splotched wet from the remnants of winter rains. Her lean body tightens against the unexpected assault, and then - another moment of almost outrage, a quick breath drawn sharp, his shoulder digging into her abdomen, her hands spilling down along with her eyes, muscled legs curling at the knee seeking balance in the apparently precarious position. Has anyone ever carried her like this, ever?
If so, it was another lifetime, a world away.
“ - niiiiiiiice ass - ” and - laughter, rare and untainted by irony or sarcasm or post-modern self-amused distance or anything but the pure delicious physical sense of wanton well-being inspired by the moment - “ - y’knowi’mgonnagetyouforthis - ”
(james)
his gaze shifts to the left
following the curve of leathered thigh
to the swell of flesh and hips just below her waist
head butting gently against crest of bone next to his temple"It is, yes."
if the night were to end right now?
if the night were to end just this very moment?
if the night were to suddenly evaporate into nothing and the dawn began to speak of tomorrow?
if all of this were to end. right. now.
he would be happy
he would still wear that uninhibited grinpast the molten energy that shifts and sways between them
above and beyond the promise of what will happen within the confines of the condo
past anything that has or will take place between them
(anything that they will never admit)
there's one thing that remains first and formost in his mind
not a conquest
not a success
just one. simple. sound.that laughter
that full and free laughter
it's the sound of ultimate pleasure
it's the sound of ultimate joy
and that, deep down, is what he cares about
anything beyond is pure gravy
and his hand pauses on the doorknob"Well, I'm sort've hoping you will."
only after the heavy door slams shut, locked behind them
does he allow her feet to touch the ground once more
rebar clanking in rebound on the carpet before tattered trench blankets it
his hands keep her close
keep that scalding warmth snug up against his
even in the darkness, he can find her lips and whisper across them"Rather looking forward to it....."
(rune)
That. Laughter.He’s the first person to hear it in a measureless time. He’s the only person on this coast to hear it (except, possibly, for those few neighbors still awake at this hour. The neighbors who dare look out when the familiar sound of any of their unsettling neighbors’ vehicles comes winging up from the parking lot, and there are fewer and fewer and none of those, these days.) and possibly the only living creature left who might’ve heard it, once, even across the country, beside a different ocean, beneath another, brighter sun.
She’s not laughing now, or if she is, the sound is lower and richer and darker and threaded with the sheer awareness of his body beside and against hers, hot and alive even through the layers of clothing she wore tonight against the blast of November cold.
“Yeah?” it’s not much of a question, the word she murmurs back across his mouth. The movement of her lips against his is long slow teasing touch that never quite becomes a kiss, unbroken as she reaches to untangle (and then tug and then rip and then whip) the fucking scarf from around her throat. The scarf falls to the ground, atop trench-covered rebar, only to be enveloped by her falling coat (arms akimbo, twisting back to get the fucking. thing. off. now, thank you very much.) Slim arms settle around his shoulders then, and her hands find his hair, and her lips find his the line of his jaw, a long slow hot trail until her teeth find the lobe of his ear. “...yeah. I must be fucking psychic, because I knew you’d fucking say that.”
And so it goes: her hands in his hair and on his body, pushing him back up hard against the wall, her mouth on his neck (scorched earth policy, baby. They’re warriors, after all), and her voice her breath blooming against his skin like some carnivorous flower, hungry as all hell.
And then: suddenly, just as suddenly, she’s not there anymore. She’s two feet (three feet. four feet.) away, sauntering through the darkened condo toward the jumble of equipment in what would be a dining room in any other home, casting him a shadowed glance across one shoulder, flashing him a wicked-red, wanton grin.
“We’ve got a movie to make.”
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.11.22.02. - don't touch me [pack-lazarus][north jersey]
(imogen)
The smell of blood still washes through her nostrils with each breath, hanging in the back of her throat like a bad cold as she walks down the rain dampened streets, bright head bent against a sudden gust of wind that whips through down the street, tunnelled by the cement buildings and skyrises. The wind gentles, and her head lefts again, one hand reaching up to brush back tendrils of vibrant flame hair, tucking them behind her ears as she steps across the street, mindful of late evening drivers, who careen down slickened streets. Dark eyes, half caught in shadow because the sun is long gone down, crest across the street as her hands absently search for cigarettes. She's quit again, the movement is only a habit.She reaches the other side, head turning this way, and that, off handedly searching for someone. Three times, now. Hardly a coincidence. It's a testement to her odd sense of duty, that she never mentioned certain things to the police. The fact that she searches this thrice-seen woman now is testimony to... something. But she cannot say what.
(lazarus)
What is it about the guitar. Is it its hallowed wooden body that howls--or the taughtness of strings? If this were a fairy tale the misic might twist in the wind, grey-tinged tendrils paws at the air around the good doctor.Smell something good.
(..sometimes the feet understand things the brain does not.)Either way, she's perched on the back of the bustop. Just another broke muscian, frail lookng form, drawfed by the heavy presence of the wooden instrument--or perhaps her talented (..a practiced ear might hear the less that skilled pinch of frets.) handling of twisting tune. Its just another fifure in the night, one of many...
Oversized fleece.
Over-worn Levi's.
Woolen cap pulled low over her head.Could be anybody, right?
(imogen)
She's played the guitar since she was old enough to force her fingers to the frets. It's a beautiful sound, the strings can be manipulated so the notes moan, so they scream, so they pound. Whisper notes in the wind, like a fairy tale(if this were a fairy tale)
She steps over the gutter, where leaves have accumulated to drown faded in dingy black water, choking drainage, and as she turns in the direction of the musician, boots dull against the concrete. Jeans, carressing thighs and hips, worn along the cuffs. A cotton shirt, pulled across slender torso, and accented by a fleece vest which is presumably for warmth, though with this wind, it's nothing. She approaches the musician, and her music, and a quarter twists end over end to fall into the open guitar case, where already several coins and a few bills have accumulated. It doesn't matter if you really are playing for money. Sit on a street, and everyone thinks you are.
"You're a bird of ill-omen," she notes, almost conversationally, her voice lilting british, remniscent of smokey pubs, delicately musical. "There's a dead body, and lo, you're there, leaving, or coming, or just sitting somewhere playing your music." Third time's a charm. Too much coincidence this days.
(laz)
Sparkling strands of silken melody that spin the senses in aweb of thought. (Can music change you?) The street where Laz lays seems a pace slower than the rest of the hood. Black & White remain the same but its the grey that changes...What is, is.
(...oh lovely watercolor subjectivity.)Dusky hued features lift from thier downward, guitar-angled, pose. And amber hued eyes slide against pale-pale-pales (..all the better to spark the flame of hair.) woman how speaks her lips twitching faintly.
"Thanks." The quarter still rolls along the inner surface of the case. "'--could say the same of you couldn't I?"
(james)
maybe it's the kid still alive somewhere in the Ahroun's frame
maybe it's the semi-sweet jaded-ness that he's been through far worse
maybe it's..... something
but the Italian Tank books don't do much for avoiding the errant puddles
a splish here
a sploosh there
a splash over herehands tuck into his pockets
the rebar clinking in its sling over tattered trench shoulder
dreads hanging heavy and wet (just how long has he been out?)
gray cargo's dark charcoal their soaked bottoms
winding through the streets to find his way home(imogen)
Her hands slide into the pockets of the vest, head tilting slightly off to one side, causing a fall of vibrant hair, all the colours of red, roan, auburn, blonde and strawberry, across her cheekbone, explosion of colour against pale milk skin. "Yeah, but the difference is, when I'm there," words offglide, and are shortened meld together in a british drawl. Cornwall is like a whole other country; it has a language of it's own, and though she speaks without the slang of her home, it still shows through her rich accent, "the police don' start askin' questions.""'bout a month'r so ago, girl raped, killed 'cause she hit her head, guy killed from a shattered cheekbone," her pale hand reaches up, brushing strands of hair from her face, mimicking, either unconciously or not, the fall of Laz's great crinos paw, as it had once crossed the rapist's face. "And, just in case that wasn't enough, shot to the head. You?"
(voice of midnight shadows)
Dancing through the streets playing a panpipe softly, emergies a colourful but bedraggled spectacle.His purple jeans are kept off the gound by a pair of green and red shoes and his longsleeved yellow t-shirt is covered by a blue and orange vest. The music gets a little quieter as he thinks he is nearing people.
(james)
while they remain neighors
..... since he seems to be at Rune's more than the pack apartment
he's done his fair share of avoiding
..... since he's often rather.....uh... occupied
he's rather not remember that night they last met
..... since the Litany says nothign about not feeling guilty about what they do, that was a child
but there are some people that are just unmistakable
..... since, well. just because!
and the flaming haired doctor is one of them
he's a good idea who the musician sitting at her feet is, as wellhow.... delightful
needless to say the tall Gnawer doesn't do much to increase that strolling pace towards them
he's uh, listening out for that random panpipe note... yeah
(laz)
Music rolls on ceaselessly, as if there wasn't a help for it; as if her finger's, formed spinets, could only weave against the ache of urban night. Spinning dreams of atrophy. (Shh.. I know.) And so when head twists to follow the movement of 'Red', as she had been silently dubbed, it seems ony natural the score should continue. Another fixture of the moment..Like the, florescent bright, flicker of drizzle that slighes between beams of lamp light. And the click of 'Red's' shoes against gritty-slick asphalt. Her nose wrinkles briefly in thought--
"..been talk of a woman showin up at the wrong places at the wrong times. Man with a needle in one hand a blade in the other--turf war by Abbington projects..."
Her voice, a shock against the sounds of city-eve, not raspy or hease, but even throated purred. It was the roll of pleasuable reception--the voice in your head you thought never existed.
"--girl builds up a rep like that folks notice. 'specialy when she don't talk much. Folks talking bout a red-heared ju-ju woman--Stuff like that?"
Eye flicker towards the rattle of rebar in the strance and straighenting the stumming hand (The music stopped?) pauses to slide spectacle higher up the bridge of her nose.
(voice)
wondering if the audience tonight is actually real again he calls out into the night."Hello, anyone there?"
(james)
a bit of a grin rakes at the sudden call
unable to help the wryly chuckled answer from just down the block
from behind the pipist"Just nod if you can hear me."
(imogen)
Purity. It's one thing that all Garou, young and old, tainted and clean, spiral and fang recognize. It's one thing that they have in common. It's one thing all kinfolk wish to have, and those that have it, sometimes, must wish they didn't. It's the song of heroes. The memory of past times (when the war was not so desperate, and the cities, not so big), and at when one is pure enough, it must be almost like a flame burning admidst the shadows. Imogen is a candle in a dark room, flickering and burning, and to be sure, a galliard would have a story to tell about her ancestory.Her weight shifts, slowly, from one foot to another, twitching her attention toward the clank of a metal rebar against shoulder and cloth, the approach of James. The sound of Jimmy speaking, and James responding.
They're everywhere. She doesn't answer Lazarus immediately, waiting, as if to see if she had more tumults of wisdom to pass on. Or perhaps the flame haired woman had nothing to say.
(voice)
he nods his head, then looks casually 'round to see where the semi familiar voice came from."I can hear you."
There is a tone of friendliness in his voice, as he turns to head toward the sound. A small skip in his steap as the rainbow clad figure wanders toward them.
(laz)
The guitar doesn't start again, only shift to her back. The embroidered strap that holds it to her replace in with the minimal slice of stretched matrial--cutting through the pillow-ey folds of the fleece to pink at thin shoulds and disaapear around the width of her waist.It might seem that the activity has affected the musician as well. A tongue slides over lower lip thoughtfully. And though, perceptive lil thing, she is more alert her gaze always ends back towards the woman.
Moth to a flame.
"You got reasons or just questions, Red?"
(james)
hm.... cooooooool as ice doc and at-one-time-annoying Lord...... or family?
he's going for family
even if he doesn't know the pipist save for passing
family is family
Gnawer is Gnawer"How the shows been going, Jimmy?"
smile waxing easy
relaxed
he's had too much seriousness lately(decker)
"Is there anyone home?"A quiet Southern slide pulled over a tone with a hint of gravel, a even slighter hint of amusement, completing the verse. Seems like even Alabama trailer trash hear a bit of Pink Floyd now and again.
The thug comes strolling his thuggish swaying stroll out of the alley at right angles to the street. One hand's in the pocket of his sagging jeans, dark-dark blue. A cigarette (no; wait - take a sniff - a joint) glows sullenly in the other hand hanging loose at his side, chapped knuckles and callouses. A breath of smoke drifts sideways and the Modi nods up at his packmate. "'Sup James."
(jimmy)
Good, hows things with you and your friends?.He reaches into his pocket to retrieve a chocolate bar and offers it to James.
(imogen)
She watches the movements, the shift of the guitar over the small woman's back, before her eyes, an uncoloured darkness in the night, shift back to Lazarus's face. Lazarus's eyes. Rarely, can others meet a Garou's eyes.Her weight shifts, however slightly, another glance over her shoulder before back at Lazarus, a dark eyed stare. "Mostly, I've questions." She replies, finally, after a moment of indecision.
"Was it you, or not?" Lazarus dances around the questions, and Imogen, well... she just asks again, more directly. It will be another two seconds before she gives up and leaves off.
(james)
"Decker"grinned
nodded up
s'aaaaall kopacetic
all that full moon pms'ing has drained out of him, it seems
or it just might be the Floydthe offered bar exchanged with a half-pack of jerkey without even a second thought
only a grinned thanks"Things have been well. Quiet at least...."
(jimmy)
He takes some of the jerky then looks at the other newcomer. He nods at the man, grinning happily and seemingly slightly oblivious to the world around him. He looks back at James."Who?"
(laz)
She shrugs at Imogen."..dunno. I's just a poor arab girl."
That said she smiles at (older?) woman meeting her in the eye as if it meant little to her if anything.
(decker)
Waning moon. Settling blood. Slightly, at least, but as any poor boy knows, slight is better than nothing. Decker's never been the talkative type, and he's not about to start now. As chocolate trades for jerky, the Modi throws his shoulderblades to the wall, slouches down an inch or three and plants his feet wide. His eyes are grey and so is the smoke drifting from the fat joint held between thumb and two fingers of his hand.Take a hit. Hold a hit. Ash a joint. Let it go. The redolent stink of burning herbs is oddly flat on the open street, in the cold, in late November, and he's nineteen years old now, and old enough to know better, but not old enough to do better. That's how it'll always be.
A glance down the street picks out Lazarus and Imogen. Didn't mind hearing one talk (though listening to her or not was another matter entirely); didn't mind watching the other. Black and red. Shadow and flame. Somethin' like that...fuckit. Inhale. Hold. Tip head back against brick, eyelids lazy. Exhale.
(mmgh. fuckin high as a kite.)
For a few minutes, at least. Until his Garou metabolism cleans it all up. Until his rage burns a hole right through it, like a chemical fire that you just can't blow out.
(james)
"Jimmy, this is Decker, my bro... Decker this is one of Dakota baby's bandmates."gesturing throughout the entire thing with his piece of candybar
Decker, of course, offered as well
it's just his way
plus he knows munchies are a constant thing around Garou(jimmy)
He nods to the modi."Hi, I'm Jimmy." He offers a chocolate bar to the modi as well.
(decker)
Slow as southern heat, his eyes go between James and Jimmy. This is bound to get confusing. The Modi's gaze flicks the chocolate-bar-toting saxophonist, grey as a thunderhead, and under the marijuana haze is the undying thrumming pulse of rage. A lot of it.Dakota's bandmate. Oh yeah, white chick. White as paper.
A grunt that suffices as hello; a shake of his head for the offers of chocolate as he makes a vague motion with the hand that held the joint and its attached, ever-diffusing stream of smoke. He was good with what he had. Another hit sucked off, the seventh or eighth in a quarter as many minutes. Keep it rollin'.
Hold, exhale. Across the way, lights blink on and off in the apartment tenements.
(jimmy)
He pockets the chocalate bar and looks toward the two women in the distance. He points vaguely in the direction of the good doctor.Isn't that Imogen?
He doesn't do more than that. He is meeting someone new tonight, and that has his attention for now. He looks at the woman beside her.
Dp you know who she's talkin' to?
(james)
shoulders roll as slow tide beneath the tattered trench
rebar clinking in afterthought echo
thought it's Jimmy's question that gets a bit more of a reaction
easy smile touching upon a minor smirk
just minor
just a liiiiittleand oddly?
he doesn't even seem to notice, mind, or think anything of the sudden realization and bolt of the other Gnawer
seems a perfectly normal thing to him
and maybe it ishe was just happy to be around family
for however long it lasted
thoughtful chew on the current bit of bar
though a brow lifts at Deckersharin'?
(imogen)
An eyebrow lifts at Lazarus's question. "Just so." She replies, smoothly, a quiet utterly british phrase, so perfectly matched to her voice, as she breathes a faint snort, turning and starting to walk away, hands in the pocket of her vest.(decker)
Sharin'?
Good question, that.The Modi cocks an eyebrow at Jimmy's hasty departure. Then he cocks an eyebrow at James. Then he pulls the joint out of his mouth, thumb and forefinger and middle finger, a deep-felt motion, slow as an anaconda.
(clikclikBOOM.)
Gunmetal grey eyes around gunbarrel black pupils. They look at the joint like he ain't never seen such a thing before. Lifting, then, those eyes fix on James and study him now, critically. A beat. The eyelids droop - amusement - and he extends his arm in a steady arc.
"Help yerself." A nudge of his chin in the direction of the departed Jimmy. Ripple-ribbon of displeasure: Decker said he wouldn't let anyone find out about her, dammit. Look how well that was turning out. "How's he know Imogen, anyway?"
(james)
and yes, in the sudden interpretive dance of the eyebrows
therein lays the entire conversation
he wouldn't have minded if Decker didn't share
it's more, even though they're pack
he wouldn't have taken unless offered
else risk losing his armand beneath that careful, critical consideration
he just waits, quiet and calm
still so relaxedor so he seems
blunt taken
hit
held
passed back"Dunno, only met him once before in passing... was after our little fiasco with Luc and the little bitch."
just how low are you
when another Gnawer won't even refer to you as family(laz)
Eagle Scouts.Strange Crime-hound Garou,
Oh yes possibilities abound. And Laz is not the type to miss out on a good possibility, no not at all. She hops the back of the bench and follows behind, hands shived deep into pockets as she goes.
(decker)
After James takes the joint his arm drops loosely to his side like it was too much effort to keep it up. Don'tcareslidedown. The Modi slips down against the wall until he's crouched at the foot of it, knees against his chest through the fifteen-dollar secondhand winter coat he's taken to wearing these days. Too damn cold for sweatshirts.Passed back, he takes it up and sucks it down. Turns it sideways before his eyes, measures the distance between cherry and ...well these things ain't got no filter, man. Had maybe three or four hits left on it, if he didn't let it just burn down.
Smoke trickles out the Modi's nostrils, tugged off by the wind. A snort blasts a fresh puff out into the night. "Talk to 'im 'bout it." Sounds like a command, but Decker left out the subject of the sentence: I. I'll talk to him about it.
Pass the joint back, turn his head sideways. Didn't the boy ever smile? Had that perpetual half-frown going again, that line between his eyebrows, that downturn to his hard mouth. He looks at Lazarus, he looks at Imogen. "Here comes yer favorite Ronin," muttered, half-choked to conserve the last of the marijuana curling in his lungs, to James.
(laz)
First words."Fuck you."
To no one in particular, or both. Hell the idea of the Eagle scouts irjked her--and if it hadn't been for Rune. (its not like she could do much about it.) Oh but they'd know they didn't belong here - she was the perpetual reminder.
(imogen)
Imogen's glance over her shoulder as Lazarus approaches, her head turning away with a sharp exhalation of breath. As she approaches Decker and James, she catches half wind of what Decker says, a coppery eyebrow flickering up in question at the unfamiliar word.Chances are she'd been out working, this late. Jeans, a cotton shirt, and a vest to keep warm, casual clothing best suited to stepping around blood, and previewing a body. A badge clipped to the waist of her jeans, barely visible beneath the fall of the vest.
Conversation passes around her. At least now she had her answer as to what Lazarus was.
(decker)
He twists his mouth sideways to blow smoke off like a locomotive. Hell, she was everybody's favorite Ronin. Eyes like a winter storm sweep Lazarus up and down, lazylike, and then the soles of his shoes scraaape over asphalt as he straightens his legs out, blocking off the sidewalk, planting his ass on the pavement. Guess his momma never told him to keep his pants off the pavement 'cause it was dirty."Bring it." A curl of a smirk, and then his attention flickerslides over to the good doctor. His favorite mistake. Nod up, eyes slide down...and up. "'Sup Imogen."
(Was it a mistake? No.)
All right then.
(james)one Modi crouched down into a ball for warmth
one Ahroun still standing at ease, trench dangling from his shoulders, tails swaying in the occasional breeze
this ain't coldthough the trickling buzz from the blunt is helping
it helps lubricate that chuckle working its way out over his tongue
it helps guide that kopacetic smile into something of a snide grin"Aw common, Laz, you know I expect so much more from you. Having a bad day?"
didn't belong here
.....really
that familiar grin appearing once again in a half toss towards Imogen on the vestiges of the word-driven exhale(rune)
...and here comes their favorite Glass Walker, from the other direction, in a slow, familiar saunter. Eyes on Imogen, they must've missed the veritable feat of parallel parking that took place, as Rune took up two and a half-spaces on her own, somehow, to make sure no one else would park too close and accidentally dent her Beemer, which is a little less obvious with the top up against the winter weather.And winter it is. The Ahroun's hands were tucked deep into the pockets of her fine wool coat, a scarf tossed around her neck for good measure, singing back across her shoulders as the wind whips past like a long black tail, much longer than the short hair blown by in similar fashion by a sudden gust of wind tearing down the alleyway. Least the street on which they lounge is north-south, and therefore somewhat sheltered by the tenement from the cold wind.
Heels on pavement, the slow staccato rhythm almost hitched from the lazy stride, though these high heels are boots, rather than her usual strappy sandal-things.
"Y'all." It's a general greeting, offered to the group at large as she draws close. The corners of her mouth curl upward in a slow smirk, mostly hidden by the muffling scarf.
(laz)
One hand uncurls from the brace of the guitar strap to -snap-, the sound rippling against the air in a (...thunder..) crack."I left my whips and chains at home--nother time then."
A nod to James. Just waiting for his opening remarks, the artist (formerly known as a moonsinger) could trade cracks all night.
(decker)
"Yeah," and he rubs the stubble on his chin with the back of his hand, "whatever."Joint's made its way back to Decker somehow. James had a trickling buzz. Decker's bone marrow was molten. The effect was going to blow over soon - it always did - but damn if Rune couldn't get them some high-quality shit. He'll take every minute his metabolism'll give him.
Rune walks up. Decker holds out the joint with one last gasp on it for the Glass Walker.
"Ain't bad." That, for Imogen. "Yerself?"
(james)
gee
darn
he looks. so. disappointed."That a threat or a promise, M'Lord? I thought you liked trying to annoy me daily..... you're slackin'"
so maybe not all of that full-moon-madness has left him
there's a challenge in his grin
even if it warms a little at the approach of Rune
no matter the glaring exception of Lazarus
he's surrounded by..... family
s'all good(laz)
"Maybe I just have bigger fish to fry, than country club caddies?"Her words are soft almost whispered as she leans against a parked car (tires removed) seemed like it wasn't goin anywhere.
(rune)
The joint - the almost-roach - the roach, she takes carefully between her painted nails, and now their (other) function becomes apparent. They're just like nice little forceps, perfect for holding the last bits of paper and pot and sucking all the good sweet smoke right into your lungs.She takes her place against the wall - fuzzy convention, Garou line-up - woolen coat slung across her shoulders catching on the rough brick, and sucks up a hit, holds it - and then manages one more, when poor Decker though there was only one. Dark brow lifts with a critical eyes (there's another hit here) and she raises her hand offering it around.
"Anyone?" thin-voiced from the strain and smoke, that half-chortling pothead's voice spills from her mouth, along with a thin stream of smoke. She doesn't really care if there are no takers. She's a greedy girl, is Rune.
(imogen)
She nods her head, a faint inclination that throws curled strands of hair free from her braid, falling forward before her face and dark eyes. "I can't complain," she answers she says with a slight shrug of slender shoulders.Her eyes flicker up toward the bickering of the Lord and the Gnawer, before following it's sweep to touch upon Rune with the Walker's question, a slight shake of her head.
(james)
second hand smoke from Rune's exhale fills his lungs in cleansing breath
managing a fairly passable shocked look"I'm not on top of your priority list anymore, Laz? That's mortally wounding"
smirked
even.... sneered
the deep umber gaze swings towards the Walker"Heading to the studio, gimme a ride, Rune?"
(decker)
"Cut the generosity crap, Rune," drawls Decker from the ground. "'S yer pot anyway."Number one benefit of sagging your pants: don't have to arch off the ground to get at your pockets. The Modi just slides his hands right in, digging around in his pockets for the sheer sake of digging around. See what he's got to keep him occupied while James and Lazarus bicker like cubs. Baggie. Cig paper. Matches. Hmm, mint filched from some store's front counter. Plastic wrapping crinkles as he unwraps the candy (drops it, catches it against his stomach), pops it in.
Doesn't seem to be much to say back to Imogen, and he's content not to say anything until something does come to mind, surfacing. A tilt of his head sideways, indicating the pavement next to him. "Sit?" Eyelids sweep down: a glance down and across at the spot he indicated. Fuck, even dirtier than the spot he's sitting on. A quirk of a smirk flirts across his mouth. " 'Less you want me to lay down my coat like a real," pause here: eyes slide down, mint slides across his tongue to clack on the opposite side of his mouth, "southern gent."
(laz)
"Girl can dream, can't she?"Oh that smile that blossoms to her lips, unbidden. as she adjust her spectacles on her face and stretches.
"I was just waiting to se if y'all wanted me to buy some Eagle scout cookies an' shit."
(rune)
"Yeah, but nobody likes a stingy bogart. Mari-ja-juana wants to be free, baby." offhanded, the comment as she takes the initiative and sucks the last lungful of smoke from the fragrant little roach, then opens her fingers in an elegant little gesture and sends the smoldering paper floating to the concrete beside her. No filter: no foul. She doesn't bother bending to pick it up.Rune buries her bare hand in her deep pocket, and lifts the other - still gloved in leather - to adjust her scarf back up, half-over her painted mouth again. Another slow smirk crawls above the muffling edge of her scarf. "S'the girl scouts who sell cookes, Laz. Eagle scouts sell pop-fuckin'-corn. An' sure, James. You wanna lift? you got it."
(imogen)
A brief spurt of amusement, resulting in a half breath of laughter, as she shakes her head, "No, that's alright," a momentary glance at the greyed concrete he'd mentioned, covering the space between her and the other side opposite to where he'd indicated, apparently having decided or discovered it was at least somewhat cleaner than his originally offered place, "I wouldn't want your southern blood to freeze."She drops to sit on the curb, shoving cooled hands into the pockets of her vest, her warrior against the cold.
(james)
"No, Laz" tsk'd "If I wanted to poison you I wouldn't ask you to buy it. That's just uncouth."reaching out to actually
pat. her. head.
as he walks by
back towards the feat of parallel parking Beamer
half a wave to Decker and Imogen(laz)
See, here's the thing.the EAGLE scouts are high, Laz isn't. And when james reaches to pat her on the head she duck around his touch a legs kicking out against his ankle with the bodily readjustment.
"you wash your hands, James?"
(decker)
The Modi's eyes narrow as James and Rune walk off...alone...together...again..."Later."
Imogen drops down on his other side. He shifts a bit to accommodate, though whether he ends up moving away or closer is hard to call. Grey eyes still narrowed, a hard candy clacking its way from one side of his mouth to the other, what her presence against his arm might do to him doesn't show one bit on his face. He doesn't talk much to her either. "Good." A grunt here, another there. "Wasn't gonna take it off none, anyway."
Apocalyptic thug lovin' in this grim faceless north-jersey urban sprawl. Go figure.
(rune)
The flash of a wry smile rises above the muffling scarf, as Rune lifts her chin and then lowers it to scrunch the fabric down so Lazarus can see the little smirk. Both hands are buried in her coat pockets now, though there's movement in the right pocket, as she struggles into her glove, then lifts her hand to her mouth to finish tugging the smooth leather snugly over her fingers by snagging the wrist with her teeth.Rune offers a nod - Lazarus, Imogen, Decker each get their own - and the gesture serves as both individual greeting and farewell, as gloved hand is already finding its waiy into her right pocket as she saunters in James' wake.
"He's an Eagle scouth, Laz. 'Course he does. You know what kinda upstaining citizens we are."
(james)
see, here's the thing?Decker is high
he? is just buzzed
and fast
fist wrapping in the oversized fleece
actually picking her up off the ground
and settling her back onto the hood of the tireless car
rather uncerimoniously"Of course."
smiled
fingers loosening so smear his palm over her shoulder
just for good measure
and then? he finally moves away to catch up with Rune(imogen)
"Yeah, well. I didn't want to ask you to go against your nature, anyway," southern gentleman Decker is not. She turns her head to look over her shoulder, weight shifting slightly forward as James and Laz further their bickering to physical contact, weight moving to her feet, because she has no desire to be whacked by a Garou turned projectile. The shift is slight, and likely Decker, so close, is the only one to feel and see it.Her hands leave her pockets to rest loosely on her knees, fingers curled lightly. Now we're paying attention.
(decker)
Ccccclick. Mint sliding over the ridges of his teeth. So blunt in this form. So deadly in the others. Decker's high. Decker never stays high long.The slowroiling seethe of his rage is like a tidal wave moving into shore. Imogen leans forward. Decker rolls his shoulders backwards, slouching down just a little lower against the wall like some bum with nowhere to go but down. There's an awareness to him, though. You know I don't like it when you....
Southern gentleman, Decker is not.
(laz)
Both arms -held-. It was almost gentlemanly the way he asserted dominance. (how cute.) But see some people just don't take to polite, some people would just as soon a bullet to the head than a pat...Some people--don't play touch games. Laz is one of those people. As as he lifts her, "Don't." he feels a flury of movement arms pushing against the greater unyeilding musculature of James. Lifted into the air--And feet kick up under his mouth. Teeth clanking shut with certain motion.
"..touch me."
(james)
one foot heading up to make contact with his chin
one short leg deciding, instead, to settle that foot on his hip, and push
which does shove him a bit off balance
but her strength isn't his
her weight isn't his
and that's about all it gets
a shuffle step awayBig. Scarey. Lord.
he's trembling in his boots
that isn't laughter
really
no! it's not...."Maybe some other time, Laz, don't forget your whips and chains."
called over his shoulder
as he really, this time, does move away(rune)
There's a salute for Lazarus, accompanied by the click of her heels. So Garou don't go by military protocol: someone's seen some war movies, someone used to live in the shadow of Hollywood.Hands sliding into her pockets as James (by whom she managed to sidle during his confrontation with Lazarus) approaches the Beemer, fishing through the deep pockets for her keys.
BeepBeep.
Alarm system disarmed, both doors unlocked, and her hands are still tucked in the blessedly warm womb of woolen pockets, though she does have to slip one out to open the driver's side door. Voice command, that's what she needs.
"Wee-elll," the faint substance-thickened drawl, offered across the center gearshift as she slides the key into the ignition and turns the sweet little engine over (purr, baby, purr) is accompanied by a little... grin. "You've got a fan club."
(james)
by the time they reach the Beemer
he's out of the damp trench
and it's rolled into a ball on his lap when he settles into the passenger seat
slightly wet dreads a far cry better than an entirely wet coat against leather seats
the rebar tucked onto the floor
twisting to get comfortable
a bit of a glance back down the street"I had been hoping to avoid her, to be honest."
then back to her
his grin a far more familiar site on features
easy, somewhat buzzed
even with the little game that was played
hands held out to warm infront of the heat belching vents"But she tagged along with Imogen for some reason."
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 19, 2002.11.19.02. - cheshire [rune][north jersey, condo]
(james)
leather covered ankles cross on the great stucco'd dividing wall between the balcony and the rest of the world
chair tipped slightly backwards
long gray canvas covered legs stretched out
navigating this gauntlet between gravity and balance
dreads a haphazard waterfall pouring down across shoulders and chest
shadows cast sprawling across the balcony from the single light behind him
the one illumination that peeks from between the partially opened drapes
eyes the color of earth's rich soil lifting from where they rested
lifting to where, hours ago, he watched the fireball atom bomb sun dip below the horizonnow there is only the night
now there is only the drifting clouds
now there is only the errant, haphazard star that peeks towards the planet
now there is the moon, bright and full, hidden behind the partial cloudsas if some strange game of hide and seek
he wonders
from this strange itch twinged against his lumbar spine
who hides from whom?there's a part in the clouds
Luna's silvered brilliance shining
broadsword slice in the darkness
as if some sudden Bridge that offers passage to the sky
even now, he can feel the reaction
the little tug
the little pluck of heartstrings
just like the first time he saw Her with .these. eyes so many years agodark gaze drops once more
fingers still wrapped by boxer's brace flipping to the book's next page(rune)
Full moon, dark moon, bleak moon, bright moon: the crawl of it like fire beneath skin, fire beneath sinew and muscle and bone, spiritfire beneath it all, before and within and behind and above the body that somehow conspires to containg a thousand contradictions. The full moon prowls beneath her skin.And the wolf prowls beneath the full moon.
It was just dusk when she returned from the mundane but necessary task of grocery shopping. It was - just dusk - when she caught a glimpse of the moon, low and pregnant and huge and fat and silver on the eastern horizon hazed with pollution that reflected back the last of the sun's dying light as if the sky itself was burning brighter than any star. And it was just dusk when the heavy disk slipped from her view, behind a drifting bank of clouds blown in off the ocean, drifting in from the unseen gray sea. Just dusk.
It was still dusk when she returned, when her footsteps rattled through the empty condo, and the rustle of plastic bags and glass bottles broke the breathing silence, until the groceries were away.
Half-an-hour later (in the interim: pixelated death, a thousand fold, blooming on the television screen like bloodflowers. She waded through the blood of thousands and emerged triumphant, but the full moon is bright tonight, and this was not enough.) the door swings open, and she prowls onto the balcony, a dark bottle dangling negligently from her curled fingers, still hissing as carbonation escapes.
Her footsteps are (unusually) almost silent, bare feet slapping against concrete rather than high heels discarded immediately upon her return, leather whispering its usual quiet symphony in time with the great sure strides, the swing of muscled legs, the shift of curving hips beneath its hungry grasp. Rune lifts herself onto the wall, and the bottle clinks against the stucco as she rises, as she casts her dark eyes to the sky.
The moon has slipped behind the clouds once more, but they do not need to see it. Warriors that they are, they can still feel its silvered burn.
"Whatcha reading?" she asks, after a long moment, not yet dragging her eyes (the pupils, dilated: self-medication, the first and best defense against rage) from the sky. "Any good?"
(james)
as the wolf prowled beneath the moon
his eyes prowl jungle cat frenzy up the length of leather covered legsthe spanse of skin molding into slender ankle
the gentle curve of muscular calf
the slow flare of muscled thigh
the perfect curve of hips to dipping waisthow intimately he knows this
yet he still studies it as a novice pupilthe slink, the prowl, the steady climb higher
across the bars of her ribs hidden beneath her clothes
swelling curves that rise and fall with each contemplative breath
the sloping plateau of shoulder sweeping to throat and jawit's this slow study
this silent appreciation
this steady devour
of her form that finally ends upon her eyesor where they would be if she faced him
"Lewis Carrol."
murmured
night's eerie glow the silver lining silhouette of the Ahroun before him(rune)
Somehow, she stills beneath his slow, silently study, the rising tide of umber eyes, the steady devouring of her form. Without looking - without a glance in his direction - she stills to savor the steady climb of his gaze across her body, and then she moves beneath the weight of his eyes.Then she moves: the shift of curving hips to settle slow upon the balustrade, the curving stretch of spine up and back, expanding the space beneath her ribs for an endless sighing breath. Her lungs fill with the clear, cool air, and expell it humid cloud of breath as she turns to meet his eyes.
"Lewis Carrol?" Absurb, the low raw rasp of her voice, the echoed words dragged from her red mouth and offered to the night air. Lewis Carrol. She could have said: steak, medium rare. She could have said: do you want fries with that? She could have said: let's fuck.
The words would have sounded the same.
(james)
as she turns
as she moves
as she inhales
beneath the weight of his gazeit is so easily transcripted to the memory of it beneath his weight
as she turns
a steady smile begins to grow
bonfire beneath the easy warmth
molten core glow within the deep soil brownbook snipping shut between his fingers
boots removing themselves from the balustrade
weight shifting to offer the book's cover facing up to her at the end of an outstretched arm
its tattered and well-read pages seeming at home next to the rags that bind his hands"Alice in Wonderland?"
brow's lifting in recognition's question
(rune)
Alice in Wonderland.Dark eyes flicker from his gaze and graze across the title, though whether understanding somehow blooms there is an entirely different question. His eyes - all easy warmth, molten - snag hers again, the pupils devouringly (drugged) dark, too large, too wide, too much even in this twilight world.
Her back curves forward, and a long pale arm drifts out to reach the offered volume. Her fingers slip across the cover, linger on the raised whorls of the worn cloth binding, then feather across the soft slurry of well-read (beloved) pages beneath. Her hand lingers there, twisting past worn and raveling threads at the edge of the binding, tracing the faint impression of the title embossed on the bookboard as if she could read the curving letters with the shadow of touch, as if she were a blind woman reading braille.
"Alice in Wonderland. The - " a pause, the gaze turned briefly inward as she delves the depths of faulty memory. The familiar red smirk twists across her brazen red mouth as her eyes find his once more. "...calico cat?"
(james)
how easily
how willingly
how openly
he gives one of his most treasured items to her
where she could so easily turn once more
giving him only the view of her back
as she casts it into the darkness
to crash and ruin in the dew stained grass below
or perhaps onto the silvered bridge offered between cloud breaks
to land there and disappear forever beneath the next shadowcould she ever question his trust
plucking the bottle from her fingers in fair (?) trade
smiling after long swallow
the smile growing
warm
hungry"Cheshire."
(rune)
It's hardly a fair trade: a half-full bottle of beer for one of his most treasured possessions, one of this most favored things, carried and carted and saved and savored and protected through his long, hard, brief life. And she - who so easily discards her things, a thousand every month (the lipstick is old, the jacket no longer suits her, the far too expensive shoes are last year's fashion, and cannot be recycled into her wardrobe against the possibility that they will become next year's fashion) - she rises, she sliiiiiiiiiiiiiides off the balcony, one leading foot, one twisting, shifting hip - his book still in her hand."Cheshire, I knew that," she murmurs in reply, savoring the shape of the word. Sometimes she has the grace to look ashamed of her lapses. Sometimes she has sufficient wry self-awareness to make sure a remark with a self-deprecating lightless. Tonight, the moon is full and high and hungry. Tonight, the silver moon writhes beneath her skin. "Like that smile on your mouth."
She is standing in front of him now, the volume resting against her leatherclad thigh, tucked safely in one (almost) negligent hand. She is standing before him, and she is advancing on him, the slow warm heat of his smile mirrored in the raw hunger of her own. She is standing before him and she is leaning into him, dark hair falling across her pale cheek, empty hand settling on the arm of the chair in which he perches, fingers gripping the plastic, hard.
"I should wipe that smile," - the slow red curl of her smirk, the brush of her inner thigh against his knee, the crawl of her dark gaze down from his eyes, lower, and lower still. "right off your fucking mouth."
(james)
she slides
she saunters
she stalks
she scorches
with but a lookher hand clasps the arm of his chair
her thigh rests against his knee
the smooth slipwhisper of leather across canvas
expensive choice inanimately groping desperate make-dowith each step
something grew
just as the way the moon slowly swelled
as the way his mouth elongates its wicked curve
as the way his eyes burn and invitingly darkenas she stands
he risesas slow as her movement from the balustrade to his side
as slow as his eyes had climbed her form
he now stretches to leave wanton throne and meet the gaze of silvered night's (knight's?) queen
a breath as the wind shifts
an inhilation - through nose and mouth - he can smell the raw fire burning beneath her flesh, he can taste the warmth that rolls from taught body that stands so close - but not touching, not yet that close - so coyly deceptive, so tauntingly out of reach for no better than miles between them this bare inch cavern abyss on the balcony, his warm voice the echoing winds heard echoing throughout each nook and cranny in the yawning crevasse, as if daylight suddenly piercing the darkness to offer a scandalous heat all its own this moon-driven simmer that backs Rage laced words, lips moving in the slowest formation of the whisper leaned in to offer her senses
all of them"I. dare. you."
cheshire
challenging
gauntlet thrown to separate them further
drapes billow king's banner as the Gnawer moves through them into the darkness of the condoPosted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 16, 2002.11.16.02. - not yet [rune](ruine)
The Beemer's headlights slash through the rain, which seems to move in odd freeze frames through the brights, like some old black and white flickerflaring through a nickelodeon. Rune pulls into her customary place, cuts the lights and then ignition before dashing through the raindrops (not. quite.) onto the shelter of the porch.She fumbles with her keys for a minute, then lets herself into the condo and wanders into the living room. Tossing her keys on the breakfast bar, she circles to the fridge (first things first) and grabs a beer, before returning and flinging herself onto the couch. The blankets are still there, though somewhat neatened up, and she pulls one over her lap as she bends to inspect the trench.
Dark brows rise in concert as she examines the coat, then threaten to shoot up into her hairline as she plucks the card from the table and glances over the message. The faint sigh she breathes out is drowned by the pop and hiss of the opening beer bottle.
"...fuck." Well, that about summed it up.
(james)
"Little more eloquent than I was."sighed, softly
the Gnawer moving down the stairs
roughing up his dreads with a towel
been wet enough for one day
gray cargos scuffing the floor
he didn't even bother with a shirtstopping with a hip leaning against the back of the couch
looking from her
to the trench
then back to her
...... yea.... herunable to help the silly little grin
offering the towel(rune)
Rune grabs the towel from his hand, an (almost) echo of the silly grin finding its way to her mouth (where it slipslides sideways into a selfconscious smirk) and then her eyes (where it does not). Most of the towel is balled in her capable hands, but she manages to flick him (gently) with the wet of end, somewhere midchest before shaking it out and rubbing it over her dark, wet hair."Only a little?" Inevitably, her eyes track back to the trenchcoat on the table. When she continues, her voice is thickened with the tendrils of impotent frustration (the full moon is coming, baby. the full fucking moon.). "Least we can't add bad taste to the list of his crimes."
Of course, it didn't matter. Being a leech? Is enough.
(james)
he knows it
he feels it too
that edgy ripple that begins niggling just between his shoulder blades
it's coming, allrightwithout the towel
and perhaps inciting another flick
the Gnawer sliiiiiides over the back of the couch
settling comfortably on the warm leather"Decker had to ask me twice what it was..."
absently waving at the wall that separates the condos
too bad the totem phone didn't have voice mail
from the way he looks at it
the jacket unsettles him
and it's not because of who it's from"Haven't even put it on yet."
half mumbled
he's almost..... wary of it
easily forgetting it as weight shifts towards her
attention redirecting and focusinghe'd ask how her day was
but the question already dances in brown eyes(rune)
"S'probably for the best. Wouldn't want 'em to think we're... beholden to 'em. Still," she continues, another trailing glance towards the garment that so unnerves him and almost... wistful. The only thing that bothers her about the trenchcoat is the person who sent it; likely, she couldn't begin to understand James' feelings about it even if he explained them to her. "It's a really nice one. Shame a freakin' leech gave it to you."He incites another flick, and (distracted from her darker ruminations. so easily distracted in his presence) she flicks, harder this time - just enough to sting - catching him lower on his bare flank, exposed by the swing of his muscled arm.
The mute question in his eyes she reads easily enough - strange, that, she doesn't even need to think about it - and she offers a faint shrug in reply, accompanied by a (yes that would be a shit-eatin') grin. "...got the window stuff figured out. One of the Fang's relatives came by and wrote me a check for it. Won't be good 'til Friday, though, so we'll be camping out at least another week and a half."
(james)
muscle flinches beneath the flick
but it only brings a smile
sly - across the entirety of his features
hand twisting to flatten over leather
swinging arm sliding down to sneak between her hips and the pillows
the other cast across her thighsit's a chance, yes
but right now he doesn't care (sub. mit.)
body folding until shoulders snug against her
dreads sprawling across lap
cheek flattening against taught thigh
dark eyes watching the mysterious packagehe won't speak of how it makes him feel
rather murmuring"Guess you'll want me to make it warm for you again...."
(rune)
Even now, there's a part of her that just wants to kick the damn thing off the table and stuff it under the couch, so she need not think about the gift or its convoluted implications. Even now, when she is suddenly (deliciously) distracted by his arm snaking behind her hips and the frission of electricity sparks across her skin at the simple touch."You always make me warm, James." He can feel the heat in her body, the way his touch makes her pulse leap, even if only in the sudden taut awareness of his presence arching through the muscles framing her lumbar spine. She leans lower, body folding into a slender crescent as the longest strands of her spill across his trapping arm and tangle with his spilling dreads. "You always make me warm."
She is not yet so distracted, though, that she cannot manage another flick. Less stinging, more teasing than the last, it catches him on the curve of his broad shoulder as she seeks out and captures his eyes.
"And I suppose you'll want me to kiss that and make it all better..."
(james)
the warmth
the growing aggression
the tiny little scents that suddenly leak from her flesh
he can smell it beyond the rain's drench
he can smell it beyond the leather and the smoke
how easy it is for him to focus completely. on. her.how it draws a smile further upon his lips
the wistful now wanton
the withdrawn now wild
muscle flexing beneath the tiniest hint of pink from the towel's corner
twisting on the couch, to his back
how easy it is for him to find the dark pools of. her. eyes.there's a sound - soft, inviting
hands reaching to tangle fingers in spilling strands
his belly exposed, hands tighten
drawing her closer to him even though his own head lifts
murmuring against her lips"Not yet."
how easy it is for his mouth to find. hers
(rune)
How easily his mouth finds hers (lips parting as she swallows hot breath that gave wings to his murmured words. and then. more.) and how easily - how assuredly - she responds to him, one hand falling twist amongst the tangle of dreadlocks as the other finds his skin.The wandering hand finds and traces the already fading little welt raised by the flick of the wet towel, then curves down over his shoulder. It's a slow, familiar path she travels, even as she drowns in (and devours) him: over the muscled curve of his shoulder, down across the hard, sure lines of his chest as it tapers to his abdomen, lower and lower until the fine, sharp nails slide teasingly over the frayed wasteband of his BDUs. Somewhere in the middle - some breath, caught necessarily in a half-instant - he can feel her mouth curving against his, a long, slow smile.
"Not yet," she echoes, and her voice thrums low in her throat, "then when?"
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.11.16.02. - present [solo/decker-imogen][north jersey, condo]
(james)
the steps are slow, strolling
even in the pouring rain
soaked dreads hanging limp on the shoulders of tattered trench
boots making little explosions in the puddles
(Italian Tankers having replaced the Cochrans, he's surprised they were even the right size)
he's not really in a hurry
nor is he particularly watching where he's goingbut the Condo parking lot finally appears
then the sidewalk leading through the manicured planters
soon enough the condo steps(imogen)
She doesn't ask for a match, because she should be quitting. Because she of all people should know what happens when the it's lung cancer that kills you. The cigarette taps against the arm rest. Dr. Slaughter's 12 steps. Take the cigarette out. Don't light it.She flicks a damp strand of hair from her face, as she considers her answer, "In England, you've still got th'little fishing towns, those sort of places where everyone knows who y'are, and where you're from, where their grandparents know you're grandparents. And everyone does the same job their parents did, and you know you're never going to get anywhere." She doesn't sound bitter about that, perhaps because she has gotten somewhere, across the sea, to a large city, where she works the job nearly seven days a week, because she has to, and sits bare foot in forty degree weather. "Mostly fishing. If you didn't see it day in and day out, it would be rather picturesque."
A movement catches her eye, and she turns her head to watch James trudge bedraggled up the condo steps, lifting her chin in that direction.
(decker)
But you got somewhere, he could say, or maybe, are you glad you got out? but then she looks in James' direction, and her attention draws his, and his train of thought (her moment of unraveling) is interrupted.It always is.
That line appears between his eyebrow. Getting to his feet with a creak of chair hinges, the thug crosses the balcony to where Imogen sat, and past it. Leaning out into the rain - the hood would protect him from it until the hood got soaked through, which was going to happen fast enough - he calls over the noise of the downpour. "Package for you on the coffee table." You can't call it a shout. Decker doesn't shout. The volume might rise, but it's still. not. a shout. A beat, and then, "From Bastian. He left it with Imogen."
James can tell how happy Decker is about that.
(james)
the lilting tones get something of his attention
glancing over with a quirked little grin
he doesn't want to holler a hello over the deluge
so he doesn't botherthough a brow lifts as Decker leans out
pack. age. ?
that gets a pause......shit
shoulders visably sink beneath the rain heavy coat
door unlocked
and the Gnawer trudges inside
the door not exactly locked behind him
not exactly closed all the way, eitherso he's a little paranoid
it's a good ten minutes spent staring at the package
dripping on the carpet
even if he left the trench in the foyer
and the bow.... cute
but Livingston's trademark smiley face makes him feel a little better about it
(barely)
tentatively reaching out to sneak open the bow(ST)
The package was, for all intents and purposes, seemingly of the sort that the upmarket clothing stores used to wrap their merchandise... wouldn't want to wrinkle the fabric, daaaaahling!(imogen)
One foot pulls back, to avoid being trod on, a toe pushing back the ashtray out of the way. It's not that Decker is clumsy, far from it. The balcony is simply that much close quarters, particularly with chairs pushed around to help avoid the splatter with rain.Curling the leg beneath her, the other one bent, her arm draping across so her wrist lays against her ankle, chin resting on her knee, she watches as James reacts, however slightly, before walking toward the door, with no small amount of trepidation. She watches as the door half closes, staring at the dark slit of emptiness for a moment before glancing back at Decker.
Quiet, now, half listening for a sound from inside, unwilling or unwanting to continue the conversation, at least until she knows what was in the package. Like many of them, she has no trust of bastian, nor any gift he might hand out, particularly not ones brought by dead-eyed gun-toting black dressed chicks.
(james)
like he would recognize where it was from
the fine wrapping means nothing to him
nor the heavy silky bow
and when he finally gets to where he can open the toplooks like he's about ready for something to jump out of it at him
doesnt he?all ducked down
head at that canine tilt
held real low
dreads the drowned spiderlegs hanging about his face
shoulders rolling uncomfortablyit's just a present, James
.... from Mr. Creepy(decker)
To say Decker had no trust in Bastian was the understatement of the century. To say Decker wanted to rend Bastian to small bloody giblets was, perhaps, closer to the truth.James disappears inside, and Decker stays where he is, ignoring (for now) the rain rapidly soaking through his sweatshirt. Eventually, as moments pass without incident, the Modi bends his elbows and sinks down - feral for an instant, a moment, shoulderblades rising and falling under his sweatshirt - resting his weight on his folded arms. Waiting.
(ST)
Blck wrapping creche paper specifically of the type that would not bleed color into the fabric of clothing was rumpled up inside, wrapping up whatever bulky contents was contained with the present... from Mr. Creepy(james)
he's actually...... intrigued.... by the wrapping
half wondering if there is anything past the paper
(double paper? how odd....)
a hand is wiped on the carpet
a finger poooookes gently at the crecheoh there is something beneath it
that's about when he slowly peels the paper aside to find what else is in the box
(imogen)
If Imogen did want to rend Bastian into small bloody giblets, it would be a useless desire, because it would be impossible. She'll settle for her distrust and leave it at that. Her eyes fall on the Fenrir for a moment, waiting, before returning to the open windows and door of the condo. Something's gotta happen sometime.Beyond them, and in front of them, behind them, the rain has begun to taper off, the deluge trickling off into a drizzle, a falling mist, spraying across the black streets, catching light in it's droplets, making the world ethereal in a way. Nothing beautiful about it, almost plain. Just a different perspective.
(ST)
The smell of fresh, unscarred leather stings the senses as creche paper is carefully (ever so carefully) pulled away to reveal an article of clothing of some sort - obviously leather and obviously heavy - folded neatly in the box.(james)
well just color him confusedcautious, too
but finally the Gnawer wipes both hands on the carpet
just to make sure they're dry
and pulls the article of clothing out(ST)
As he drags the leather clothing from its nest of papers, it unfolds into a leather trench coat quite accurate in size to fit the yonng Bone Gnawer. Safety pinned to the brand tag at the nape of the neck was a small fold of paper with -Jukebox- enscribed in flowing, flowering letters from an age long past. But atleast it was legible, right? Pretty and legible.What if Bastian had a crush on James? Oh boy... that's an even creepier thought...
(decker)
"The hell's takin' 'im so long," mutters Decker under his breath, alert and quiet, compressed and coiled. A moment later, the thought echoes across the totem's wings - Hell's takin' you so long? What is it?(james)
the Ahroun simply staresflat. out. stares.
something tells him this is probably, without a doubt, the most money he's ever held in his hands
(and something makes him go cold, deep down inside.... and it's not the rain)
but he's fascinated by it
the heavy stitching
the long panels
the inner pockets
the patterend quiltinghe's careful to keep it away from his soaked BDUs when finally unpinning the note
seeing if there's anything written inside(imogen)
She doesn't answer Decker, because the question isn't really directed at her. She has no special vantage point or special knowledge.One hand absently rubs at her neck beneath the weight of her damp hair, eyes still on the empty holes that are the condos windows and doors.
(ST)
The handwriting is flawless, with tapering curls and flowing squiggles among the cursive handwriting, that obviously assumed that James could actually read and decipher cursive easily enough....I had noticed during your journey through the sewers you were in need of a newer coat, more particular to this cooler weather. Do not be concerned, I expect nothing in return...
It was signed with a flourish, a dark sytlish "B" that bled deeply into the pourous writing paper that was of as fine a quality as the leather coat clutched in James' hands.
(james)
he can read, quite well actually
so the flowing script is little trouble
but he still only stares at it
the totem phone call finally breaching throughIt's..... a coat.....
most normal denizens would be thrilled
he sounds rather..... withdrawn
he can't accept this
he can't(decker)
Imogen, to be sure, is intelligent enough to know Decker has some way of speaking to his packmates that does not use the usual channels of communication. Something is spoken, somehow, and some of the tension bleeds from the Modi, who straightens at last and whips the now-drenched hood back from his head.He doesn't have enough hair to end up with wet hair and pneumonia, but the sodden hood lying against his sodden back is annoying. His eyes flicker sideways toward Imogen and he tells her, "Was just a jacket."
(imogen)
She doesn't bother to ask how Decker knows the answer, suddenly. While not completely up to date on the communication of the pack, it's at least something she's seen in before.An eyebrow lifts as he speaks and her attention shifts to him, a free hand lifting to run through her damp hair. "He sent him a jacket." Repitition, half disbelieving as her other eyebrow arches, and she shakes her head, dismissing it, eyes flickering toward the balcony over hang where water still drips, falling in singular drops, as the rain has slowed once more. Her attention returns to Decker dark eyes sweeping across his body, clearly outlined by the porch light, "You're soaked," she notes, as if he couldn't tell.
(decker)
Corded shoulders shrug under damp black heathercloth. She's known him long enough that she can start guessing at the unspoken. Beats me. "'S what he said."Another glance at her, then - or, no. Not a glance. A look. Head turns first, then body, facing her as one hand fiddles with the wet hood, squeezing water out before giving the endeavor up as hopeless. A faint smirk as he watches her watching him - looks at her, looking at him.
"Yeah Einstein. Soaked."
(james)
there's a mess of time spent on contemplation
deep thought that furrows the Gnawer's brow
but at the end, he simple leaves the leather trench where it is
walking over to smack the door shut
then making his way to the upstairs showerPosted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 14, 2002.11.14.02. - anything but easy [rune][north jersey, rune's condo]
(rune)
Somewhere between four a.m., when she finally let him sleep (he was injured. she went easy on him) and eight a.m., Rune crawled out of bed, shuffled her sleep-starved body into the luxurious custom shower, and stumbled down the stairs to perch blearily on the couch. For three hours, she struggled to remain awake - brewing a pot of coffee, getting up whenever her heavy eyes fell closed to pace around the room and re-energize for another five or ten minutes of hurry up and wait, retreating to the back deck or the front porch and smoking like a fiend, heading back inside to blink at the 15 pages of "Windows" and "Window Services" and "Window Repair" and "Windows - Replacement" in the yellow pages, frowning faintly at the trick of it all. Back home, someone would have taken care of it for her.Delivery: between 8 a.m. and 11 a.m. - that's what the receipt said, in a fine computerized script and like most of her tribe, she had an unrelenting faith in things computerized.
11 a.m. came and went without any sign of the promised delivery van, and Rune promptly fell asleep on the couch. At 3 p.m., she was awakened by the half-startled Excuse me ma'am of the delivery driver, peering in the shattered front window. He was even more startled by the sudden-almost violence of her response. (It is not a good thing, to startle a sleeping Garou. Two long, sure steps and she was half-way across the room when she realized that the man was no threat.) Half-an-hour later, the equipment - (new camera, new scanner, new laptops, brand new 21" flat panel monitor among other things) - was hooked up and humming, and the still sleepy Glasswalker sat down to play.
Twenty minutes later, she was asleep again. On the laptop screen: the bloody red screen of first-person shooter death. On the desktop monitor, a webcam shot of someone's desk chair with a sign taped to the back Elise: you fell asleep. Back later., an almost incomprehensible scrawl of blue ink on white paper.
Her legs were curled beneath her, pale against the smooth pile of the carpet, pale against the dark gleam of the boxers she tugged on early in the morning, anticipating a quick delivery. The spaghetti straps of her little camisole have fallen from her shoulders, and rest in a slack parabola against the cut and curve of bicep, and the hem of the garment has ridden up (the strange angle of her pose, no doubt) to reveal the curve of her low back and the smooth flare of her hips. Her head rests at an awkward angle, cheek against the edge of the low table that holds the computer equipment at the right height for someone sitting cross-legged on the floor, forearm pillowing her brow, dark hair spilling over the keyboard that had been so rudely shoved aside.
(james)
even though she went easy on him the night stretched long, luxurious
like some slow storm roiling over the horizon
heavy clouds lazy crawl and tumble over the mountains of flesh and bed
near silent thunder crackling lightning from the blistering heat of skin touching skinit didn't surprise him to find her already awake and gone
steaming water soothing away remnant aches and pains
he learned quickly - smelling like his soap from the bar stashed among her things
the path down the stairs slightest hobble
healed completey now? yes
still tender? you betcha
dark eyes wandering towards the glow in the growing darknessbare shoulder finds its place against the wall
head tilting, dreads spilling over the dark scars on his back
simply watching
gaze tracing the curves of flesh and muscle highlighted by eerie monitor glow
the way the camisole pulls and stretches
the way the boxers pool and flare
the way slow breaths create a gentle rhythm throughout her frame
he can't help the little grin that begins curving his lips
seeing her asleep admist her new toysthere's the sound of frayed BDU cuffs on the plush carpet
finally crossing the distance between
settling to sit crosslegged at the side of the low table
letting his scent filter into her subconscious
(he knows better than to startle a sleeping Garou)
and then
only then
does a hand reach out
gently tracing over the semi-tangle inky silk of hair
and when her weight shifts towards the touch, towards him, like a part of him way down deep knows it will
he moves a little closer
strong arm sliding round her shoulders to move her so. slowly. so. carefully.
drawing her half into his lap
cradling arms a far cry more forgiving and comfortable than the table
but he still makes no sound to wake her(rune)
He makes no sound to wake her, and his scent has filtered (.safe.pack.more.) into her sleeping mind, and so for some time she does not wake. She sleeps on, cradled in the curve of his arms. Her dreaming head lolls against his chest, turning and burrowing close and closer into the familiar tunnel of his scent.In this sleep - good and strong and deep - all her hard, sure edges vanish. The curve of her mouth is gentle, and the so-knowing-arc of her brow, smooth. Long legs curl beneath her as she shifts still closer and one hand settles soft to curve around his flank. Every breath is slow and sweet, the gentle rhythm some sighing sea, without a shore in sight against which it must break itself in a futile, devouring battle.
At last, she begins to stir - shifting closer in the restless of half-sleep, lifting her head blindly to find the gift of his skin, murmuring some incomprehensible nonsense in the strange language of dreams. She wakes in his arms, and the faint sleeping smile lingers on her lips as the murmuring half-voiced words become little more than a low hum of appreciation, lingers, even, as her mouth finds his skin.
"Good morning." He will feel the words before he hears them, pressed into the hollow of his collarbone where she blundered so blindly upon wakening. The tip of her nose brushes against his cheek as her mouth finds the hollow at the juncture of jaw and neck, as her teeth find the lobe of his ear. "Sleep well?"
(james)
every sleep driven shift
every unconscious curl
every sinking breath
he draws her closer
reveling in this very, very rare moment
memorizing this absent softness she so easily places behind her sure surface
pleasure found it is shared with him, even if she makes no effort to do sohe cannot help the stretch beneath blind wandering touches
always offering more to which she demands
thrilled the murmuring tickle of lips stumbling over skin
the clutch of teeth upon ear"Mmhmm...."
sighed in appreciation the simple affections
head ducking to return a lupine nuzzle
the deft, breif contacts of skin
more assuring than endless words
but unable to help the softest tease"Did you enjoy your toys?"
they face mostly away from the desk
monitor's glow silhouetteing the spidering mane of dreads
their shadows cast across what he can see of her face
the backlight curve of bare shoulder
he may ask of her toys
but he wouldn't know enough to even name what they were
it wasn't even in his mind to glance at the screen
totally focused on her(rune)
"...mmmhmmm." His mumble of pleasure is returned in kind, and her breath spills humid and warm across the curve of his ear. There's something unutterably playful in the slow throat-sound. "iiiiiiiiii did."She is moving again. She is moving in his arms, and the hand still curved around his flank tightens until the tips of dark red nails are pressing into his flesh, almost fitting the furrow of one of the dark scars on his back. Her weight shifts forward - her torso is pressed against his, each slow sleepy breath causing her body to rise and fall against his in certain (familiar. remembered. necessary) rhythm - until she has uncurled herself, half-risen, and settled in his lap facing him, long legs a loose circle around his waist.
"I should probably turn it off, though, before my uncle comes back" she continues, lifting her head from his shoulder and sending a brief glance over her shoulder at the screen before looking back to capture his gaze with her own. "But I don't really want to move."
(james)
muscle hitches to draw the smile deeper, wider
like the furrows her nails have put into his back
strong arms circling, gathering
hands sliding along the lean muscles running from tailbone to ribs
smoothing her against his chestfamiliar
remembered
necessary
.craved.deep umber flickering to where her gaze leads
all too quickly drawn back to her - forgetting the monitor
confused to what her Uncle has to do with any of itthe loose circle of her legs about his waist
mimicked by the tightening embrace of arms around hers
drawing her snugly closer
soft boxers pressed against rough canvas"Just.... don't move.... away?"
whatever distance left between them breached
words scalding as they're placed just beneath the curve of her jaw(rune)
(The monitor that casts them in such an eerie half-light, the empty chair and the darkened room pictured there, the eye of the camera focused just to their right, the low hum of the desktop's fan and the uncle to whom she must have been speaking across the highspeed connection and who had promised to return forgotten, forgotten, all forgotten.)"Oh.
.fuck."
Not quite a sweet nothing, the two words that fall hard from the parting (red. blood. fucking. red.) lips. Her chin is rising, opening the smooth line of her vulnerable throat to the depredations of his hot mouth, and her thighs tighten reflexively around his hips.
(Bodies in motion.)
Slim fingers curve over muscled shoulders, dragging (digging) deep the sharp, gleaming nails into tanned skin, riding the bunch and pull of muscle, pushing him back and down, and down, and down. That look. Those eyes, burning. That slow, knowing smile, and the sudden burn of her voice, wicked, into his ear.
"I should make you fucking fight for it."
Oh, he knows her.
She always keeps her promises.(james)
teeth wander 'cross flesh
hard enamel against vulnerable throat
pinpointing the throbbing pulse hidden just beneath
how implicit..... this trust
how indulgent.... this exploration
as if by nipped touch alone he could release the fount that geysers
rumbling from so far below, this savage gut reaction
temperatures rise
bodies fall
down, and down, and downnothing but fire and brimstone
smoldering glances and granite muscle
lava flow of knowing smiles and challenging words
the very carpet could burn beneath the roll and spread and shift of weightand dominance
the inky strands of hair spreads shadows cross the plush pile
his hands tracing up her arms to answer the challenge
wrists braced, shackled, gripped before fingers spread to slide palm against palm
twining to lock these two Full-Moons in intimate, loving battle"You've only just awoken..... this once..... I'll go easy on you."
warm sacrifice murmurered offering against lips darker than the blood that rushes through them
and how she knows him
how she knows from the promise in devouring kiss
she knows
this fight will be anything but easyPosted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 13, 2002.11.13.02. - schreie in der nacht [rune][north jersey, rune's condo]
(james)
after the battle had raged in the parking lot
after the Gnawer had hobbled his way back into the condo
after the wounds had been cleaned (just in case)
after the bones had been set (just to save time)
after the Ahroun had collapsed, exhausted, onto the couch
after the sun's dawning rays had begun peeking through the drawn curtainshe slept
right there
on the couch
not passing go
not collecting any amount of cash
crashing and burning right then and therejungle vine dreads spread in lazy array across the soft leather
left arm thrown over his eyes to block the brightness of the day
dark bruises along his jaw slowly crossing the barrier from mauled purple to soothed yellow
right arm kept close to his side, unjostled, as the bone there, too set throughout the passing hours
the ruined boot had been pried off, the swelling rising then falling away again as impaled foot ventured to healshadows began to lengthen
strange little armies crawling and snaking their way across plush carpet lands
to the couch, to the far walls, towards the kitchen
the sun's descent plunging the world into slow, comfortable darkness
he doesn't want to wake just yet
not yet
he finally found a position that negates the processional aches and pains
(rune)
The night before, she snuck out to resupply the basics: pot (they were out. the pack smoked weed like fiends.) and benzodiazepines (she was out. she took Xanax like there was no tomorrow.) Three beers and half-a-bottle of whiskey with her friendly neighborhood dealer later, Rune stumbled down the street and checked into the Motel 6 where her car was parked. Somewhere around ten a.m., an inquisitive maid had woken her up. It was the first time she had seen morning on waking in......weeks. One long, steaming shower later, Rune hit the upscale malls scattered around the northern Jersey suburbs with a vengeance, AmEx in hand. The day was one long, delicious headache, bright sunshine gleaming off the rows of parked cars only a bit more dazzling than her self-satisfied smirk.
The low-slung western sun cast long shadows across the parking lot, as Rune climbed out of her Z3 and gathered the innumerable bags stuffed haphazardly into the little Beamer's little trunk. Somehow, she managed to balance all of them on her long arms and still have a free hand for the steaming bag of Indian take-out she'd picked up on the way back home. After some fumbling at the door (the key, the full hands, the nigh awkward juggling of boxes and bags full of tissue in which all little treasures were tucked) she made it half-way through the foyer before dropping the first bag on the blood-spattered carpet, and half-way through the living room before dropping enough of her burdens (they littered the path from the door like breadcrumbs dropped by children lost in a haunted forest) and actually noticing the blood trail.
"...fuck." The rest of the packages (except for the Indian food) fell from opening arms, one great whoomph of sound. She circled the couch and placed the aromatic bag of take-out on the edge of the coffee table, then sidled by to the edge of the couch. Her shadow fell briefly across her sleeping packmate's face, lowering as she sank into a crouch beside him, angling for a better look. He was breathing, the remnants of a healing bruise sallow beneath the tanned skin but she was loathe to wake him from his nap.
Two minutes later she was settled on the floor, back resting against the couch, an open beer in her hand. Another - unopened - rested on the coffee table, waiting for him to awaken.
(james)
the key's fumble tugged at his dreams
dropped bags sudden strange rain pitpattering in subconscious landscape
whoomph
sudden downpour sending flash floods across the valleys between the mountains
darkness shadowed the twisting trees
solar eclipse pulling away to reveal a glittering dew-strewn landscape
breeze washing tidal with the scents of..... Indian food?
it's a slow stretch that lifts his arm
peeking at the shadowy form that's slow to come into focus
lips tugging into a lopsided grin
smooth voice still thick from sleep"Hey...."
talk about a sight for sore eyes
(rune)
"...hey you." The little grin rises unbidden to her mouth, hidden from him by the fall of hair across her cheek until she tucks one long leg beneath her and half-rises enough to turn to the side and glance up. That's a new shade of red on her curving mouth - he must know the usual color so well by now - just a hint darker than her usual blood-red shade, matched perfectly to her freshly painted nails, which gleam as they spread out along the leather couch where her hand curves over the cushion."Feeling better? What happened here?" Her cheek settles beside the curving hand, grazing the edge of the cushion. The fine pale skin reflects dully in the smooth leather, a pool of almost-light in darkness. Afterthough, dark eyes grazing the fading bruise, "...oh, I picked up some take-out, but I can make you some chicken soup if you'd prefer."
(james)
the movement is slow, aching
but the little lopsided grin grows
he knows the usual color
though he certainly likes this one
good arm moving enough to let knuckles softly graze her brow
fingers stretch to comb through primped and perfected hair
a brow lifting at the offeramused at the tease, that she would still pamper him
amused at the simple thought of Rune in the kitchen
not something he ever expected"I should be able to handle it if I don't have to chew too much."
the movement is slow, aching
using muscle through his belly and legs rather than arms to crawl into sitting up
gingerly testing heel against carpet before even considering letting his foot rest
making room on the couch for her
tentatively stretching to test how far healed the bone beneath bicep is from crowbar insult"Dire came by for another visit."
as if that summed everything up
and it does, actually
until he's satisfied with the movement in his arm and tells the rest of the story(rune)
The dark, dark eyes half-close as as rough knuckles graze the smooth skin of her brow, lashes a dark smudge against the arrogant line of her pale cheek. And as his fingers stretch to slip-slide into inky strands of shining hair, her head drifts forward, prolonging the caress, listening ruminatively to his tale.Somewhere in the middle of the story, she opened the second dark glass bottle and hands it to him before rising. She gains her feet easily, lean body arching into a lingering stretch that begins with the toes and curling in high-heeled boots and unfurls through her body, unselfconscious and animal, ending at last in the out-stretched fingers flung high back and above her head.
She scatters the little aluminum bowls of take-out covered in round cardboard lids and plastic domes across the coffee table, leaving the hors d'oeuvres and finger foods in his easy reach, a platter of tandoori chicken so tender it falls off the bone, fry breads, samosas, chutney and raita - enough to feed an army, enough to feed a pack. Then she settles on the couch beside him, curling close enough that he can feel the faint heat of her body staining his skin, close enough that her scent washes over him, alcohol and engine fumes, ash and musk.
(Rune in the kitchen: an amusing thought. This wild creature, this superficially human animal, puttering through the paces of the ideal human female, opening a can of soup and setting it to simmer, not bothering to add a second can of water. The Indian food is probably his best choice, even if he has to chew.)
"I ordered a new monitor and a new laptop, but they'll be delivered tomorrow," she says, continuing the Kafka-esque tale of her day - the labyrinths of shops, the new lipstick - and flashes him an almost abashed little grin. "...no room in the trunk."
(james)
the careless animal stretch
the way a body lengthens to offer itself in simple celebration of being
unfurling a brilliant flag in heavenward wind which snaps vicious with primal energy
the hand that wraps around the bottle stretches further
beer cradled between thumb, ring and pinky
first two fingers extending to trace horizontal the tight tight tight length of muscle offered
just where her shirt pulls above belta simple touch
a simple affection
a simple reaffirmationgaze rising to catch the dark red curve he knows will be there
a healthy (?) swallow taken from the bottle before its set on the table
as she joins him on whispering leather he folds foreward to hook hands beneath the coffeetable lip
dragging it closer so neither have to reach
and the way he dives into the banquet set before him
it's obvious healing is hungry work
no matter how much each chew aches
he's marching through it like a soldiersome cadet in the foreign legion
surrounded by scents seeping heady from the bazaar
stained by scents washing from the exotic animal next to him
black salt alcohol cinnamon engine fumes cloves ash nutmeg muskanother grin after a swallow
infectious her almost abashed expression
he enjoys hearing her prattle on
he enjoys the tones that find their way into her voice
gesturing towards the void of the plasma tv with a naked chicken bone"Have you thought what to do about that yet?"
he knows how expensive those are
no mere monitor or laptop
though the question isn't expectant
he wasn't one to watch it much anyway
it was curiosity(rune)
How her body responds to him, curving slow out of the long, delicious stretch and into the slow trace of his fingers across her form, hand folding over his and .pressing. his fingers like a hot brand sizzling into smooth, burning skin."No fucking clue," she replies, the abashed grin slipping into a slick little smirk as she takes a breather from her own feast. Healing is hungry work; so too, is shopping, and she is no mere human woman, to pick lightly at her food. He knows the energy contained in that lean body, the furnace of spirit and rage within that drives and consumes her, for it drives and consumes him, as well. There's a little hesitation then, an elegant answering gesture emphasized by the ragged length of fry bread tucked between her left index finger and thumb. "I... I could call my parents, I guess."
(She has parents? Strange, she just doesn't seem the type even if he knows it has to be true. She could not have walked out of the pages of Vogue, fully formed, like Athena from the aching head of Zeus, like Aphrodite rising from the lavish sea.)
"But..." another smirk, and this one is self-concious. Perhaps she's aware of the ridiculousness of a twenty-five year old woman, a warrior, a full-moon, an eleven-year veteran of the ward, calling home to beg for money because the television's broken. One year ago, she wouldn't have given it a thought. She continues, her dark voice more quiet now, "....I don't really want to. I might see if my uncle can help - he takes care of the credit cards - but I think it would be too much.
"Maybe I'll just fucking leave it up," she continues at last, wryly, "...call it modern art."
(james)
for some, there are commands in words, phrases spoke or writ, etched permanent into the mortar slabs of time and memory, slavish tones that rattle and roar across the battlefields which brings armies to attention or their knees with the power of sound and rationfor others, there are commands in gestures, a look, a touch, fingertips a simple pluck across taught strings wiring muscle to bone to tendon all beneath the glowing warm cover of flesh, a silence that fulfills presence of mind over matter with the ease of which it reaches skims touches and .presses. skin as the ultimate conductee
it is the latter he knows
he that could, would, never lead the pack
he knows how to lead her body
he knows how to bridge the silent commands between them
to make nerves sing
to make muscles burn
he's learned it
he desires it
for the very same molten sea that thrives deep within her soul, that drives her
most definitely drives and tempts him, toothe heated thoughts soothed in the soft roll of laughter
"Would you mind a smaller, far less glamorous version infront it for awhile, then?"
(rune)
She settles back against the sighing couch, pressing the last shred of crispy-chewy bread into her red mouth and flashes him a close lipped grin. The wave of her hand is a little apologia for the necessary business of eating, chewing, to feed the fire within, and must hold him until she has at last swallowed down the bite of bread."Mmmm..." she murmurs as she struggles to down the last bite, one long finger pressed against closed lips, dark nail gleaming like fresh blood. She comes up laughing at her own raw greed, the inelegance of the moment, caught in the quotidian, and yet, when restless dark eyes settle upon him again, the laughter bleeds away, leaving only dark flame. "...wouldn't mind at all.
"...least I could play the fucking playstation, and the crap space invaders on my phone." The pause, the sly curve of her grin, the movement of her body ever-so-minutely closer, until thigh rests against thigh, daring so much in the eyes of the world, with the windows open for all to see and the lights projecting their figures against the shifting pale curtains like shadows on the wall of Plato's allegorical cave. Her head is listing to the side, the smooth ends of dark hair brushing against his shoulder, and she continues, mock-mournfully. "...I've already beaten the big boss alien twice."
(james)
of all things
they understand feeding inner fires
they understand refueling after exhaustive days (and nights)
they understand the full-bodied greed which can suddenly squeeze an undeniable grip
they understand.... in a strange way.... each otheras she shifts closer
riding above the waves of the exotic spices
he can so easily find that scent, that musk, that oil clinging to her skin that essentially defines her
no matter how much she washes
no matter how much she perfumes
no matter how much she lotions
he will always be able to find the one intangible , maddeningly abstract clue that will always reveal her to him even after all the masks, scents, clothing, rank and Tribe have been stripped away
he knows the ease with which it will cling to his skin
the light touch of silken inky strands a hundred tiny paintbrushes that smear it to his shirt
the sheer closeness allowing him to fill his lungs with it
with her"Well.... there's a pawn shop down on Chester that's got a 36"..... couple years old, not quite a Plasma but it will accept the PlayStation and the cable and whatever else you had hooked up... good shape..... and the last fifty bucks needed to pay for it is in my coat."
that's when he finally looks over
not at the shadows playing on the curtains
not at the way they sway in evening's breeze
just at hershe knows damn well he doesn't have any use for a tv
but he knows she and the pack do(rune)
Think of how much (phantom) money she just spent. Packages litter the condo from the door to the living room, little shining stones by which one can trace her path, which lead to the treasure trove where the rest just .fell. from her arms when she noticed the telltale spatterstains of bloodpath on the carpet. Boots and coats and blouses and shoes, lotions and lipsticks and pots and jars and unnecessary little alchemical bottles promising to turn aging, sagging, flaking, discolored skin into the modern gold; silky underthings and smooth outterthings and new burgundy sheets for the bed; and a completely unnecessary set of martini glasses, complete with stainless steel shaker with a clever dial that turns to reveal the recipe of any of 30 drinks, some of which no one has drunk for thirty years.Think of this, because Rune does not.
"Thank you," she replies simply, some small half-grin settling easily on her full mouth. It's still an odd expression to see there. She was made to smirk, and no matter how many times he sees it, the grin must always be a little... unexpected. "...you must've noticed how useless I am without the fucking stimulation."
Oh, there's the smirk, spreading knowingly across her mouth and crinkling the corners of dark eyes shadowed with smoke. It just crawls across her mouth as she lifts her lowering head to catch his gaze, as her lean body stills.
(james)
unexpected.... or craved?
more important than the sun's warming rays to a dying plant
more important than the life-giving air to a baby's first breath
more important than the cooling water across a bedouin's tongue
more important than the warming food to a beggar
is that smile
that genuine happiness
that upward curve not colored by smug or spite
how easy it is for him to look past the mask"I rather liked how narrow the fucking stimulation options were."
umber deep and raw as the tilled earth
mahogany slick and polished as the wind burmed tree
how one so importantly depends on the other
without the supportive soil the tree will topple
without the deep wrought roots the earth will crumble landslide's wayshe stills
time stills
he drowns in dark-filled pools
(he's already realized how comfortable he is here, even if he won't admit it)(rune)
Thus captured, her eyes remain on his another minute... or five. Absent the blaring music, absent the inane chatter of the television or the frenetic pace of the video games, absent, even, the ticking of a clock (shattered. all. shattered.), there is no way to measure the passage of time. The sun disappeared beneath the horizon while they devoured their feast and the world outside the windows is silverdark. Perhaps some sixth sense, some awareness of the rhythms of body, blood, breath relays the measure of the moment to the some primitive part of the civilized mind.She breaks the glance, at last, leaning forward to find the complicated remote buried underneath the remnants of their meal scattered across the gleaming lacquered coffee table like jetsom on a nightblack sea. Deft fingers fly over the touchpad, and (discretion being the better part of valor) the wired room goes dark.
"I think the television can wait another day."
Her voice is throaty again and not from too many cigarettes (though he can smell the ashen scent, coiled around her swinging hair, twining through the weave of her clothes, settled against her skin) and she is leaning forward, rising to shift her body to one knee, briefly balanced in the awkward pose by her other foot, cast carelessly to the floor. She is rising and she is twisting - the direction is telegraphed by the liquid lines of the mock turtleneck that curl and sheer against the motion of her body, beneath. Facing him, she curves forward and rests her hand on the lip of leather behind his back. The cushion sighs and creaks in response to the sudden burden of her weight on one knee, until she brings the other up and settles astride his lap, both knees sinking into the cushions now, on either side of this thighs.
Her eyes find his again, catching and holding (that look, he will remember. he will always remember) them as her hands find their way into his hair, crawling through the rough tangles of dreads like pale spiders. And as her mouth finds his, her voice slipslides into his mind, sly and knowing and sure.
You're injured. Just this once, I'll go easy on you.
(james)
to the animal
to the beast
time doesn't matter
there's little thought of tomorrow
there's little thought of yesterday
it's all about living the now
it's all about surviving the now
it's all about fulfilling the .now.and now
in the darkness
in the silence
in the absence of everything else that burdens them
in the thick blanket of heady spicey scents that is the barest memory of dinner
there is only .her.and how that hunger changes
as if spawned by the sudden sounds of leather murmuring the shift of weight
as if inspired by the sultry tones that twine incense through her voice
the sudden clutch of hands to hips to capture this animal and draw it closer
some coveted endangered specie that is suddenly and simply .his.that look
he could never forget
just like the errant smile that finds wonton presence in flickering seconds gracing red red (dark red) lips
he craves it
even in the darkness he knows it's thereit is strange the myriad concoction of appetites that they must feed
the way skin touches
sighed breath shaking into moan
the way the silence speaks
sly and knowing and sure
the way his hands crawl beneath clothing to find warm, burning skin
hunger growing - growling - to blistering cravePosted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 12, 2002.11.12.02. - ouch [decker-imogen-dire][north jersey, rune's condo
insert some madness here about how the scene got started, it can be found at decker's archive
this is Wolf logging in and saving Damon's ass for a second time in one night]
(decker)
The Modi takes the hit much as Dire does, stepping along the line of motion to lessen the impact. A loose shake of his head to clear it, doglike, wolflike; a roll of his shoulders; a steady, slow walk toward Dire. One step at a time. Feel the balcony vibrate under his weight. Feel the stairs, one two three."Sidin' with that bitch-ass whinin' Fianna 'gainst yer own tribe." Yeah, Dire can tell him Decker said that, too. "Tattlin' on my pack when I warned yer ass not to. 'N that's just me."
My pack. My business.
He leaps the last four steps, hits the ground stalking. Hair sprouts, sideburns, heavy and blond - Glabro form - still advancing slow and easy. Taut and ready.
(james)
he had ignored the knocking on the door
whomsoever he would have wanted to talk to would have a key
but it's amazing what one can hear through open windows
when they're laying real still and quiet on the couch..... ta kick yer fuckin' ass
lovely
yet more evening fun with the Modi
totem phone! hello?WHAM!
has him up and heading to the door
reaching to grab the two rebar sticks from the propped sling
one end of each is wrapped in strips of linen
the other ends?
when they pull out of the sling?
unwrapped
sharpened to razored pointsCRACK!
has him opening the door
steppin' outside into the chilly night air
look, it's his favorite Skald
something of a wry grin finds its way across young features
the rebar propped across his shoulders as he descends towards the fight
musing"Though I said he wasn't welcome around here....."
(dire)
*He cuts a few back hand springs clearly retreating from the man, still holding onto babe*I didn't side with any Fianna aginst my tribe. I explained, after you left what happened and made him understand. * Another back flip cut to greaten distance this one with no hands. The young get is keenly agile and acrobatic.*
And I didn't have to tattle on your pack. He already knew. He just asked if it was true. I don't LIE for anyone.
* he watches Decker with those icy blue eyes. In combat now and acutly aware of his surroundings least somone sneak up on him. Being the breed he is, the punch already healed. The door to the other condo opening and Dire arking a brow. He might just have to run here in a moment. Not just yet though. His eyes on Decker* So why you sending people to Rough up Nova if it's me you wanted to talk to? *The tatto down his left arm tingles, ready to lend it's aid if called apon but he doupts it'd go that far right out in the street*
(decker)
"Ain't nobody sent nobody."Elongated canines interfere with speech. There's a slight aspirated lisp to his words, which are low, thick with what might be ...amusement. The Skald keeps back in leaps and bounds; the Modi advances deliberate and steady, step by heavy step. On one shoulder, the brazen black tribal tattoo. On the other, the blazing black crisscrossing lines, savage as the glyph, larger, slashing down his arms.
Favorite. Pastime.
"Ain't nobody talkin' no more, neither."Silence falls. The prowl becomes a flat-out sprint, gathered low, a battering ram, a fuckin ballistic missile.
(dire)
Ain't what I heard. * back hand spring, cart wheel, flip flip.* So I see. A drat that. * then decker charges.Dires feet spread a moment he crouches low and then shoots straight up. Babe coming out as well to clang over the top of the light pole he'd manuvered under and he swings up.* I've no wish to fight you brother. *Gaining a squat up there.* I defended BOTH our actions to the Celt after you left. Not just mine.
(imogen)
The combat draws itself outward and down the porch steps, fast and furious (deadly); James is drawn out, raising his voice in a half taunt, half challenge.She cannot simply shut the door and go back inside. Nor can she for obvious reasons, join the fight; standing at the balcony, useless (there are so few things she is good for in this life) grates.
Door shuts behind her and her eyes scan the other condos, brow furrowing as she steps forward, choosing the lesser of the evils.
(james)
as the Modi gets the Skald to keep backing up?
the Gnawer keeps plowing forward
long strides that eat up city blocks covering the lawn in no timesending people to rough up Nova?
the hell?the rebar sticks drop
one into each hand
balled end just behind his fists
the gleaming points angled towards the ground
loose
easysavages in the jungle use rattan sticks to break bone and skin
savages in the city use lengths of steelhe's not jumping in yet
he's already had one bout tonight with outnumbered beatings
but he's close enough to do a lot of damage if the window opens up(decker)
Does it really look like he's listening? Because he's not. As Dire gathers himself to jump, Decker's eyes flash between the ground, the Skald, and the light post. Up goes Dire. Straightahead goes Decker.CRASH goes his shoulder into the light post and - fuckin' hell, HOW? - knocks it over. Like a fuckin' oak felled by an axe.
In the next breath the Modi's on Dire, feet planted firm and exact, liquidy-smooth, abandoning the block for the grab. Dire can hammer whatever he wants to into Decker. Decker has one goal: one hand grabbing the likely dazed (how did he knock it over? Fuckin' pole of steel ripped right out of the ground--) Skald by the hair, the other balled into a devastating fist, hammering four punches to the head and a last to the gut, machine-gun rapid, arm blurring.
(Must be a trick of the light, right?)
His packmate at his back. Decker feels it. More than that, he feels James' eagerness. Decker had his own fights, his own bones to pick; James had his. This one? James'. The Modi's fist comes loose from the Skald's hair and he bows out - just as James cuts in.
(dire)
CRASH! * Dire rides it down a platinum blond brow going up at the impressivness of the act. A soft chuckel right before he hits the ground and rolls with it. SLAM as fleash meets the turrf and then Decker is on him PUNCH PUNCH PUNCH in his face and PUNCH in his gut. Ouch Ouch OUCH,... Ouch. Hey... what the FUCK he actually FELT THAT FUCKING SHIT. He grunts and gets off one swingcracking him in the knee with the crowbar that seems to be bonded to his hand. Wack. Not as strong as Decker. Truth be told the Punchesd hurting far more than he figure they would. he spits blood to the side as he rolls shakily on to all 4s, Face already reknitting as the blood flows freely from it onto the ground. Melopdic voice going though the blood* ok..... that hurt... gotta teach me that one... * SPIT, a large chunck of bit tongue onto the ground as it's already rehealing and he comes up to one knee. Eyes on James and his toys. A coff from the devistating gut punch and he nods to James* Be right with ya.
(imogen)
The light post is smashed over with a sudden spray of sparks and a shatter of glass and crackling of light before dying, and the area is plunged into a murkiness that is not quite shadow.Someone else must have heard the sounds and cracks of bone metal and flesh against bone must catch some sleeping humans attention.
One benefit the Garou have in their war against... themselves.
Their rage. No one dares to come out.The red haired kinfolk watches in an encompassing silence, hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans (edge of the pocket scraping against the gouges of flesh), taut and waiting.
(james)
"If you've no wish to fight, then leave."snarled
he's warned him once
he's not warning him again
this is itBring it.
he already seems to have no problems picking fights with the Ahroun
and since it appears Decker isn't inviting him into the condo any longer
he doesn't have qualms about this
not one bitwhen Decker steps out?
he steps in
slipping into that pre-warmed jacket of Eagle's strength
he's fast
he's stronger than he looks
and he's a helluva lot pissier than even Decker
twisting
swinging both sticks in succession
WHAM one razor-bladed end slices across Dire's face - his eyes
WHAM the second one smashes into his throatAll bless Kali, baby
(dire)
*Sadly the Gets pain had been a ruse. Calling on a gift he'd learn far before the bone gnawer had likly even learned to shift he'd lured him in. As the rebar comes around Babe comes up and parrys them both CLLANGCLAANG!!! catching them and letting them travel up the iron into the hook and thrusting them aside. He cuts another backflip from his crouch and lands on his feet. He smiles darkly and spits a last glob of blood at the gnawer* You're not Get boy.. you sure you want a piece of this?(decker)
Christ alFUCKINGmighty, that knee again. The kneecap cracks; tendons strain painfully. In a human, that would result in lameness for weeks. Months. Possibly forever, if the bone healed wrong.Turned away already, Decker starts limping back up the walk he'd taken down. Dire's words draw a brief, flickering smirk across his mouth - not that Dire would be able to tell from his vantage point, in the newfound darkness cast over the walk when the lightpost (which still flickers fitfully now and then, as if not quite ready to give up the ghost yet) came crashing down.
Halfway to the stairs, the limp is a slight shuffle. At the base of the stairs, it's barely that. Behind him, CLANGing, taunting. Must make Imogen feel like she's back in her fishing village full of Garou again.
Halfway up the stairs, he's back in his homid (never human) form. A glance up at her. A small shrug.
(imogen)
Decker is forever cursed to have that knee damaged. She can count it being pulled, broken, maimed, shoot on three seperate occasions, and that's within the last month and a half. She does not move from where she stands, watching as the Fenrir Modi limps, shuffles and then nearly strides as he reaches her. Dark eyes flicker across him, resting on his hands, "You'll need to wash them again," she says, quietly, drawing her elbows in close against her body.Never human. How his violence must seem almost unreal to her. Or perhaps all too real, memories from the fishing village, bleak thoughts and darker days. Grow up around inhumanity and you learn to lose a little bit of it yourself.
Or hide it, most of the time.
(james)
"And you're no full moon, no matter your family."you'd think the impact of rebar on crowbar would have given him carpal tunnel by now
gotta love Garou healing
he can feel Eagle's strength rippling through him
exciting that Rage
quite a smile he's got on, too"I'll take a piece out of you.... any Dancer.... or any fucking leech that comes into my territory when I've told them not to. Now either get out, or get up."
(dire)
*he smiles his face finally back to it's normal looking norm but in a sheen of dripping viscos red now.*You've been wanting a piece of me for a while now limp dick. We might as well have this out while we're at it. * He slips out of the new jacket he libertated from a biker not long before and tosses it over with his bag and tosses Babe back and forth and nods*
Time for the Man dance baby, First dance is yours.
* a grin, that melodic voice taunting as he moves a bit from side to side*
I'm going to slap you silly and fuck you stupid with this here crow bar and when we're done mayby I'll buy you a beer.
So step up to the plate and have a-go.
(james)
"Limp dick."sneered through a chuckle
"You know..... even though you're a Get? I'd expect a better insult from a Skald."
dreads shake
but when you're invited to dance, it's simply rude to not jump in
when the Gnawer moves, metal blurs
each CLANG or rebar vs crowbar echoing in the parking lot
he's fast, but the Get is faster
each blow blocked
but while the Get is strong, he's stronger
each blow driving the Skald further and further backget. CLANG! the. CLANG! fuck. CLANG! outta. CLANG! my. CLANG! terri. CLANG! tory.
there's a misfire
James... meet Babe
jaw cracking on impact
son of a....
it forces him down and to the side
and while the Skald is fast
he's pissed
ducking under
stepping behind
spinning to backhand swing
Eagle's Might
every ounce of his strength goes into the impact on the back of Dire's skull
right at that sweet spot
right at the baseyea, thick as Get's skulls are, even they will crack wide open under that brutality
(dire)
Yeah limp dick.
Did I studder? Oh you want better? Ok How about.* they blurr into action. When somone attacks you it's simply rude not to meet them with all you got.
Each clang of Rebar vs Crowbar Hurting his hands like a mother fucker.
He falls back from the sheer power of the gnawers attack. figuring out pretty quickly that Deckers and his strength isn't all their own..*
Imbread! * clang*
Knuckel dragging! * clang*
Pussy lick! *Clang*
Mouth breathing! *clang*
Street Trash! * clang*
Troglidite!!! * clang!!** then babe gets up and taps the gnawers jaw and spins him down and around.
Having been clacked in the back of the head one too many times for his own liking he bends to the side at a FUCKED UP angle and takes the rebar though his left shoulder.
SKILTH!THe sharpened end peires fleash but the wiry Get knows a thing or two about pig stickers.
He continues his bend and throws a spin into it, ripping that rebar from James' hand as he gains a bit of distance, blood starting to trickel from the wound.
Babe held in the other hand. Still feeling no pain he nods*
Now ya just gotta tell me. how you get so strong?
* a wry grin. He doesn't seem to concerned at the moment.*
I'm thinkin' it's gotta be your totem. Cuz it' sure aint' your SHOES!
* his hand comes up and grips the rebar and with a blurred motion, a bit of his rage pouring out the rebar is pulled from his shoulder and launched down and thourh the foot of the gnawer. Dire leaps high, leaving a faint little blood ark as he goes up up and over. landing behind the momentarily immoble gnawer and bringinBabe down on the mans elbo
CRUNCH. Then as the last rebar falls He simply steps away and straightens up. Babe lowerd to his side and his head tilted as well. unseen under the flannel shirt his wound already healing. It'd went straight though but othe single redeeming grave of being born Metis is that you ALWAYS heal.*
We good now? You wann keep dancing?
(james)
SON! OF!! A!!! BITCH!!!!it's not as if having a shaft of rebar thrust through your foot is bad enough
this? is his only pair of boots
you can fuck with a Gnawer
you don't fuck with his stuffit's the fracturing bone in his arm that actually gets a growling yelp out of him
glaring at the Skald"No, we're not good. And I think you've ruined my chances of dancing competantly... or at least with any rhythm."
reaching and PULLING the rebar out of his foot
FUCKING CHRIST
red clouds his vision from the pain(dire)
*he nods and looks at his shirt* I liked this shirt. * he srugs* Your white.. I think. You can't dance anyway. So... how about that beer? * he grunts as the hole THOUGH his shoulder heales. The gift keeping the pain he KNOWS should be there from effecting him*(james)
there's a smirk
and actually?
he laughsyep, fucking laughs
he can't get up yet, what else is he supposed to do?
he's not as quick on healing as Mr. Dire Warning over here"May have to rain check tonight, they won't appreciate my bleeding all over the bar."
just accept it James
and he actually holds a hand out"Allright, we're good."
(get)
*he nods and walks over. Helps the man up and nods to him* Catch ya later then. * he walks over. Gathering up his jacket. HIS JACKET now. and puts it on over the healing hole. He grabs his bag and nods heading out. That was fine. The get and the Gnawer played. As far as the get was concerned the Gnawer showed good graces. It's over for him any way.* I know where I can get you some boots. I'll toss um on your porch before dawn.(james)
his jaw hurts
his arm hurts
his foot... really... hurtsbut that actually gets something of a lopsided grin
"Thanks. Alpha's law still stands though.... next time you need something? Call first... send a note.... allright?"
dark eyes look to the porch
it's not.... that... far... is it?(dire)
*he nods* No problem. I'll stay away now. Only came because I thought you were lookin for me. * The get doesn't dishonor the Gnawer by offering help. He turns to go get those boots from the same place he got the jacket*(james)
he wouldn't have asked for the help anyway
though appreciates the lack of offer, in a strange little way
of course, he's not clarifying what Alpha's law was, either
exactlyand it's a slow journey
collecting the tossed rebar
hopping, shuffling and limping his way back
it'd be easier if he could use both arms for balance
lots of pauses
we won't even go into the trial of the stairs
or that Rune is going to kill him for bleeding on the carpetbut he makes it
(dire)
*After a bit he returns carrying the boots. A gentle lob and they land with Thumps on the deck and DIre turns heading for the barrens. The biker wouldn't miss them. They wern't half bad. Looking like Italian Tank boots*Posted by james at 12:00 AM.11.12.02. - one foot [decker-raven-rune][north jersey]
(decker)
Walking down the street: Decker and James. The latter is visibly out of it; the former is silent, sullen, on-edge. Hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweatshirt, cuffs of his dark blue denims scuffing the sidewalk, Decker moves with his head down, hood up, storm-grey eyes sweeping a path left to right under the ledge of his nordic brow. In his left thigh pocket, a brand-new stash of MJ. In the right hip pocket, a battered wallet on a clinking chain, quite a bit lighter.You give, you take.
(raven mendoza)
It was dark. It was drizzling ever so slightly. The concrete pavements were slick with run off. Puddles collected in pot-holes and cracks, putrid and rank with old, tainted water. Garbage littered the gutters and fluttered down the road like tumbleweeds from an old Wild West movie. The area was pretty nondescript. Sort of quiet for a weekday. The guess was that everyone in the niehgborhood had run on home to sit infront of the idiot box, stuffing their face with nuked, flavorless food.What a night...
(james)
out of it?
he looks like he's smoked about the same amount that's in his packmate's pocket
cept his eyes aren't hazed from blaze
it's something else
far deeperdreads swing with each step
dark eyes watching ahead, even if he doesn't really see it
tattered tails snap around Cochran'd ankles
hands find place to hide in trench pocketshe was told to get up, walk, go out
so he didthat's the amazing thing about giving
no matter how much you give, selflessly, generously, completely
you don't always want what it is that you end up taking
(raven)
Banking to the left of the curb, an alleyway mouth gaped open like an open invitation walkway into the abyss of human depravity. They'd already passed a motley mixture of hookers turning their tricks, johns perusing the streets for kicks, dealers pressing their wares, no hopers smacked out of their head and drooling on shop front steps, and bums huddling in layers of newspaper in an attempt to keep warm.To the left, however, there was commotion. Sounds the stirred any Rage filled breast. The muffled signature of flesh pounding flesh. The cries of a brawl in progress.
(decker)
Gotta go check on his truck sometime. Gotta go see if that piece of shit mechanic's fixed his piece of shit truck so he can get off this piece of shit sneaker express. Gotta--Sounds of a brawl. Decker's favorite pastime. His head comes up, and one hand paws the hood down to rest against his back. Funny, inner city thugs. Always walked slouched, hunched over as though not from infirmity but from the poisonous power coiled in their veins. Like that which makes them the beasts of the concrete jungle keeps them from walking like a man, on two feet, straight.
In his pocket, one hand clenches, knuckles popping softly. Without a word to his packmate - none was needed - Decker slants the angle of his path, crossing the street with a glance over his shoulder.
Let's see wassup.
(raven)
Deep in the darkness of the alleyway, penetrated by only thin shafts of illumination that casted ghastly outlines of the brawl, there were four people standing around a singular figure that was down on one knee, by the look of things. Four young teenage thugs based themselves in a square around the partially fallen figure.The alleyay, itself, ran long and narrow. A straight line onto another street behind. The buildings were tall, decaying, delapidated. No one was pouring money into this neighborhood for renovations and a face lift, that was for sure.
(james)
it isn't until the unconscious realization of Decker's direction that he notices the gut reaction that's been brewing for a few yards now
funny, the things one pays attention to
he's not even a half step behindthere's not much of a height difference between the two Ahroun
it's practically negligable - not even an inch
its the way they walk that makes all the difference
Decker - prowling, low slung, powerful, taught and tense and coiled
James - shoulders straight, head up, easy swinging feline gate that can cross a city without breaking a sweat
then you look in their eyesstormy gray skies
earth's umber warmth
both backed by the always burning inferno of Ragewhen they round the corner to the alley
seems the Gnawer clicks back a step towards reality
fingers curling around something in his right trench pocket(raven)
Like a morbid paraody of Death itself, a long figure was coming from the exact opposite direction of Decker and James: from the other end of the alleyway, to be percise. Closer than they were, but walking with a casual ease. A slow, steady stride that didn't break once. Their outline, encompassed mainly by shadows and the occasional flicker of light gleaming off a long cylindrical length of metal casually resting over one shoulder. A swagger. A step. The lone figure headed towards the ruckus in progress.(decker)
As the Modi closes in, the scene laid out comes into focus. Four thugs, one victim. Nothing unusual, that. Decker takes his own slow pace. Might interfere. Most likely won't. Looked like a gang thing and Decker wasn't dumb enough to get mixed up too deep in that shit. Don't piss off the black kids, don't piss off the latinos. Keep your head down nose clean, and you won't have all the other shit to worry about on top of this Apocalypse shit.And then. A change.
The grey eyes narrow and his chin rises, squinting in that lazy half-lidded way boys who grew up in swamp-haze have. You live in the desert, you get that crinkled squint. You live in the deep south, you get this one. There are as many forms of human squinting as there are of human death.
A notch faster.
(raven)
The fight ensued, a madness of minds broiled with anger, hate and fear. For a good part of the exchange of blows, however, the figure in the center was throwing some decent right hooks and even managed to take one of the thugs in the knee with a brick that was lying discarded, but close to hand. The knee attack was a last straw, it seems, and three of the teenage thugs laid in with steel capped boots that had their victim in a ball on the ground, trying vainly to cover their head from the shower of connecting blows.
And still, from the other end of the alley, the lone figure stalked.Then, strangely, the lone figure, metal baseball bat (or a length of steel pipe, it was hard to tell in this dim light) stopped several feet away from the brawling. Leaned, actually, on one of the industrial bins and just.... watched the brutality.
(james)
some people know better
some people would walk away
some people would know to not get involvednot when there's three against one
not when one's on the ground
not when the guy walking up has been theretongue curls against the upper pallete, rolling against his teeth
harsh whistle blasting over the sounds of boots on bone and skin
excuse me, boys?(raven)
Smash. The sound of glass shattering against concrete. A broken bottle - discarded indiscrimanately by the human refuse of this neighborhood and now picked up by a youth fighting for their life - waves wildly at body and limbs. Slicing into exposed flesh and tearing material like warm metal through butter. Shouts and vulgar swearing filled the air, swirling and grating on the ears. The cat still had one of it's nine lives left, yet.It was Jame's whistle that had distracted the onslaught of blows. Had given their victim, covered in gang colors, time to grab the bottle and shatter the end of it into an improptu weapon. It was James that had given the victim an upper hand.
It had distracted them till the blood had started flowing.
And the gun had been pulled from baggy jeans...
(raven)
A gun brought a new level to the whole situation. It took it to a new level of violence that most people don't want to go to. If you ever pull a gun, you'd better be sure that you are willing to use it. You'd better be sure that you are willing to shoot whatever you pointed it at, no matter for how long.The whistle of metal cutting through the air. The howl of pain. The crunch of bone splintering and flesh tearing. The sight of a heavy metal baseballbat collecting the thug that drew the gun upside the side of the head.
It was like the whole scene was shunted into slow motion. A frozen picture in time; a glass image falling... caught in a time capsule before it shatters on the ground. Adrenaline kicking in. The whole world turns around you and you wouldn't have a clue. It was one of those moments.
One was definately down for the count. The other three trapped between Decker charging like a rhino and the figure weilding the baseball bat that just crumpled their leader. It was like being cuaght between a rock and a hard place.
They chose to run. Away. Far. Quickly. Straight past the figure weilding the bat, who didn't move one inch to sto their flight. Who just stood there, bat tip resting on the cracked, slick concrete, hand resting lightly on the handle top.
Silence save for the multiple sounds of feet running in all directions. Away and towards.
(james)
oh
a gun
how terrifying
how manly of you, Mr. Gang Member
be still my beating heart
I'm so impressedwhatever happened to the days of bloody knuckles, switchblades and drag rages to settle turf wars?
why is it everyone has to pop a cap into somebody else's ass to prove things?
it's days like this he understands the Banpaying a lot of attention to it right now, arencha, Jamey-boy?
well, it's not a man
technically
as the Modi strips and sprints
he just withdraws his hand from his pocket
low lights glinting off loosely held brass
he will always have his packmate's backone stranger runs towards the guys
one stranger waltzes in, arms held to the side in a mocking invitation
one stranger cracks a skull open with an aluminum bathe can't help the smile that brings, however slight
or the slight chuckle as the little thugs scatter like cockroaches when the lights come onthat was exciting
(decker)
Rhino? Not quite. For all the strength of the Modi, he's still young. He's yet to develop the oak-uprooting physique of the elders of his tribe. The shoulders are broad, but the hips are slim; the legs long, and fast.They think they're running.
(Victim was a girl.)
Decker has another thought for them.Pounding down the alleyway, wolf exploding from the cage, Decker ...swoops, fingers snatching the abandoned brick from the ground without missing a stride. A heartbeat later, the brick whistles past the watching figure close enough to wash a breeze over her cheek and crashes into the back of the closest skull.
One more. Running off. Can't let him escape either. Decker leaps the brick-brained one (crumpled heap on the ground now...deal with him later. Yeah.) and takes off after the last.
One thought in his mind.
Kill 'em all.(raven)
The figure that was standing there, casually using the baseball bat like some twisted version of a walking cane, didn't even flinch as the brick tore past her head and into one of the fleeing thugs. One eyebrow arched slowly as Decker then continued the pursuit, breezing past on long legs, with death blazing in his eyes.Eyes rolls towards heaven as the woman taps the end of the baseball bat with one boot, causing it to swing upwards. With a helpful flick of the wrist, it lands back over one shoulder and she casually meanders towards the thug she had brained. She lent down, raven hair sliding forward and covering her face like a cascade of black water. She collected the Glock, jiggling it from the thugs numb fingers, and stuck it into her waist band before nudging the poor boy (head wounds tend to bleed profusely and he was doing just so all over the concrete) with a boot. A shrug of the shoulder. A casual dismissal of the youth as she headed for the girl that was a victim of the abuse. The girl, dressed to the nines in gang clothes, was unsteadily lurching onto her feet while attempting to stem the flow of blood from a broken nose.
(james)
one down
one to go
and he's caught even before reaching the end of the alleywayyeah
that's them
Urban Cham-peens
protectors of them recieving beatings
upholders of all that is righteous in the laws of the concrete jungle
smokers of the almighty weed
oh... and Gaia's Warriors somewhere along the way
something like thata brow lifts over dark eyes
looking down at the beaten girl
hands slipping back into his pockets
and not exactly within bottle swiping reach"Hang on there cowboy, stem the bleeding before you run off anywhere. Y'allright?"
there you go again
picking up that damned drawl
a glance flicks to the bat weidling stranger(decker)
Caught before reaching the end of the alleyway. Snatched up by a hand fisted in the back of his jacket. Hauled back by Eagle's strength, grabbed by the hair with both hands, smacked face-first into the wall. Fragile bones of the face crunch; sinuses burst; teeth shatter. Crunch.And again.
And again.
And again.Decker doesn't look like he's about to stop. He doesn't intend to stop until all that remained of the boy's face was mush and blood. There's a wild and fierce blaze in his eyes, and an odd little curve at the edges of his lips.
Pretend it's Daddy.
Gaia's Warriors. Something like that.(raven)
The 'bat wielding stranger' was dressed in casual black. It migh have been street black, if the neighborhood hadn't been as bad, and the punks had style. Black jeans. Black t-shirt. Black leather jacket. Black belt. Black boots. Black... holster? Uh... She swung the bat off her shoulder, resting the tip on the concrete again and appearing (looks can be decieving) to lean her weight against it.The female ganger spat blood from her mouth, awfully close to the woman's boot, and looked up at her - a face drenched in blood, a nose that was broken and sporting what was going to be one hell of a shiner in the morning.
"You took your fuckin' time. I coulda been killed, you fucking bitch!" The teenager growled, bubbles of blood foaming around her lips and dribbling sluggishly down her chin.
The woman, eyes like glaciers in color and emotional warmth, merely raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to one side.
"I know."
"I could have been killed, you whoring duche-bag!" the teenage spat after a few dull moments as the woman's words and their meaning finally sank in.
"I'm well aware of this." Cool and remote. Calm and collected. Raven hair and glacier eyes.
(james)
well then
the kid can speak
the kid can swear
the kid can spitthat should qualify as allright
shoulders shrug from beneath the trench
up walks the bat bearing stranger, obviously in control
out walks the Bone Gnawer, this is not his problem any longershould probably go stop Decker before he breaks the wall
(rune)
.clack.clack.clack. - end of the alleyway, heels against concrete slick with whatever mix of urine and blood and the viscous oozing ... whatever ... that inevitably leaks from garbage piled together, slow-rotting in black bags dumped haphazardly about, to simmer in the pale warmth of the autumn sun. The long shadow spilled deep into the narrow-walled den, amber light from the streetlight diffuse where her shadow did not fall, sallowing her skin and making her eyes little more than dark hollows.(Again. And again. And again. Decker doesn't look like he's going to stop.) Then: he does. Released, the kid - he's nothing more than that, neither are anything more than kids - slid slowly down the brick wall, pink froth bubbling slowly from the ruin of his... mouth, or nose. So pulped is the face that the distinction of features are lost.
(decker)
His hands come loose slowly, unwillingly. His palms are red and sticky. Strands of hair - dark, curly (when are you going to fix that lovely hair of yours so it looks nice, Joel? - maybe the kid had been his momma's darling once) - swim and slide on the congealing blood. As though dazed, the Modi wipes his hands off on his pants, darkening the already dark blue of the denim, and turns to face the Glass Walker.He knows what she did.
He knows damn well what she did, to raise that gnawing nagging worm of fear in him."Don't you never do that again."
(raven)
"WHY?" the youth screams, a blood-curdling rage filled anger streaming through the word as she swung at the woman with the broken bottle still clutched in one hand like a lifeline."I told you to stop selling that shit to kids, Ranch. You do it again and next time.... You will be dead."
She deflects the broken glass bottle thrust at her with an open palm smacking the girl's forearm to the side, before her fingers wrap around the arm and squeeze, while twisting it up behind her back. The bottle drops.
Smash... For the second time that night in this alley way, glass shattered against the concrete. She manuveres the girl, using her own body weight against her, onto her knees. Raven black hair. Glacier eyes. The woman in black with the baseball bat (oh! it rhymes!) stares down with uncompromising distaste for the girl.
"Go home, Ranch. Get off my streets."
She releases the girl, allowing the ganger to drop into a curled heap at her feet and then turns away.
Back to the crumpled teeanger with her head split open from her well placed smack with the bar. Crouching, fingers at the throat searching for a pulse.
(james)
he just keeps walking towards his packmates
smash.... footsteps....
not his problem anymore
whatever it was that brought him back to the surface is slowly leaking away again
a bit of a grin crawling over his lips
Oh.... Hi Rune
but it disappears(raven)
Two were alive, if somewhat out for the count for who knew how long a period of time. Decker's own poor discarded victim probably wouldn't be that lucky. The kid had a face that was nigh on unreconizable. At least to look at. Teeth were another matter, of course. What were left of them, that is.Silent as the stalker that stares in your window while you are fast asleep in bed. Darker than any shadow, dressed in black, and thus never quite blending in. Cold enough, so far, that if she dropped any more emotion along the way she'd give you freezer burn.
Straight up behind James and to Rune and Decker. Straight through them all to the crumpled heap that was all that Decker left of the once vibrant - whole - youth. She crouches down, grabs one of the kids ankles and then drags him back into the alleway.
A pause part way in. She drops the leg in her hand and crouches again, lifting the heavy cover of a man-hole leading into the sewers.
Always clean up the mess. Less questions that way.
(james)
hmm....
lady... grab... drag.... manhole cover moving.... sploosh
that would explain some of the smell of what he had been crawling through the other night
lovelyhe mostly misses Decker's stalk away
something else snags his attention
reaching out, hand warm as it closes around Rune's wrist
dark eyes fall to the bandage
then look up to search her gaze
questioning(raven)
She wasn't a large woman in any sense of the word. Horizontally or vertically. Yet, the man hole came away from its nestled crevice easily enough and was set aside. She nudged the body towards the hole, expertly (if you can judge that sort of thing) feeding the thugs body into the manhole.Sploosh was definately one way to describe the sound of the body hitting - whatever - down in the sewer tunnel.
"If you've finished with the group hug..."
She straightens up from her crouch, fingers neatly withdrawing a black handkerchief from inside her jacket to wipe her hands with.
(rune)
There's another shrug, lilting up and back down in relief: Decker's only response. She's not going to push him; she knows better than to push him. Her gaze skims the woman as she drags the kid back to the manhole, drops the body into the sewers, and she swallows the inward sigh.Rune's starting to back away, one foot edging backwards, shoulders twisting in brief telegraph of the directional change, when James grasps her wrist and snags her eyes.
It's nothing. ...dark eyes shying away, tooth snagging the inner curve of her lower lip. Nothing: she had hurt worse, and would again. Nothing at all, but for now, it burns and itches and aches. Tendons of her wrist flex James' hand as she stretches the palm. See? Nothing at all.
(decker)
Seemed like the lovedoves were too wrapped up in each other to hear the woman. Decker shoves his (red) hands into his pockets and starts walking down the alley away from his packmates, grey eyes snapping up to catch on the stranger's as he goes.Doesn't say a thing. If she had something to say, she could say it. Otherwise, he'd walk right past her and out the other end of the alley - and from there, off into the city. Miles, hours, all night, looking for trouble.
(james)
his thumb moves a slow trace against the edge of her hand
Then why hasn't it healed yet....
he knows how quickly she can heal
her mad dash through the Barrens caused more damage
and healed completely the next morning
there's worry in his eyesa thousand reasons
but only one he'll let showreleasing his packmate's wrist
the Gnawer turns towards the voice in the alley
group hug? what?(raven)
A baseball bat extended out sideway, directly acorss Decker's chest coming within a hairs breath of it but not actually touching. A metal barricade in his path."I ain't cleaning up all of this shit, kiddies."
Indeed, even if this was a bad neighborhood, there were cops driving around surveying most hours. The stop the pimps, the tricks, the dealers, the druggies, the bums, the gangers, the waste of humanity causing more trouble that was already around.
(decker)
Flicker. Soon as the baseball bat comes across his path, his hand comes up and closes viselike about the shaft, just above the neck and just below the wider head. He tears it from her grasp in a forehanded jerk of his arm; it comes back on a brutal backhanded swing that's sure to break her skull open.If she was human, that is.
Which she doesn't seem to be.The bat grinds to a stop. The edges of his mouth twitch as though he wanted to bare his teeth, animal-like. His fingers come loose and the bat clangs to the ground, a red handprint on cool steel. A harder rasp to his voice than usual, as though he'd forgotten how to speak in the interim, "Call Stanley fuckin' Steemer."
Decker jerks the hood up over his head and starts walking again.
(rune)
It'll heal. Her mind voice is harder-edged the second time, perhaps even mulish. When the Gnawer releases her hand, she allows it to find to her side, then buries in her jacket pocket, fingers curled into a stubborn half-fist, nails snagging on the loose weave of the gauze."Looks like it was her shit in the first fucking place." The words are muttered: Decker is capable of speaking for himself, and given the situation, she's not going to intervene further, yet. Dark eyes narrowing, shoulders square forward, alert as she sidles two steps and falls in beside James.
(james)
at that tone, he just doesn't push it
shoving everything down and deep
dark eyes glance around at what's left in the alley"Seems you've cleaned up all that needs to be. Obvious gang scuff. Cops'll understand."
common
just look at the neighborhood and the facts
one guy left bears wounds of her bat, common weapon of choice
one guy left bears wounds of the brick, another common weapon, grab that when they go
one guy..... do you know how hard it is to find fingerprints in fresh blood or crushed skull? It would be impossible to track prints from Decker's hand wrapped in hair, anyway
and he, himself, hasn't even touched anything
nor has Runeso... he moves in, grabs the offending brick, and tucks it into one voluminous pocket in the trench
"There. You didn't do it all by yourself."
that's about when he sees Decker's little move
well, there goes the no fingerprints idea(raven)
Glacier blue eyes narrow ever so slightly, watching (examining) Decker trudging from the alleyway with his hood pulled back up around his face. Hiding him from the world, it appears. Wolf in sheep's clothing.She didn't blink as the bat came crashing towards her head, stopping oh so close to her. She did move her head back and to the side slightly, however. You can't be entirely blase about a piece of metal swung at your head, after all. Especially not the bat you just brained someone with. Especially not when weilding by the maniac that pile-drived a kid's face into a wall till it was crumpled blood and bone ooze.
She crouches, retrieving the bat and then proceeds to drop it down into the sewer also. The harsh scraping of metal against concrete as she pushes it - with a foot - back into place.. Clang!
She heads down the alleyway, that slow stalk taking her in the same direction as Decker, a hand removing a packet of cigarettes from a jacket pocket.
(the dull outline of a black piece in an equally dark holster)
"A light?"
Spoken to the back of Decker's head as they both walk, a few meters between them.
(decker)
He doesn't seem to have heard at first. He keeps walking, slouched back into the ghetto swagger, hands in his pockets, shoulders swaying. At the mouth of the alley, though, the thug slows, stops, snorts from inside his hood and turns around.Light's at his back. In the shadow of the hood, the faint glint of his grey eyes is visible; that and an impression of the harsh strong planes of his face. Wolf in sheep's clothing or not, he has a way, an angle of holding his head that reduces all the world to inconsequentiality under his nose. After a moment, one hand comes out of the sweatshirt pocket, delves into the right thigh pocket of his pants, and comes out with a box of sulfur matches.
He doesn't look down to fish one out, slide the box closed and drop it back in his pocket with a rattle like dry bones. He's too damn riled up, too damn ornery to look anywhere but straight in the face of whomever (whatever) faces him down. A beat, and then the Modi comes back toward the woman in black. Careless, he puts out his hand, scritches the match to life along the rough wall of the alley, and holds it out to her.
(rune)
Well.Another minute passes, with Rune just staring after Decker and the stranger - the bat, the gun - torn between whether to stay (he did not want her there; he probably did not need her there) or follow (the dull outline of a black piece in equally black leather, the casual professional way she shoved the dying boy's body into the sewer, replaced the fucking manhole, sealed his fucking tomb).
Indecision is the worst sort of cancer. Her hackles are still up, somehow, but there's nothing to be done, there's nothing that needs to be done. There's nothing she can do.
"Where y'all going somewhere?" spoken at last, perhaps reluctantly, to the Gnawer. Dark eyes shift from Decker's retreating form to the side of James' face, cast in the garish, sullen shadow of the sodium vapor streetlights, then fall lower, to the weighted pocket tugging the right side of his trench lower and lower.
Maybe she meant something else, though it's hard to tell. The question is devoid of subtext.
(raven)
She extracts a single cigarette, running her fingers down it to straighten out the slight kinks in tobacoo and paper from being in a pack that had been abused somewhere along the line. She places it between her lips, leaning into the flame and touching the end of the cancer stick to it. It flares red as she drags the toxic fumes deep into her lungs.The small flame, the glow of the red cigarette tip... it illuminates her face in a cavorting dance of light, dark, hell red, oblivion black, and cool glacial blue eyes nestled among long, stark black lashes.
She straightens, plucking the cigarette from between her lips with two fingers. She then reaches up and smothers the tiny flame, burning down the match stick hungrily, with two fingers. She plucks it from his and tosses it negligently into a collecting mound of debris off to one side of the alleyway mouth.
"Thanks An exhalation slowly upards, followed by a single smoke ring.
(james)
for him?
it's the fact the woman slid the manhole cover back with one!! foot!! that clenched it
he's seen some pretty cold people
so the body dump doesn't seem out of the ordinary
the cool, professional demeanor doesn't seem out of the ordinary
asking for a light, in this group, definitely doesn't seem out of the ordinarybut he knows how much manhole covers weigh
normal, healthy grown men tend to strain at least a littleshoulders hitch through a shrug
adjusting the jacket to compensate for the brick
he doesn't look back at his..... packmate
he looks down"Not particularly."
he was just along for the ride anyways
growled at to get out of the condo for some forsaken reason
he's not completely looking down though
keeping a partial eye on Decker and the lady
that's about all that's stopping him from slinking merrily away(decker)
Decker and the lady.Funny how that happens. Woman dresses stylish, woman smokes a cigarette like she should have it at the end of an chanel-black holder, woman pinches a flame out and plucks the match away and tosses it aside with that sort of understated flair and suddenly - she's a lady.
The Modi watches her, and then he watches the smoke ring. Another quiet snort. He wipes his hands off again on the side of his pants. "Whatever."
She dumps a boy down a sewer to drown. She slides the manhole back and asks for a light. And Decker? Could care less right now how iffy that all looked.
(raven)
She stares at Decker for a long thirty seconds that just seems to draw out even longer than it would normally seem in a situation like this. The cool tension near on vibrated in the air, hanging like a pall over the alley. It was going to attract attention soon enough. It always did.Her head cants to the side, long raven hair sliding across one of her shoulders and spilling like black spider-web silk.
"Coffee?"
The only way that one could actually tell it was a question and not just a random word was the faint arch of one eyebrow, questioning.
(rune)
She just... stands there, another moment, and lets the awkward silence descend another bloody inch, left arm swinging inanely at her side. The movement stops, abruptly, and she tucks her hand deliberately into her left pocket, shoving her hands forward to bring the smooth lines of the coat forward, almost closed.Which, of course, doesn't satisfy her either. Motion begins again, on the other side this time, bandaged palm curving around the long rectangular box of cigarettes, extracting one and bringing it to her mouth with a long slow breath that could be a sigh, or could just be a frustrated exhalation. Two awkward attempts with the lighter in her right hand, one more with her less favored left hand, and the cigarette is finally lit. Smoke spills from her mouth, drifts upward to wreathe their heads in the ashen scent.
"You gonna be okay?" It comes out of nowhere, and just... sits there, frustatingly flat in the rotten air. It wasn't what she meant to say.
(decker)
The fuck?Thug bashes boy's face into mush. Lady dumps boy into sewer. Thug almost bashes lady's head in. Lady asks thug for a match. Thug lights her cigarette. Lady asks thug out for coffee.
Are we missing a step?
Decker tilts his jaw up a notch, brow half-furrowed. Gunmetal eyes glance off black hair, pale blue eyes. Flick away like a spark from a flame. An incredulous snort that might've been a laugh once, long long ago. "You fuckin' kiddin' me?"
(james)
Decker wasn't at the morgue last night sending something [little girl] to final death
so it would explain why the Gnawer is a little more suspicious of the situation than the Modi
Eagle's voice enters his packmate's mind like a proverbial smack upside the back of his head
Think you might want to have a talk with Imogen about the new marks on her arm and how they might relate to your new friend there, Decker.
he's not suuuuuure about what she iscall him paranoid
so far nothing is saying she's not
then his attention shifts back to the side
watching the smoke curl near invisable barrier between them"Think so..."
quiet. real quiet.
translation: I have no idea.(decker)
Decker's grey eyes flicker over the woman's shoulder in James' direction. Neutral, cool: Marks on her arm?(that. is. not. okay.)
(raven)
Cool silence. Chilled winter air. Cold personalities. In one stop. Hell, you could make a tray of ice cubes in a minute flat among this crowd. She watches Decker for another thirty seconds or so before slowly turning to glance over her shoulder at James and Rune with icy blue eyes through a shroud of raven silk hair.Exhalation of tainted smoke. A fall of ash as a finger taps the cigarette once. Who died? seemed like an appropriate question a stranger passing by could ask this crowd.
She looks back at Decker, one corner of her lip curling ever so slightly into a strange smile before she shrugs one shoulder. She slides her free hand into a jacket pocket and then begins... to walk away.
(rune)
Like the marks on mine.That snapped her out of it, snapped her out of something, whatever it is.
They haven't healed yet.
Like James, Decker would know the significance of that. Rune exhales sharply, then flicks the cigarette to the side, barely touched. End over end it falls, sparking in the darkness. She sidesteps - leatherclad shoulder bumping faintly against James' own, head lowering faintly, even as her eyes flicker up to Decker, shadowed in the distance.
(james)
no it's not
he's very aware of this
damn good tool in getting the Modi's attention, wasn't itand you know how some people just know when to shut up?
the Gnawer would be one of them
and now would be a good time
hands actually withdrawing from his pockets to cross his chest
he's not giving up jack until his packmate is safe and away
for all he knows, if she is what he thinks she is (one!! foot!!!), then she could be planning on using the Modi as a straw for that coffee... and then where would we be, hm?yea, boyo, skull cracking temptress or some information about what happened to your girl last night
s'up to you(this is gonna hurt)
when the leatherclad shoulder bumps into his
weight shifts
leaning so slightly against it(raven)
Far down the stretch of the road a cop car slowly crawls its way down towards the alleyway, scanning the alcoves of buildings for any suspicious activity. It's their job. Serve and protect. Or something like that.Walking away, turning onto the sidewalk. Cigarette in one hand, the other deep in a pocket. She holds out her arm, cigarette still sending spirals upwards from the tip, flagging down the police officers with nonchalant ease.
(decker)
The thug lets the lady go by. He stands where he is a moment, then looks over his shoulder at her disappearing form. One foot. One manhole cover. One boy-soon-to-be-body.Turning back, Decker slips his hands back into his pockets and comes toward his packmates.
"Hell's this all about?"
(raven)
The police car's crawl slows further and pulls in against the curb no more than a good 10 meters down the road. She doesn't bother to look both ways as she crosses the double lanes at an angle towards the police vehicle.Step. Step. Casual. Nonchalant. Easy. Step.
One of the windows rolls down as she approaches the vehicle, leaning against the roof with one arm, stooping down to talk with the uniformed law enforcement office.
(rune)
"The morgue last night," Rune's right arm brushes James' casually, as she lifts her hand and offers it up for Decker's inspection. Her voice is low, practically a whisper, and her eyes flicker up to Decker. "One of the bodies wouldn't stay dead. We helped her get rid of it. It scratched my hand. She had similar marks on her arm."(james)
he lets that little exchange go on
interrupting even before it's over"C'mon."
he knows turf wars all too well
he grew up on the streets of New York
when one gang whomps on another, the whomped gang tips off the cops to make things sticky for the victors
right now, they were the victors
and he has a feeling she won't like being turned down for coffeejust a little paranoid, aren'cha, Jamey-boy?
he's already turning and leading them away
(raven)
The cop looked across the street at their faint outlines and she turned slightly to look in their direction also. She shakes her head, waving a hand faintly and then shrugs. The cop doesn't look fully convinced of whatever she was saying, but whatever she said after made him nod. He shrugs and the cop car pulls away... off down the street without even a glance into the alleyway. Without even pausing to get a look of their faces.She stood on the other side of the road, one arm crossed over her chest, the other raised with the cigarette to her lips.
She watched.
But, then again... they were leaving anyway.
(rune)
At James' words, Rune actually looks up, (should've known, getting soft, it's been a year. seems like it's been years.) flashes a glance across her shoulder, back....then follows in James' wake.
(decker)
Decker grabs Rune by the wrist and holds her arm up to the light slanting in front the street. Bodies that won't stay dead. Fuckin' great. What's next, zombies? Shambling dead?Letting Rune go, he mutters a thank-you. For helping Imogen out, one supposes. Then, hands back in his pockets to protect them from the cold, he starts walking.
He fuckin' hates it that he can't be everywhere he needs to be at once.
(raven)
Brackish water stained the cracked and wrinkled concrete. A faint drizzle clouds the air, making it feel even more oppressing. Litter floats down the gutters like surrealistic tumble weeds of the bygone Wild West. Talk about the ass hole of humanity.What a night...
(james)
it's a couple blocks of silence
hands shoved into the trench
right one balled into a fist against the brick
shoulders square and tense
head down, dreads swaying
long lopey stride barely hinting at his stresshe was shut down once
he's not bringing it up again
no matter how much it's worrying himfinally, he realizes he has no idea where he leads them
or even why he, the Gnawer, is leading
and the pace slows
brick extracted from his pocket
tossed into an alleyway they pass
but it's still hard enough to shatter it
all evidence gone
finally looking to his packmates,but mostly Decker"Remember that freaky little girl?"
(decker)
A glance slid James' way from under the lip of the hood. His lashes are long, but his eyes are hard and narrow. His reply is as terse as ever, "Yeah."(rune)
"James can tell you about it," Rune murmurs, casting him a brief, sliding glance. "I gotta go find my car. Don't like this neighborhood much, if you know what I mean."Shoulders rise and fall with her shrug, she's already walking away.
[and insert here that James tells Decker the story of what happened and they head back to the condo]
(raven = V)Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 11, 2002.11.11.02. - fingers [rune-imogen] *fv[north jersey]
(imgoen)
It's eight in the evening, and everyone has gone home, but for the security guard at the front door, and the cornishwoman in the morgue. It's monday, so the fact she was still there was not a surprise. Monday is the day of chaos, brought on by the weekend, and only one doctor on call, no autopsies performed unless absolutely necessary. Monday is the day where the weekends victims are brought into the light, their innards explored, their lives exposed. Garfield had nothing on the Monday blues in comparison to someone who worked in a morgue.It is not surprising that she's still here. On Monday, on any night. What is surprising as that she's not performing an autopsy, not perusing paperwork, but sitting at a rather cheap plastic desk in a room filled with refrigeratored bodies, small steel compartments.
It obviously isn't going to solve itself.
A weary hand rests on the desk, shoving the chair back, and herself up to her feet, as she leans over the cheap pseudo metal, picking up the phone. There's a sign beside it written in both spanish and english, Clean Hands Only, Please! a sign she'd seen a thousand times a day. A sign she saw ignored at least once a day.
The number is dialed from memory though she'd only heard it and dialed it once. A cell phone number for a certain glass walker.
She clears her throat slightly, one hand reaching up to pull her hair over one shoulder as she settles the phone on the opposite shoulder, pinioning it with her ear. Listens to it ring, fingers tapping lightly against the desk corner.
(rune)
Eight in evening. She's awake, at least. Like her packmates, Rune's schedule is more appropriate to a leech than a Garou: she's up all night long, and sleeps throughout the day. Decker's mess of discarded newspapers - the cross-word puzzle less than 1/4 completed - has been swept to the side, though not completely picked up. Rune is no great shakes a housekeeper, which is probably why she employs a cleaning service....wait'll they get a load of this place. She straggled back sometime in the middle of the afternoon with an armload of groceries and little else. The task of beginning to replace all that which needs replacing is daunting. She would prefer not to think about it, thank you very much.
Instead of thinking about it, she's curled in one corner of the couch, intent on the only remaining form of entertainment in the condo: the cheap video games loaded onto her cell phone. Aliens are dying by the score - have fallen by the hundreds - now that she has found the knack of the game again, so when the phone vibrates, she's loathe to let the game go. One more level, that's all she needs.
But the phone is insistent, and on the fourth ring, she gives up the battle, pressing the receive button and muttering a curse under her breath. "...yeah?"
(imogen)
It's an oddity for her to speak with the Ahroun female. She recognizes the car, knows her name, and lives next door, but cigarettes have been shared more freely than words. Of course, if she's speaking of oddities, until three months ago, she was avoiding the Garou altogether.What's normal?
"It's Imogen," she begins, twisting to leaning back against the desk, unraveling herself from the phone cord as she speaks, "I've got somethin' 'ere at the morgue that y'might want to see."
No elabouration. She isn't the most verbose person to begin with. And cell phones are rarely considered safe.
(james)
whatever portion of the couch the Walker did not take
the Gnawer lankily sprawled
having had his own versions of battles with the cell phone, after they had unpacked, sorted, somewhat cleaned, he succumbed to relaxation rather than distraction
one boot kicked up on the unused arm of the couch
the other having wandered to the floor at some point
half-dozing
half-listening to the slaughter of hundreds of aliens
arm cast over his face to block what little light there was
angled so they almost touchalmost
but it's still close enough for him
there's barely a change in breathing patterns at the muttered cursing answer(rune)
"Uhh, yeah," Rune replies, somewhat startled to hear Imogen on the other end. Still, there's no mistaking the lyric accent - what was that, Scottish or something? "James and I can get there. Do I know where the f - " the pause, and an unheard, rueful smirk as she self-censors the curse that wants to come flying out. " - where that is?"Uncurling one leg, she breaches the distance and pokes James awake with a seeking toe.
(imogen)
She is cursed with an accent not easily placed. At first she'd begun to be offended to be considered scottish. And australian. After two weeks in America, however, the novelty wore off.While impossible to place, her accent is most certainly memorable, a slow lilt and burr of her voice, silver Fianna's tongue shaped and moulded by a singer's voice.
"I can give y'directions." And she does, specific and to the point. Take the freeway to this exit. Go three lights. Turn left. County morgue. The sign is visible, the visitors parking is across the street.
A half breath of hesitation, audible as she red haired woman on the other end inhales, and holds her breath for a moment, before speaking once more. "I'm going to pass y'off as plainclothed cops." Dress appropriately, if possible. Left unsaid and unspoken. She needs to get them in, somehow.
(james)
have you ever had a puppy sleeping at your feet
after a long hard day of playing and romping and grrring
that you poked with your foot
and realized....that wasn't very effective
it's on the second nudge that he finally moves.... sorta
half tempted to mumble something in protest
but he's sense enough about him to know she's on the phone
answering instead with a looooooooong stretch to coax blood back into movement
half catching the last partplainclothed cop?
this should be rich
a part of him wonders if pulling off the K-9 unit would be easier
(rune)
"Twenty, maybe thirty minutes. We'll be there." another pause, brief and more than a little awkward. Silences - Imogen's, Decker's - make Rune quite uncomfortable, and she often prattles to fill up the empty spaces that lurk within awkward conversations. "Plainclothes cops. We'll be there. Thanks, and - see you soon."Click. The line goes dead, and it was a polite enough close, Rune decides.
He moves on the second - more violent nudge - as she digs her toes into the flesh of his thigh. Her foot remains there as he loosens and awakens, rides the long feline stretch that lifts his body in a rolling arc from the sighing leather couch, remains there for another half-a-moment as she finds captures his gaze and finds the half-doubtful look.
"Wake up, sleepyhead." Painted again, her mouth curves into a smirk that - perhaps - mirrors his response to the overheard half of the short conversation. "Imogen has something at the morgue that she wants us to see, and you've just been drafted as an officer of the peace. Or something. Any idea what plainclothes cops wear?"
They'll be quite a pair.
(james)
lips pull back in a playful growl
even if she knows its more of a smile
reaching to let fingers trace up calf of that lingering leg"Plain clothes?"
rich indeed
muscle in his belly bunching to sit up
thoughtful
standing
hand held out in offered help up"I doubt leather pants.... jeans should work, some run of the mill t-shirt, that suede jacket of yours...."
unoffered hand runs back through his dreads
they can pass for Narcs
the only snag would be official ID(rune)
She accepts his offered hand thoughtlessly, rising from her perch and flashing him another small smirk as she sidles by and circles the couch, then heads upstairs to change. Plain clothes indeed.Five minutes later, she head back downstairs, dressed in her oldest jeans - denim worn white at the seams, little threads trailing from the hems of each leg, dangling against dull brown boots, suede jacket tossed over a generic white t-shirt. It seems even Rune knows how to dress down. Keys grabbed from the breakfast bar jangle in her hand as she slips her wallet into her jacket pocket and waits for him by the door.
(james)
as she disappears upstairs
he's digging into his pack
way to the bottom
light gray long sleeved t-shirt replacing the regular tee
tucked in, a little wrinkled, but it'll do
probably the only thing he owns that isn't stained in some way
straightening up and dusting off the BDUs
too bad he doesn't own a belt
boots laced tight and neat
charcoal bandana tied to tame dreads just as her bootsteps return to himhe can't help that little grin
even dressed down she's.....yea.
he doesn't want to leave the sticks and coat at home
but he doens't have a choice
brows lifted a little as he joins her at the door(imogen)
The close was about as polite as she would be as she replaces the receiver with a dull click.The empty room, filled with empty corpses, and soulless cadavers, all but for the single heartbeat of the doctor within. Her eyes run down the impersonal and cold steel coffins that hold the bodies (three in particular) as they wait for justice. Or for a destruction of evidence.
A faint creak, a tapping, a scraping of something against metals; dark eyes, an extraordinary blue flick toward the left wall, staring in silence.
creak... scraaaaaaaaape.
Fuck.
She turns, shoving her hands into the pockets of her lab jacket, departing the room, walking down the corridor to the elevator. upstairs to speak with the hardly bilingual security guard in a queer mixture of cornish accented spanish and english. It's the incompetency that will work in her favour. The insecurity of the place she works in. The government has let things go, and those devoted to the dead are certainly the first to fall to the wayside.
(rune)
Even though the windows are still blown out (...and when will she ever get that fixed?), she pauses to lock the door behind her as they leave, lowered her head to hide the strange little smile that curls in response to his grin. It feels positively loopy on her face.Footsteps ring out on the steps as they clamber down: without the heels, she moves more quickly and more freely. Half-a-minute later, they're in the Beemer - this doesn't seem subtle at all - and five minutes later, they're sliding onto the freeway.
Imogen's directions are precise, and easy to follow. They should be, doubtless she can (perhaps does) drive the route in her sleep. Rune has not made the same study of the good doctor's hours as her packmates, but she must know - if only from the rhythm of Decker's life and the absence of the silver SUV on mornings when she stumbles in an hour after dawn - the hours the Kinfolk keeps.
They park two blocks away, in a mostly empty paid garage that leaves Rune uneasy to say the least. Every theft deterrant (including the Club) is put in place before the packmates begin the short walk to the morgue.
Twenty or thirty minutes, she said. Forty minutes later, they're climbing the front steps of the dilapidated Federalist-style building in which the morgue is housed. Rune pauses on the threshold, directionless, and flashes a glance to James, then paints on her most serious look and breezes through the front door to the guard station, eyes open for Imogen, trying to look as if she belongs.
(james)
he catches that strange little smile
if it's only in the way she ducks her head
if it's only in the way her cheek curves as muscle pulls
if it's only in the unconscious lick to smooth it awayhe's quiet throughout the ride
while he knows the Kinfolk's hours fairly well
he did spend all that time with her at the motel
he has no idea where they're going
partially not looking forward to it
even growing up in the alleys
amongst the guttertrash
the lowest of the lowno animal likes the smell of death
he doesn't have to act when that expression crawls over his features
when the different set finds its way across his shoulders
rugged, jaded, drawn, been on duty for far too many hours with too little pay
pretending the deathscent doesn't smack him in the face like a crowbar(imogen)
Dilipidated, grey, outdated and worn along the edges. The government building is not falling apart at the scenes but it is quite a bit worse for the wear than it need be. Colourless and lifeless. Somehow fitting for a morgue.She is waiting; Rune puts on a mask, to look like she belongs here. Imogen does belong here (though sometimes she wonders) and still, a mask slides easily as she walks toward both Gnawer and Walker, flat soled shoes scuffing lightly against the linoleum.
No jeans. Smooth dress pants hug her legs, and curve across her hips, a pale blue grey, accented by a loose blouse. The outfit would be completed stylishly, if she wore a suit jacket, but instead, that has been replaced by a lab coat with an identification badge pinned to to her lapel. Vibrant red hair pulled back from her face, in a tight, if sloppy bun, her chaotic hair unwilling to confine to the control that her position requires. "Thank you for coming," a smile slides across her lips, unnatural only because it doesn't seem like her. "You've already been signed in."
A job done for them, so their hand writing and finger prints aren't left on her official records. The humans official records. "Right this way, please." A slight gesture of a hand, toward a hallway, a motto written across the opening. Taceant Colloquia. Effuglat Risus. Hic Locus Est Ubi Mors Gaudet Succurrer Vitae.
Latin. Doctors always seem to be using latin. "Gracias, José," tossed over her shoulder as she begins to lead the 'police officers' toward the hallway, and the elevator at the end, hand reaching into a pocket to pull out a multitude of keys. One of which that will permit them into the morgue.
It's a different smell of death than what they're used to. Fresh death and blood. This is old death. Halted decay. Cold. Souls long gone, bodies vacant. Perhaps Imogen is used to it, that she can do this day in and day out. Or perhaps their noses are just more sensitive than her human dulled own.
The elevator door opens, and she steps inside, waiting for them to enter before closing it, turning the key in the odd looking lock as she touches the basement button. "There's no one else working tonight." She says inanely, though this might be of use to them.
(rune)
"Of course," Rune murmurs as they pass by the guard, dark gaze sliding over him without seeing (the trick learned at her Elders' knees), trained on the doctor's slim figure and the vibrant spill of hair at such odds with this drab gray place.The farther they go - down the long, draft corridor - the worse the smell becomes. By the time they have reached the elevator, Rune is breathing shallow breathes through her mouth, in some attempt to banish the scent that seems to have worked its way into the very granite of the walls.
She settles, back against the wall, eyes forward: elevator etiquette, and speaks only when the doors have floated shut and the old worn gears (is this thing safe?) have begun to grind. "That's probably good," her smirk is uncomfortable rather than knowing, awkward rather than sure. "...what was it you wanted us to see?"
(james)
that's what makes this scent worse
it is not the fresh steam that rises from battle's slay
there's no glory or regret that ushers the souls wherever they're supposed to go
it's the scent of nothing, here, and it's slowly growing
it's stagnant, halted, caught in a strange unnecessary limbo
it's the scent of empty, forgotten, shells
this.... is the death they all fear
to be nothing more than slab of meat to be studied and pondered
in the stale air of the elevator, his nose wrinkles
he knows it will only get worse in the floors belowuncomfortable at best
tense at worst
and damn well silent(imogen)
The smile has slid away, as she replaces the keys in her lab coat, as the door opens into another hallway. Bleak. There is no colours here, all leaked away. Grey. Dingy.Dark vibrant eyes slide to Rune as she speaks, her brow contorting into a frown as she looks away, starting to walk down the hallway toward the steel door that houses the dead. "A body. Or... what should be a body." A sharp exhale. Frustration rather than just a sigh.
Find another tact. Start again. "Th'Garou have been busy. This is the third body I've got that must 'ave been caused by a full blood in the last two days..." She pulls the door open with a faint woosh as the two atmosphere's equalize. Another step inside. Now there is more than just the cold death. It's cold blood, stagnant and putrifying. The air of the room is chilled, because it costs too much to refrigerate the bodies and keep the doctors warm.
"That's not the problem." She says after a moment, as she turns aside to let the two Garou in, "What I can't figure out is ..." a tightening of her mouth. "Why one of them isn't dead."
And what seems insane to her mind is said. The building had seemed bleak and colourless, but this is ten times worse. Nothing but grey in a dull monochrome. Steel, grey. Walls. Grey. Metal sink. Grey. Signs. White with black lettering.
Grey, grey, grey.
As quiet as a tomb. Dead as a morgue. All words to indicate silence. And for a moment, after the good doctor has finished speaking, waiting for a response, it must seem that silent. Then... a faint click. A sharp scrape. Perhaps they could tell themselves that it was something settling. Old buildings do that. Too rhythmic. Too solid. Far too there to be the building settling.
(rune)
Grey, grey, grey. Does Imogen know how she stands out here, a candle against the darkness? Even the Urrah Walker - who claims pride in her mongrel breeding - responds in subtle ways to the pure blood vibrant through her veins. Pure blood, vibrant eyes, tangled curls of bright red strands spilling from her loose bun.Rune absorbs the information silently: Garou are often busy. There is always another body. Only when Imogen continues do dark brows rises in the pale face. The surprised expression twists as the full force of the stagnant stench reaches her nostrils and she snorts out a breath in an attempt to clear her senses.
Rune's footsteps ring out dully as she steps into the chill room, the rubber soles muted on the polished floor tiles, a far cry from her usual clatter. She pauses to absorb the sound, and sucks in her lower lip in thought, staring at the bank of brushed steel cupboards in which the dead rest. At last, she turns back to Imogen.
"Which one?"
(james)
it's the best he can do not to vocally retch at the scent
swallowing hard to remind whatever's in his stomach to stay there
something primal in his mind screaming wrong! wrong!! wrong!!! wrong!!!!
focus on the problem at hand, James
not the scent
course, with what she just said, not that hard to swing his attention around fully to the good Doc
a brow lifts beneath charcoal bandana to hear that part"Isn't dea...."
whatever he was going to finish with cut off by the tapping clicking scraaaaape
it sends a chill rocketing up his spine
followed quickly by the raise of invisable hackles
(...... Taley-po, Taley-po, give me back my Taley-po.......)
flat out staring at the gray steel door it seems to be coming from behind
(...... you have got it, that I know, give my back my Taley-po.....)
he doesn't need to ask which one
he's already walking towards the far wall
shoulders twisted sideways
head canting at an angle
it's not that hard to see the rangey mutt in him
not in the way he so warily approaches
hand flattening on the steel door as if he could feel what's behind
tap tick tap
as if he were holding it shut from jumping out at them"Tell me everything you know about it."
(imogen)
The scrape sends chills down her spine, claws across the blackboard of her nerves. It's obvious too, with a faint close of her eyes, her hand reaching up to pinch at the bridge of her nose, replying to James, first."She was four years old. She was ripped apart in an emergancy room. She was apparently in an MVA... multiple vehicle accident; her parents are died. She'd been.. put in another room for a social worker." Another scratch of sound in the far left wall, and her eyes open again, shifting in that direction.
She'd been in here three hours waiting for the sound to stop. Three hours of the sound grating on her nerves before she'd picked up the phone and called. Three hours.
".... but." But. "What I have left is... There isn't much left, but all the injuries are postmortem. She was already dead..." scraaaaaatch "when she was torn apart. Except."
A hand movement, slow and eloquent, delicate fingers gesturing sharply toward the left wall, beginning to walk that way. "Obviously. She's still moving." A shake of her head, half muttered words under her breath, long vivid strands falling forward to obscure her face. "No heart to pump the blood, and she's still moving."
She has finished speaking, and one hand reaches out to grip the metal handle of one of the many compartments.
(rune)
"Don't open it." Three swifts steps bring her across, and her pale hand settles - staying - upon Imogen's shoulder. "Don't open it, Imogen. Step back."If the sound unnerves Rune, she gives little obvious sign beyond the short, sharp breaths sucked in through her mouth, pushes out her nose in her continuing attempt to banish the god-damned rotten scent of the place ( - how can she stand it? - ). The muscles of her jaw work slowly between each breath, grinding back molars together.
Leech. the word sinks soft into James' mind, the only immediate explanation that comes to Rune. Across Imogen's shoulder, her gaze flashes sharp and dark to her packmate.
"Across the room, the other side," Rune continues, her voice more quiet now, modulated into some sort of soothing authority. "Is there an incinerator in the building?"
(james)
she was four years old
step away from the door, James
please don't trip over Dr. Slaughter
she was already dead
shoulders rolling to force them to relax
his stomach wants to heave, and heave hard
scraaaaaatch
no, there's that chill having a rip-roaring good time up and down his spine
obviously, she's still moving
his head shakes to clear it
from the scents clinging to his sinuses
from the images mucking around in his head
from the me.... don't even go there
.... she's still movingRune's voice on Eagle's wings in his mind is only reiteration
at least the boy is learningjust.... on a whim
"What'd she... look like?"
before, obviously(imogen)
The hand on the latch falls away as Rune orders her. If she thinks you're wrong, then she'd fight back; however in this case. Out of all the things in the world she wants to do, she does not want to open that steel door.Metal scratches against metal, and Rune's hand rests on her shoulder for a moment, a faint stiffening of muscles as Imogen begins to cross the room to the desk in the opposite end. "I don't know," she says oddly, after a moment, and it must be difficult for a moment to tell to whom she's speaking. Rune or James.
Dark eyes flicker to James, "she's caucasion. But..." a hand movement, as she speaks, indicating a lack of knowledge, "There aren't enough body parts to... well... give me anything more. And I haven't seen any pictures. Hair was ... blonde."
Incinerator. Her attention turns toward Rune, as she takes two more steps, reaching the desk, and picking up a clipboard, as she answers, features expressionless. Shut down. Lock it out.
This is how she stands it.
"We have a crematorium." Never mind the incongruancies this will cause tomorrow. There are laws to be followed, and rules and regulations to which to align yourself. Garou laws. Human laws.
(rune)
"You don't have to do this." That's what Rune says, that's all Rune says, and the words settle into James' mind as easily as surely as they fall upon his ear. When Imogen slipped away - back, across the room, to the desk - Rune took up her place flanking the drawer, feet spread shoulder-width apart, hand settled flat against the cold metal handle.You don't have to do this.
Her free hand rises, pale fingers tucking dark strands that have fallen across her face behind the curve of her ear behind her ear, but her dark eyes remain on James' own, watching the subtle shift of emotions that play across his countenance. "We can get to the crematorium without being seen?" she asks, without lifting her gaze from James.
(james)
umber eyes shift to his packmate
remembering her words... how.... many nights ago?
she wasn't.... natural
there's something threatening to crumble inside of himdreads dance across his back as head shakes
"It will take too long to get her there, I don't know how much she's put herself back together.... if she even can..... we.... "swallowed, hard "...... need something to open the door and spray in there."
legends and stories are twisting in his mind
not sure which is truth and which is told to frighten a young cub
what mixes in dark eyes contradicts itself
I can't do this
a glance away, and back
I've done worse
most of all
I won't abandon pack
his voice is tight even if almost inaudible"What chemicals do you have that spray, Imogen? What's flammable?"
(imogen)
"There's no one here but you both, myself and the security guard." She answers Rune's question, "José never comes down to the morgue."James speaks, and she has nothing to add, one hand rubbing irritably at her forearm, and stopping abruptly, fingers reaching inside to touch the rents in her skin. The blood is long since dried and has gone unnoticed among the other smells of old blood, death and decay. After a moment, "There isn't much in there for her to... put herself together. What I had weighed much less than a kilo." Her hand leaves her forearm, sliding into the pocket of her labcoat. "It just won't bloody stay still, is all."
A moment of thought, her eyes darting across the room, and looking in the direction of the autopsy suite, invisible through the walls. Inventory. Inventory. "I have rubbing alcohol by the gallons. Ether. S'about it, really."
(james)
he does well to stop the visable flinch
less than a kilo
don't think about it, Jamey-boy, just do
common, what do you remember from your lessons
nodding to the gameplan so far
catching the lighter"Isopropanol, acetone or ether would work."
but you'd have to fashion something to spray it
and you just might be short on supplies
a glance to an empty gurney
..... ever been plagued by squeaky wheels?"Any WD-40?"
turning to look for a coverable bucket, preferably
scoop, plop, cover, run
seems easiest
woudln't have to feel it... her.... either(imogen)
"Cremated remains is easier to explain than using several bottles of alcohol being used, or WD-40." a glance at James, "It's all inventoried. If we had any WD-40 it would be in a maitenence closet. I don't have access to that." She would never use it. Doctors have other people to fix their squeaky wheels. Keep their doors from making a sound, disturbing their all important thoughts."I'll get the alcohol. I'll need to turn on the incinerator, too." It's off now, with everyone gone home but for one cornish doctor. Two Garou. And a security guard.
And one twitching should-be-dead body.
She turns on her heel, opening the door with a hiss of air pressure, and the chill of the room lessens for a moment before the door shuts again with a plastic thud of seeling air pressure. Two stops. First the retort, the incinerator. 1 700 degrees fahrenheit. That would take a while. But children's bones burn more easily than an adults, so whatever heat it reaches by the time they reach it should be sufficient.
The autopsy suite. Rubbing alcohol, taken from a below compartment, opened by one of her many keys. Shut. Her hand scratches absently at the side of her neck before turning on her heel, and back to the room where she'd left the two Garou.
Tap. Tap. A scrape of metal against metal. Nails against metal. Cold flesh against steel.
(rune)
Rune slides to the side, crossing to take James' place as he settles on the wastebucket. The door opens to the left; therefore, she wishes to be on the right. If scritch-scratching thing, inside the metal cubbyhole somehow comes awake, she will take the first blow and trust James to watch her figurative back. In most circumstances - decisions, choices, politics, punishments - she does not trust her judgment and will refuse whatever authority is given to her, but these are concrete choices, and self-doubt does not enter into the equation."I want you to open the door, James. I'll stand here and get it into the wastebasket." Ordinary words, spoken with minimal inflection and a cold efficiency, as much for Imogen as for James. Her packmate does not need verbal instructions, he will understand what to do. "Take the alcohol, and be ready. Imogen, please be ready to open the door for us once I have it secured, then lead us to the crematorium. Stay at least ten paces ahead. If something happens, run."
(james)
the sound just rides on every mother-loving nerve he has left
he can't help the glances back towards his packmate
do you think it's really.....?
not even said silently
it's just writ in his eyeshe moves in with the wastebucket
he stands in the place he's ordered to stand
gives what he's ordered to give
takes what he's ordered to take
bottle opened and ready
bic firm in his handlower lip draws between his teeth
snatching Rune's gaze
for just a split second
heldthen his chin drops
fingers wrapping loose around the cold handle
ready as he'll ever be(imogen)
Run.Much of life for a kinfolk is based around running. Run from the Garou. Back away from the claws and fur and rage and all the other things that come with it. Hide while others fight the War, decided only by a fluke of blood (ever wonder why?), genetics and spiritual power. She does not want the life that they lead, but the thought of running rarely sits well, either.
A faint flicker of thought runs through her mind. If something happens on the way to the crematorium, she'd have to go past the Garou to get out.
Details, details.
A faint slight nod, a set of the jaw. Noble blood, sometimes noble thoughts, sometimes noble actions. Sometimes brave, when circumstances let her. And so, she simply nods, striding toward the door to wait. A moment clouding of thought. "It's not the regular size of a body," she warns, "Not even a child's body. It's in pieces." No longer she. Depersonalization, started a little too late.
scritch scratch, scraaaaaaaaaaape. "An arm to th'elbow, seven ribs and sternum and most of what is left o' spine and it's hipbones." Scratch marks on her arm burn, a steady itching ache as they rub against light cloth of her blouse. "All beneath a white sheet."
Last bits of information she can think of to provide. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taaap. Taaaap. Taap. Tap. Tap. Tap. clank, shudder. If the creature somehow comes alive. There seems to be a very good chance that it already is.
(rune)
James captures her gaze, and Rune stares back several seconds longer than required. Whether he can find whatever he wishes to see her in dark eyes is an open question. Tonight they are hard as agates, and shine like polished stone.Her eyes half-close then, as she reaches for Eagle's strength. Perhaps James can feel the whisper of it, somewhere deep in his chest, the tug of the totem's power so near.
She positions the wastebasket beneath drawer, then - an afterthought - shrugs her suede jacket from her shoulders, peeling her long arms out of the sleeves and allowing to just sigh down her back to the floor before kicking it back and away.
Now.
(james)
there's something electric
the air crackles with Eagle's strength
the air crackles with their tension
the air crackles with the scent of stale cold death that will cling to them for days to come
the air crackles with..... whatever it is that he takes from her gaze, for those silent secondswhatever it is
its enough for himfingers tighten on the latch
this is the last thing I ever wanted to do again
muscle through his forarm flexing to tighten, taught and ready
she's not a child, James, she's not natural
lips licked as a shudder wants to weave down his spine
do you remember the last time you......
Cochran's brace
can you hear her voice, feel her warmth, and what was it she said to you that none else could hear
thighs tense
..... are you so sure you can do this again?
umber eyes cloud, jaw grits
how long will this one haunt you
the door pulls(imogen)
She's not a child. She's not natural.Pull. The door sucks open, a whoosh of cold air, as the scrapingtappingscreeching seems to reach a momentary crescendo (it can sense the rage, it can sense the blood). He must pull the gurney out, too, with it's white sheet, and as it creaks out, the smell of blood just became that much worse, old and decayed as the gore that is whatever is left of... whatever it was assaults their senses. The white cloth twitches and something falls to the floor (just waiting for it's chance) with a dull thud. A hand, it's tiny arm little more than a stump ending just above the elbow, it's fingernails ragged and spotted with blood and flesh, three nails a match for the three furrows in Imogen's forearm. A scapel sticks into the base of it's wrist, but somehow, unimaginable does not hinder it's movements as it drags itself forward by fingers and supernatural ability. Two other fingers twitch on their pallet, revealed by the half fallen sheet, slowly, like worms, twitching twitching forward.
The blanket tumbles the rest of the way to the floor, a flutter of sound. Seven ribs, she said. Each knobbed with cartiledge, twitching and bending impossibly (children's bones are always more elastic) as half covered in flesh bones try and follow the way the more versatile hand and arm had gone. Spine, still held together, impossibly, clacking together as naked hips arch crudly and do as best it can to reach the floor. All pieces working seperately toward the same goal of freedom and chaos and taint. Rune is too fast for it, however, and she'll win the race to scoop all except for the dropped crawling and twitching arm, which is trying to make it's rather determined way toward James' foot. Four year old hand. Four year old finger. White-blue flesh, almost devoid of blood. Unnaturally coloured.
She's not a child, James, she's not natural.
If it's a vampire they are much more powerful than they had thought. And they'd better hope fire will kill that thing.
Imogen stands by the door, and begins to draw it open. She has no desire to be in the way.
(rune)
She will not retch, now, though her mouth twists in revulsion and her stomach contracts sharply and her gorge rises and the stench of something far worse than old death assaults her senses. She will not retch, and she chuffs - oddly animal - air puffing her cheeks, with the effort to swallow the half-digested remains of her dinner which has lodged themselves less-than-pleasantly in her esophagus.The scrabbling remains scooped up (she does not look, she will not look, she must look), trailing shroud wrapped twice around them, are stuffed quickly into the trashcan, but the loud clatter of the lowered lid does not drown out the scrabble of the four year old hand, the four year old finger, across the tiled floor.
Rune falls to her knees - ducks beneath the jutting gurney - and dives for the scrabbling hand. She's aiming for the scalpel jutting out from the wrist, but blindly: she'll take whatever she can get.
(james)
something twists
she was just a little girl
something grinds
she's not natural, she's a monster, she's the WYRM
something breaks
remember what the Wyrm did to your little girl?
scent overwhelms
DADDY MAKE IT STOP!
he could never forget that, not now, not even rotting
he could never forget what taint feels like, crawling towards him
he could never forget what it feels like, even before it touches his skin, even before it comes close to his boot
not from something like he..... it.....
your. own. family. James.something shuts down
I will not back down. not. from. you.
the Gnawer takes a step
back
rotating on one boot to avoid the crawling (baby girl) hand
the drawer slamming shut
the door hitting it on rebound before it, too, closes with despairing finality behind the angry brunt of his weight
there's nothing in his eyes as Rune's fingers blindly wrap around the tiny palm
he doesn't hear the squelch of dead flesh
he hears someone crying, weeping years ago
he doesn't see the fingers convulse and grapple, progression stalled
he sees a pale hand stilling.... was it really that long ago?
and he hasn't moved yet
he has her back
he'll follow her out(imogen)
The wastebasket shakes and quivers cracking and twisting violently in Rune's hands as she drops to her knees, sliding beneath the gurney. Her fingers wrap around the scrabbling tiny palm, and she can feel tiny fingers close and open and take hold. Three fingers. Three fingers that grind her knuckles together, causing an unpleasant crack of flesh and bone (It's not broken, she knows what broken feels like, but bruised and cracked; not broken). Three nails, tiny childish half moons (nailpolish, a bright pink, still visible beneath the blood) find purchase against the fleshy part of the Glass Walker's palm. Ragged edges of fingers and nail dig into flesh, finding blood. Drip drop. Death drop. It burns and itches and aches.Wyrm. Wyrm. Wyrm.
When will you rage?She has to dent the wastebasket with the rest before the fingers finally release into the roiling and shuddering metal container. The finger marks on her still burn. But all pieces are in the basket, and the wounds are tiny.
The door to the outside has opened all the way, and Imogen has paused only for a moment to insure that they are coming. Then with a hard hand she shoves to insure the door stays open long enough to permit the Garou to enter the corridor without touching anything. And she's going down the corridor, flat soled shoes tapping rapidly as she heads to the other end where the crematorium room (and impending doom) stands.
(rune)
"Fucking. Hell."Teeth sink into her lower lip, biting off the grunt rushes out with in a sharp, sudden breath. There's another breath to steady herself, mouth pursing to aim the exhalation so that some of the hanging strands of dark hair are scattered away from her eyes.
It meant little, it meant nothing at all, until she glimpsed the bright pink polish on the tiny nails.
Rune rises awkwardly, the shaking, shuddering burdern gripped tightly in encircling arms, uninjured hand flat on the lid, then jogs after Imogen - rubber-soled boots slapping on the tiled floor - out into the hallway, ducking around the door falling closed, and down the long gray corridor.
(james)
fight it fight it
destroy it now!
a battle begins to wage within the Gnawer
yanked down and tightly controlled
how long will it last
pink nail polish sinking into fleshalcohol sloshes in the container so quick are his movements
following
backing
tracking
breath heaves in his chest
he wants to get this over with, and over nowhow long can you last, Jamey-boy, before what you fight for finally destroys you
(imogen)
Her lab coat flutters she deftly crosses the hallway, moving with an urgency rarely seen in a building where the patients are usually already dead.The crematorium.
So little colour. The crematorium is no different, with it's cement floors, and a factory atmosphere. There is no ceiling, only visible ducts and air conditioning pipes. The metal working innards exposed for all to see.
Toward the far back wall is the cremation chamber, created out of fired brick and cracked and dusty mortar. The metal door is shut.
Within, gas jets blaze fire orange and red and blue and white. 1 700 degrees fahrenheit. Silver begins to melt at 1650 degrees fahrenheit. Gold begins to melt at 1945 degrees fahrenheit. Brass? 1 810 degrees fahrenheit. Skin begins to melt, fat begins to boil and bones begin to char; at 1 700 degrees fahrenheit.
Imogen does not have the grace of the Garou. She does not have the power of the Garou. She's fast, give her that, and moving with an assurance, and a half grace born more of athleticness than ease of movement. Her shoes clatter against the cement floor as pale hands grab hold of the twisting wheel of the door. Spin. Spin. Spin. She's pulled it open before, so the effort was expected. Pull
The door swings open and the roar of the contained fire fills the room with a blast of heat. It will burn to throw the objects inside. It will hurt Rune's skin. Like all her People, she will heal. The pain will be momentary (three tiny little puncture marks at the base of her palm -itch-), and she will get over it, forgotten in the face of greater dangers; greater pains.
But first, she must brave the heat of this fire. Throw in this victim of a long war. (sometimes it seems like there is nothing but victims; even those that fall, with tiny little half moon nails painted with bumblegum pink are victims) End the battle for this moment.
(rune)
The heat of the blaze takes her aback. For half-a-moment she stands there, staring blinding into the passion play of light within. Someone told her - some teacher blathering far at the front her junior high class, some science geek packmate, ignored in favor of other more immediate pleasures or pains - someone told her one what the colors of flame mean: the temperature differences between yellow and red, orange and blue and white, and the thought flits across her mind now, as she faces the fire.She didn't listen the first time, and she cannot remember now. She cannot discern where the heat fire blazes or where it merely (merely?) smolders, but she seizes upon the memory to distance herself somehow from the primordial fear of flame that stirs, to force herself close the distance and shift her rattling burden forward, to hold the trashcan closed until she is at the mouth of the oven and the tiny hairs on her hand and forearm are crackling with the heat, and the skin is beginning to pinking and burn.
Half an inch back, she leans (rage now lending speed to her movements) to lift the lid free and tilt the trashcan upward, to send the child's bones falling end over end over end into the hungry flame.
(james)
it's a long long walk off a short short pier
twisting through the tunnels, the dungeons, the inner labyrinthine maze
remember your history lessons, James?
do you remember the others that have burned?
in fire and brimstone, in raining balls of blazing death, in the ruthless chambers of Germanyjust who's holocaust is this, anyway?
if the scent of death was bad
this is worse
far worse
there, the bodies were slabbed, studied, dissected beneath science's uncaring eye
here - what remained of life was destroyedno evidence
no memory
no thing will surviveanimals fear the gag reflex of old death's stench
animals fear the raging fires that consume their forest home
animals fear the unnamed beast that consumes their childrenand as what was once a little girl tumbles into the flames
the man.... the Gnawer..... simply stares
it takes lungs to have breath to fuel sound, James, and you know she only had lips..... so how come you can hear her screaming?(imogen)
Body parts and gore tumble into the oven, falling into the flames and fire, which crackles with the addition of new and fresh fuel. They should be happy that in this case the body will burn fast enough and hot enough so as not to leave them with a memory of disturbing cooking meat. Or at least not leave them with that memory for long.Rune steps back, hopefully, and away from the burning opening for the retort, and as she does, Imogen's hand presses against the unnaturally warm thick metal of the door, forcing it shut again, spinning the wheel to complete the process.
And even then... even then... a sudden thump from inside as something (tiny hand with arm and elbow... hips with twisting snaking spine) smacks hard against the door. (taptaptap...silence) The cremation of bones and body can take hours. In a case where the bones are that of a child and the body is hardly more than a few disorganized pieces of flesh and bone, cartiledge and jerking sinew, it will not take nearly that long. Bones go from their natural colour to black as the organic material is carbonized. Then, combustion, the black fades to dark grey. From dark grey to grey. To light grey and finally white.
There must be something in a shade of grey.
Imogen had stepped back as soon as the door was sealed, and takes another abrupt step back as lifedeath makes itself obvious against the amazingly thick door. "...fuck..." half breathed beneath her breath. Curses always sound that much more potent when formed by a british accent, a cornish tongue.
After a moment, she speaks again, quietly, her left hand absently rubbing at her right forearm. "If y'd like, I can stay and watch whatever's left. Clean it up when it's done." It's the last thing she wants, really. But the offer is made, quiet and simple, all the same.
(rune)
taptaptap...silence.The wastebasket clatters to the floor, falls from suddenly nerveless fingers and opening arms as soon as Imogen pushes the door shut and spins the wheel. It rolls to the side, collides with some incomprehensible bit of machinery or other, and stutters to a stop. Oddly enough, the lip is still gripped tight in Rune's left hand, bright red nails digging reflected back as little more than a smear of suggested color by the dull finish.
The unflattering assumptions she made earlier about Imogen's possible reaction (hysterical kin) were never conscious: ingrained and unquestioned, they exist on gut level, the level of instinct. Just as instinctually, Imogen is accepted as the exception that proves the rule. It was the offer, perhaps, or the potent curse that spilled from her mouth when the door was sealed.
"I can stay and help." There's a pause as her gaze flickers to her packmate, question lingering in her eyes - you all right? you don't need to stay - before sliding back to Imogen. "You shouldn't have to do it, and even then, you shouldn't have to do it alone."
(james)
the man
the animal
the Gnawer
the chosen warrior of Gaiaflinches
at the thump
......save me, daddy..... pleasehe didn't notice how much he was shaking
not until the clattercrash of the wastebasket hauls him back to reality
back to the present
it's still several long moments before he finds the dark gaze searching his
dull (dead) unresponsive
save the slow twist of shoulders followed by hips followed by boots
the slower steps
just out into the hallway
his shoulders finding the wall
folding to sink to the floorhe can't stay, not for that
but he will not leave them, either(imogen)
Her hand leaves her forearm, reaching up to push back strands of curled and waved hair from her face, tucking the disagreeable (it's all disagreeable, a cacophany of colours, brightness that is made more so in contrast to all this death; all this grey).Hysterical kin. It does not suit.
Her eyes slide over to Rune as she speaks, before flickering toward James, half pausing to watch him walk away, a line forming between her brows for a moment, before looking back at Rune, nodding, dislodging several firey strands of hair. "Thank you."
Rarely spoken words that are not spoken without meaning. Dark eyes, night sky blue flicker back toward the retort as it slowly devours the remains. "It will take another half an hour, at least. Another forty five minutes or so before the brick cools down enough to take anything out." I've done it before. It's not your job. Though when it comes down to it, it's not her job, either. Not this way, at the wee hours of the morning when no one else is here. A moment's pause, before adding, "It will be a while; unfortunately."
((Ooh... stuff not included in what should have been a wrap up post (obviously wasn't thinking when I did that)...
Could you tell Liz that Rune's wounds are going to take a BIT longer to heal than usual, even with shifting, and be REALLY uncomfortable, like an ... itchy achy kind of thing? And Imogen has three similar but much deeper marks in her forearm, which would have been seen (prolly by rune) when getting the remains out of the retort, because she would have taken off her labcoat and likely changed to a t-shirt))
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 10, 2002.11.10.02. - room service [rune][nameless hotel, north jersey]
(rune)
Morning....afternoon. Long bands of dimming light slant through the vertical blinds, creep across the carpet, but do not reach the bed, neglected throughout the long night before. They found it again, sometime in the early hours just before or after dawn - who can say, really? Neither had a watch at which to look, and the brightening sky outside, the light on the horizon, the growing strain of traffic on the highway just beyond, streaming into the city, or away from it, were the last things upon their minds.
She woke before him. In the gray confines of the hotel room - one opposite wall banded with the fire of the dying sun - she awoke. Long minutes passed as she lay, quiet, absorbing the heat in the body against which she sprawled, trailing an absent hand across his muscled chest, watching the strange interplay of pale skin upon tanned flesh, tracing the already fading marks she had left upon him, sometime during the long, long night.
At length she rose, the mattress depressing beneath her gathered weight before bare feet gained the floor. Crashingly loud as she is in the great wide woods, she is almost silent here. The thick carpet absorbed whatever sound her footfalls might have made, and only the whisper of fabric against flesh escaped to disturb the breathing silence. The bathroom door snicked closed, the distant roar of the shower came, endless and endless.
Half-an-hour later, she emerged, scrubbed clean, pale skin pinkened from the assault of heat and water, steam lacing in short, curling wisps into the dark hotel room that now seemed cold in comparison, to answer the knock on the door. Room service.
“I’ll take that.” - her short, smirking response to the waiter as he attempted to wheel the cart inside, followed by an arch silence and a direct, quailing stare until he at last gave up and left that task to her.
With her one free hand (the other was assigned the task of holding up the thin hotel towel that preserved some small measure of modesty), she dragged the cart inside, through the narrow entry and maneuvered it beside the bed. Once more, the mattress sinks beneath her weight, and gravity draws him so-slightly closer to her as she tucks long legs beneath her, indian-style.
Domed stainless steel lids remain untouched for now, and bemused dark eyes settle on his sleeping form, waiting for him to awaken.
(james)
the evening had waned to delicious, deviant night
the night had progressed in ethereal transience into morning with only rhythm to mark the passing hoursand it is when morning began to creep into daybreak that the battles began to still
that the creatures collapsed exhausted on the bed finally found (then used)
that still the strange balance between them lingered, unconscious, until the sun began to disappear again
that the shadows began to climb the walls he held her against
that the shadows began infiltrating this sacred ground of mattress and pillows and sheetsonly then, did the two creatures begin to find themselves again
as she woke and showered and primped
he slept bedraggled and bruised and marked
as she answered the door with arched silence and quailing stare
he only began to climb from depths of that comfortable darkness
as she sank, bemused, to watch him sleep
he, then, finally reacted to the sway of gravity moving himhe completes the roll to the side
sheets whispering this perpendicular half-curl around her half-facing him
the towel and thin cotton all that separates their skin
the mattress sinks beneath the weight of left palm
pushing until he's high enough
lips finding the pale shower pinked skin of her shoulder before his chin rests upon it
dreads tickling spill across her back
right arm snaking to let fingers trace bladed shoulders all the way around to collar bone
brows lift at the cart, the scent of food drifting past what emanates from her flesh so close
turning to mumble against shoulder sloping into neck"You've been out already?"
(rune)
Some long, slow breath finds it way from her lungs, a susurrant whisper of sound. At first, this is her only audible reply. His body curls around hers, and she arches in autonomic response to the sudden assertion of body heat that marks his presence. Rising shoulders press back against his muscled form, taunting the touch of spilling, spidering dreadlocks that dance across the smooth curve of her back.The damp cotton towel is a rough pressure, beneath it, he can feel the shape of her body - the long lean muscles that hug the serpentine length of her spine, the shoulder falling smooth to the pressure of his chin, fragrant with the scent of her bath. Her free hand captures his fingers, crawling across her collar bone, and drags them lower, lower still over slow-breathing curves rising beneath thin damp cotton.
She seeks and finds his skin - some skin, any skin - lips sliding blindly over dreadlocks, jaw grazing seeking jaw, until her parting mouth settles on the faint indentation that marks his temple. The impression of heat - warm, sultry breath on his skin, the suggestive graze of teeth, the sense-memory of her mouth curving wicked in the night.
The shiver that arcs electric along the long length of curving spine is intimately familiar to him, who knows by now the slink of her musculature and the rhythm of her body, the slow sure beat of pulse somewhere under the steaming skin taut beneath his mumbling mouth, the .animal. snarl of her need.
“Room service,” she manages at last, dark and low. He can feel the amusement that shakes her shoulders, the rumble of laughter through her torso that does not find any other voice. “I thought you mind need to refuel, after last night.
"Was I wrong?"
(james)
weight shifts as fingers are caught
a low, pleasurable sigh as his wander is redirected
pausing only to untuck damp towel and let it fall away
rough palm smoothing graceful curves
those that rise when she breaths
lower
those that sink and tighten when she laughs
legs crossing to pull her into his lap
cradling that electric shiver against his chest
fingertips play drums 'gainst the bars of her ribcage"Huhuh...."
smiled against the back of her shoulder
the back of her neck
lips and teeth and lips once more
for split second this touch between them still
(though he remembers how it writhed before)
the smooth arch of her back against the long slope of his front"You're rarely wrong."
though he cannot help the curious peek past the wet tankles of inky hair
the reflecting hitch of diaphragm
the laughter itself contagious
when so assertive before
now his tones are shy
hiding now in another slow nuzzle that buries face in damp strands"I just...... well..... room service is an urban legend, isn't it?"
(rune)
Dragged slow, she settles so easily in his lap, her body fitting to the curve of his torso, snug within his arms. The laughter that shakes her shoulders and tightens her stomach is reflected back to her through him, rumbling somewhere low in his chest, and continues, infectious, between them.“Hardly,” she murmurs at last, head curving to the side as his mouth passes across her skin, inviting further exploration. It could be haughty, her tone, were it not accompanied by another rising bout of dark, sure laughter. It would be haughty, did she not turn her head to capture his gaze before it falls back into the tangled wealth of wet black hair curving spilling free to her chin, her shoulder, just below. It is - almost - haughty, but the soft rose curve of her un-painted mouth lacks the sure edge of her customary smirk. “Room service is - “
She pauses here, and, planting her hands on either side of his crooked knees, lifts herself to unfurl one long leg and catch the bar of the cart with her foot. Leaning back for leverage, she draws the cart closer and closer, until it bumps against the edge of the mattress. Contact is broken for a moment as she leans forward to grab the closest of the gleaming silver platters, then settles back against, the plate balanced in one sure hand.
“ ... well, it’s one of the great pleasures of life.” With a flourish, she removes the dome. Heavy steam rises from the still-hot food - breakfast food, order at dinner time - long links of sausage and crisp bacon piled high, cholesterol heaven. “Whatever you want, whenever you want, howsoever you want it.”
She doesn’t mention the obvious: as long as you have the cash to pay for it.
(james)
the Gnawer takes advantage of leverage lean
shifting backwards to assist
his hands wander from hips crest up the taught stretch of belly, ribs, firm softness of breast
helping himself to the offered skin before it pulls away
once against, the assertion is replaced with boyish charm
hands sliding 'round to gather (greedily) her warmth once again
he knows not how rare these times will becomea soft, strange shine in deepest umber
for the fraction of a moment dark eyes meetunable to avoid the shining distraction of the plate flourished so close
his surprise is inevitable
his surprise is obvious
his surprise is so genuine it is almost heartbreaking
lips parting in slowly growing smile"You mean it..."
trailing off
...... does exist left unsaid between them
caught between her affirming unpainted smile and the distinctly new vision of steaming food presented in such a way
well, if vampires can exist, surely room service can, Jamey-boy
another soft laugh is hidden against her shoulderand only then does the toussled head lift
venturing to peek through the stray tangle of jungle-vine dreads
daring to reach and pluck one breakfast link from the platter
tracing its warmth as gloss across her lower lip with playful smilewomen first
packmate first
rhya first
Walker first
..... lover.... first....
dare you say it, James?
dare you question it, boy?
or will you only admit that no matter what, you will always put her first, however long it lasts, for whatever it is, for whatever reasons that will be spoken out loud"I thought you were the spoiled one..... and here you are.... spoiling me."
a glance, flippant
to the room
to the food
though, unerringly, it finds its way back
to her(rune)
The flippant glance answered with another laugh, distinctly different in timbre and quality than her often-mocking tones. Her teeth snap sharp, and graze his skin as she plucks the link from his teasing fingers. Devouring, barely tasted, the savory tidbit.Woman. Packmate. Rhya. Walker. - lover - she says nothing. She does not linger on the possibilities (she has awoken to him, she has waited for him to awaken, how many times in one short week? Such niceties she abandoned years ago, a year ago, in some other lifetime, when her world, such as it is, was still sane.) She will not consider the evidence.
“...does exist,” she murmurs when the last morsel is swallow, giving voice to his unvoiced thought. Settling closer against him, she fishes through the plate and plucks a long strip of crispy bacon, offering to him over her falling white shoulder, brushing his brow with her chin. “I am the spoiled one, but it’s fun to spoil you. You don’t expect it, and you don’t demand it. Money’s no use unspent, pleasures shared are trebled.
“Anyway,” the tracery of a familiar smirk, crawling slow across pale lips. The lowering curtain of pale (blonde) lashes, filtering the light in her dark glance. “...I didn’t always live like this, and now that I do, for the most part my kinfolk fix it so it all goes away.”
(james)
"Careful..."his voice trails off
fingers warm round her wrist to edge the bacon closer
as she devours, he is careful
teeth neatly snapping the crisped piece in half
his hand turning hers
placing what's left as temptation just before the flickering smirk"...... you may get me used to this."
grinned after swallow
"Even if I don't know what to do with it."
the playful light is still there
sparkling behind a wink
even if he tucks back down to press lips against her skin
he's never had this before
anything even remotely possibly near it
sneaking a hand out to snag another link to share
even though there's more than enough for them both on the dish
it's just the way he is"I'm normally robbing people like you to give to the poor like me."
careful now James
you're already treading on thin ice
don't double your chances of getting exiled
what would the other Hoods think of you now...(rune)
“We could always go back to my condo,” she murmurs, snapping - once more - whatever morsel he places before her lips, devouring it with animal greed. “...and play the urban primitive, camping out in the dark, prowling through some abandoned house and seeking shelter wherever we can find it.”Threads of drying black hair dance teasingly along the length of her shoulder as she sinks back, settles closer, curling half to face him. Another link stolen from his generous hand is offered, mouth to mouth, and when his teeth bite down sharply, she tears her head away, only the whisper of a kiss exchanged.
“I suppose you could say that I’m robbing people like me to give to myself,” the faint curve of her smirk, the smooth movement of her cheek against his shoulder, the sliding glance across his face, the unreadable dark eyes, serious, somehow, in some way he’s never seen before. “...which is hardly as noble.”
Her shoulders rise and fall against his chest in a faint, lifting shrug as she curls her to the side, muscled calves brushing his crooked knee. Her right hand rises to cup his jaw, fingers splayed across his cheek, thumb falling to trace the flesh of his lower lip.
“I’m anything but noble.”
(james)
he cannot help the laughter
he cannot help the wide smile
he cannot help that light that shines in his eyes whenever he looks at her"Sort've sounds like what I've done every night for the past twenty-one years."
except last night
except this one. night"Though I suppose my dragging you at full tilt through the woods last night gives you right to pampering now...... not to mention I appreciated the lack of interruption"
whatever thought was next breaching his lips is corked by offered morsel
sharply bitten
tenderly touched
he that so normally inhales his food twice as fast as any other in the pack now chewing thoughtfully
she that steals to give to herself suddenly the last he'd expect to steal from him
soft skim of her thumb tracing a softer smile in its wake
arm strong in its curve around her
even as she reaches to him, he will not let her escape
and it is then the starving mutt abandons still steaming food already more than half-consumed to focus
completely
on heron that new look that swims in darkened depths
"Just because I'm a Hood doesn't mean I'm noble."
(rune)
“I seem to remember dragging myself through the damn woods at full tilt last night,” she replies, amusement dancing in the upturned corners of her mouth, gleaming in dark eyes, but shadowed by the sweep of pale lashes. One half-notch up and the small smile becomes be a small smirk, an expression that sits so naturally on the sculpted planes of her arrogant face. “...but if you want to take the blame, I won’t stop you. And since you’ve done that for twenty-one years, I think you deserve a night off.”Or three.
He turns to her. His attention falls - .completely. - upon her, and breath stills in her lungs. For half-a-moment, she forgets to breathe, and when she resumes the lungful she draws is sharp, shoulders and breasts moving against his warm flesh. The sound clear in the quiet room. His arm is strong around the curves of her body, his palm is rough against the smooth, pampered skin of her flank. For all the softness of her, beneath them, he can feel the rich, living strength that defines her as much as it does him, the long taut lengths of muscle wrapped by pale skin.
The tracing thumb stills on his mouth, presses suggestion into flesh.
“I think you’re wrong, James,” her voice is quiet, the tone rich and musing. “You seem nobler than any Fang, to me.”
(james)
he realized it before, he realizes it again now
how her laughter infects him
how it pleases him so much to see her smilewhat he would do to make that smile remain
there's a silence that settles
even if it's only a moment it seems a year
beneath his hand he can feel the vibrant life that throbs contained in her beautiful body
beneath the all but healed marks on his skin he knows her animal that prowls just within human flesh
beneath the sharp breath that caught her mind offguard....his eyes had never wandered
allowing himself to simply drown in dark pools
uncaring of their infinite depth
reveling in how much he can simply sink within them
and he feels so comfortable here(I think you're wrong James....)
the words bring him back to the surface
looking at her, to her, rather than within her(You seem nobler than any Fang, to me.)
he still does not look away
the silence lingers, heavy and warm
crackling electric beneath this simple touch
reflected
his hand lifting to cup her cheek
slide into nearly dry strands
just looking at her - the infinance in her eyes, the gentle curve of brow far above the musing lips, the lines of her nose, the way strands flow inky shine across his fingers, how he already knows her scent will linger on his skin
he doesn't know how to respond
not out loud
instead the pressure against her stilled thumb increases until he slips pastand while each kiss last night bordered on violence save the passion that fuelded them
this one is so tender it aches(rune)
(Some silences should never be broken.)Her smile is a rare thing, buried beneath an infinite layers of masks and misdirections. Even she does not know the curve of it, and she could never bear to see it reflected back at her, so vulnerable would she seem. There is something there, something he sees, some heartwood, beneath the jaded veneer, hidden underneath slick certainties she entertains - about the world, about herself - the ironic detachment that makes the broken world, the dying world, bearable somehow. He looks at her, and sees what she would deny; and deny again; and deny a thousand times over.
He looks at her, and sees what she will never see.
Lifting brows lower, and the lingering archness fades from her smile. The pressure beneath her thumb intensifies, and then he is slipping past her defenses, drawing close for a kiss. The strong line of his jaw slips by lingering fingers, until they are buried in the thick vines of his dreadlocked hair.
He steals the breath from her mouth, and it feeds his lungs. He returns the breath to her, and she breathes again.
The night before was molten, and the heat that fuels the core of their mother, the earth, burned through their veins. This night is quicksilver as luna’s light, bright, sure silvered poison that slips from whatever hand closes to grasp it. He is kissing her, and she is falling back against his curving arm, which gives and shifts beneath her lowering weight, supporting her as she sinks to the bed. She is kissing him, and drawing him down to meet her, her hands a soft pressure on his muscled shoulders. Though last night she snarled and spat and growled each wicked demand, she is silent, now.
(Some words should never be spoken.)
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 09, 2002.11.09.02. - bitch-rhya [rune][cont'd from the pine barrens]
(rune)
The cool night air drifting through the treetops, spilling over the open convertible must be enough to cool their heated blood as they meander through the backroads of the Pine Barrens. It takes them a good half-hour to make it back to something approaching civilization, perhaps a little more. Rune, after all, feels compelled to offer James some instruction on shifting and the like, sliding her hand over his to help him find the sweet spot of second and soon third gear as they zoom beneath the breathing trees.Once they gain the highway, though, the top comes up. Warm as it was during the day, it's just too cold a night to be blasted by jet-fast loops and whorls of frigid air even if they both need a nice, long cold shower to make it home safely.
Threads of conversation ("Think Luc'll live to see tomorrow?" "If not, at least he gets to die happy.") rise and weave and fall, leaving only darkness and heat, heat and darkness in the long stretched silences between.
"Turn here." Two exits early. Beyond the cloverleaf exit, a vast stretch of themed restaurants, strip malls and hotels spiderwebs out from the parkway. The reflected light plays strangely across their features, highlighting the razor edge of her sudden, sure grin. "I don't want to get interrupted again."
(james)
he doesn't mind her instruction
rather likes it, to be honest
he's even a little surprised to be allowed to driver her Baby
fingers spreading as her hand covers his
twining to lock their hands over the gearheadhe enjoys the ride, the comfortable silences save the engine purr
he enjoys the stars shining down on the highway
he enjoys, most of all, the semi-quiet company
the easy banter
the snide comments about their very fortunate packmatea brow lifts at the directions
carefully coaxing the Beemer off the highway, onto the bi-road
glancing at the landmarks they pass out of idle curiosity
unable to wipe that smile from his face
unable to pull his lip out from between teeth's nibble
.... he can still feel where she bit before"I don't either."
(rune)
"I didn't think so." Her smile flashes again, sure and dark and perhaps a little smug. "...though I'm not sure I can recreate the atmosphere, I can at least get a bath. We can raid a minibar to our heart's content. Maybe they'll even have a laundry service for my fucking clothes."Late as it is, the suburban streets are far less crowded than they would be in the middle of a weekend afternoon. It's an easy drive. Even the left turn across traffic without a stoplight into the hotel parking lot takes no time at all. Some bland sign announces the chain's name, but it's not like he'll notice. Not with her hand slipsliding over his as he shifts again and slides the Beemer into a convenient parking space, just beyond the wide awning and the doubledoors.
It's nothing like the no-tel mo-tel in which James spent innumberable hours guarding Imogen, of course. Had they let Rune make that decision, they might've been holed up in the Waldorf-Astoria, or at least the local Marriott.
The engine dies, and she leads the way, bare feet slapping soft against the pavement. The superficial scratches have healed over, and her gait fluid again, the prowl that belongs to the ultimate urban predator. They're a strange pair, and the desk clerk gives them a long, narrow-eyed look. It changes, of course, when the charges are approved and Rune signs someone else's name in a sure, sweeping hand. If James bothers to look, he'll see a different name almost every time she charges something. (Smoke and mirrors, mirrors and smoke). Through the lobby, into the elevator: she doesn't even look at him until the double doors woosh closed. Then she tosses him the card key with a bright flashing smirk and leans back against the wall.
(james)
hotel, hmm?
I'm sorry are we at a hotel?
her hand warmly covering his, parking, finding the right button for the alarm to sound it's guarding chirp
the vision of her walking away
the easy, predatory, stalking gate
barefoot in leather and suedethere's a wry smile to see the marks where bark bit into the soft jacket
it's a moment before he catches up
he noticed nights ago the names on the cards weren't hers
and the desk clerk almost doesn't existtribal fires still burn deep inthe darkness
some place far out in the wyldness still within each of them
inferno blazes with the animal howling madness at the thermals around it
recreated atmosphere is one thing
recreated mood is another
even over the pine-sol clinging to his skin and coat
she can smell it
even under the garish lights of the lobby hallway and elevator foyer
she can see it
even -especially - in the closeness of the rising car
she can feel itthat scent
that vibe
that lookthe card is caught
the Gnawer crossing
hands settling against her hips
first against the tree, now against the upholstered wall
weight draws close, warm, intent
brow lifting in mirror flash smirk
bare breath away from red red smeared lips
caught somewhere between a murmur and a growl"What..... expecting me to go in first and draw the spoiled bitch-rhya's bath?"
(rune)
Her chin rises in haughty challenge, dark strands of hair falling away from her face, the sticky sap still caught therein snagging against the padded wall. White teeth flash and snap as the smeared red lips pull back, but do not - not quite, not yet - dig into the flesh of lower lip."Of course," she murmurs, sly-eyed and sure. Her hands settle on his hands settled on her hips, then trace a long sure line over the patchwork trenchcoat to his shoulders. One remains there, settled like a vise, while the other trails to slide beneath spidering dreadlocks and curl across the back of his neck. "If not for you, bitch-rhya wouldn't need a bath."
(james)
there is a sound
long, low, and lean
lips pulled away from her teeth because of his smile
grip tightening across the leather curving around her hips
using the wall to slide close
closer
unmistakable, suggestive, provacative contactwhile a part of him would chance leaning into sharp nails
his response instead is to lean down
face tucking beneath tangled inky strands"What I have in mind for bitch-rhya would only require another bath afterward."
the words already scalding steam across pale neck
a wonder if he even truly speaks
perhaps only mouths the words for chance to touch her flesh
the words what they each want to hear in their minds"Or would she truthfully desire both."
(rune)
The sound is answered, mirrored. Low and lean, raw and primal (animal, baby, animal) caught somewhere deep in her throat and spilling across the razor-sharp grin (bared teeth, curving lips. animal.) into the dry, climate-controlled air of the rising cab.The floors tick by unheeded, little lights winking to announce elevation to the uncaring pair, little bells chirping as if this delicious disastrous uncivilized battle wasn’t happening at all.
Her body arches, low-slung, hip-centered, daring his contact and demanding more. Blood red nails dig into the tender flesh of his neck (oh, he remembers those nails, the harsh trails they scrape along his skin, the blood almost drawn in the height of passion, the wildness of her response.)
Somewhere, somewhen, somehow, the insistent beep of the elevator draws her from the ragged, storm-laden sea of want in which they are lost. Sharp nails pull back, and her right hand glides from the tangled dreads to settle on his shoulder, curves strong over the taut muscle there and pushes him back and away, and hard.
It does nothing to dispel the heat.
She catches his hand, twisting fingers into his in a slow battle of attrition for dominance that neither will ever yield, and prowls from the elevator onto the quiet luxury of the carpet into the long, quiet hall. Dim lights flicker in sconces scattered at intervals, and everyone is locked away. Everyone is locked away, and no one sees the sharp glance tossed across the low curve of battered-suede clad shoulder, the look that catches his eyes and travels damnably lower as a spidering grin spreads across her smeared red lips.
Her eyes find his once more, and challenge fairly smolders there. “Do you think you can handle both?”
(james)
does he follow - or does he control the pace of their walk, stalk, prowl down the hallway as if some gauntlet to tresspass before this most deviant and delicate of pleasures waiting ahead for the battle that neither will win, neither will yeild, and neither, will ever, ever grant quarter
whatever it is that burns at the earth's molten core finds its way behind dark umber
peeking from beneath the jungle-vine hair
something crawling from the primal darkness in it's innate creep behind each near silent barefoot stepyou bring something to life within me again
some bedraggled predator slinking through the mottled shadows in the hallway
the panther chasing the amazon queen
the jackal chasing the desert priestess
the wolf chasing the wolfand when she stops before the appointed, annointed door
he pounces
warm length pressing against hers
twined fingers drawing both their arms around her shoulders
snug, safe, captured, held, worshipped and dominated
his breath scalding across the back of her neck
lips teased to teeth
free arm reaching around to slide the keycard into the slot
growl finding its way to her ear as the door shies away from them"What if I can't wait for both."
(rune)
How did he manage that, the keycard, the lock, the little civilized fillips that intersect but never derail the low slink of the wild. They prowl through the tamed and groomed corridors, tested and retested among innumerable focus groups calibrated to mirror the hotel chains demographic and project a soothing, restful, tranquil feeling to ordinary guests on an ordinary night.They are not ordinary guests. This is no ordinary night.
The walls are soft and muted, the carpet deep and plush. Somewhere - there is an impression of the bed, the scattered occasional tables, chairs and lights, and beyond, the citynight spread out in the darkness light so many Christmas lights - somewhere life goes on. She doesn’t see a bit of it.
The savage light spilling from her dark eyes is mirror to the molten core surging in his own. The slow-crawling smile perfect counterpoint to the low hot growl spilling across her flesh. She’s turning - he has the impression of movement, the supple curves slung against him, the slide of leather and silk over skin, the tangling fall of dark hair into her eyes and into his own. She’s turning, then, captured, as the door falls open behind them, each half-step into darkness inevitable as the promised battle. She’s turning, some low slow grapple of movement, shaking her hands free of his snare to push the trench from his shoulders.
“Prove it.” Oh, the wicked, certain grin. “Fucking prove it to me.”
(james)
it's like a beast unleashed
unhinged
the Rage all but forgotten suddenly washing tidal wave behind the door that slams closed an airlock around them, it's an atom bomb that finally detonates, freely, wontonly, responding to the sweetest of provocations which turns smelted steel into the most destructive lava flowgive an inch, he will take a mile
whatever light there is, shining brightly in the darkness
it comes not from the switch
perhaps it is the filter of Luna's Grace that makes it through the window
perhaps it is the twinkling of the city-light stars grounded outside the window
perhaps it is the supernova reverb that shatters to life behind the windows of his eyesfirst step, the trench plummets to the plush carpeting below
second step, his hands returning to grapple with suede
third step, they reach for his shirt, slung somewhere into the darkness
fourth step, they reach for hers, fabric further tearing in this lust driven assault
fifth step, they slide rampant and rabid over leatherall backed by hungry growl that rolls thunder on distant horizons
the brewing hurricane that finds the lone island of her flesh in this richly decorated sea
an earthquake looking for mountains and valleys of muscular curves to reshape into the soaring heights of divine and forbidden uniona leg sweeps hers from beneath her weight
caught, before his pins her to the floor
whatever impressions of the bed there may be somewhere in the distance
just as with the condo, they do not make it
loathe to be interruptedit is then, only then, that he pillages savage kiss
(rune)
Somewhere, people are fighting. Somewhere, people are sleeping the sweet sleep of the innocent, the sure sleep of the conscienceless, the wakeful sleep of the guilty. Somewhere, somewhere close, within the walls that hold half-a-hundred others, people are fucking, sedate in their beds, polite in their meaningless sweet nothings and saccharine pillowtalk. They know nothing of the wild. They know nothing of this wild, born and bred in the stinking asphalt streets, nothing the half-human half-divine animals that prowl through their glitter-bright, pastiche ruin of a world, nothing of the endless war, and nothing of the battle enacted beneath them, fueled by the strength of two full moons.He sweeps her legs from beneath her; caught, she tumbles to the floor; pinned, she surges back against him, her body rising in a long, sure, driving arc. His hands are snared in hers, captured and dragged high above their heads as he plunders the first savage kiss.
She answers him measure for measure: the flash of pale, curving flesh sinking beneath his muscled frame, sinking into the carpet rich and soft as the sea and the curving heat of thighs parting to settle around his waist, each ragged breath its own small skirmish.
That’s her voice he hears, somehow, coming from somewhere above and below him, a panting rattle of thoughtless words, a running, savage commentary that continues as a rumble when his mouth finds hers and erupts into scorching sound when lips part for breath again. Little goads strung together into a snaking chain that amounts to nothing more than: now and more and yes and this and you and you and you and more and more and more.
...and to think, the night is just beginning.(james)
they are predators
they are full-mooned full-blooded creatures crafted from Gaia's very core
they are her heart, her strength, her will, and her soul
they are of the earth, the sky, and of the seait is what tumbles avalanche between them
the part of limber thighs and the thick mudslide of words washing sticky sweet against his flesh
from above, around, below and even within
in consuming, he is consumed
buried
wrapped in this blanket of sinister intentions and the touch of a generous mouthsomewhere in the darkness
somewhere in this turbulent night
the reverberations of power and Rage that roll off them
waves traversing the endless air
each gasped word
each groaned breath
each cry that rises to the stars shining far aboveit is more than the sweat that binds them
something elemental that soaks, clings and slickens
from the gentlest rain of absent kiss
to the tidal surge that crashes against granite muscleearth, sky, and sea
so different yet so very neccessary to the other's survival
it is a strange circle that joins them
it is strange the commonalities they share buried so deeply beneath the surface
the sleek, spoiled, and pampered Walker
the ragged, rough, and struggling Gnaweryet now
now there is no clothing to define them
now there is no tribe to separate them
now there is no rank to order them
now there is no pack to worry them
now there is no past to haunt themit is just two equal beasts writhing in the night
taking all the other provides
and demanding endlessly morePosted by james at 12:00 AM.11.09.02. - bitch... interrupted [rune-pack][pine barrens, cont'd, some posts missing in fast moving chat madness]
(rune)
to Drums on Skulls, Blood Eagle, Lucian: They will hear her long before they see her, thrashing through the underbrush (even where most of it has been long-since trampled underfoot) and cursing colorfully beneath her breath. If the pack ever needs to sneak up on someone through the woods, it would be best not to send Rune.
Eventually, she just... stops. Lights a colorfully papered cigarette, exhales a thin stream of smoke and waits for her pack to make its way to her, rather than vice versa. With dark falling, it seems the wisest course. Rune could get so easily turned around in even the most shallow wood that they would need to send a search party out to find her.
Not so, the concrete jungle.
(erik)
to Drums on Skulls, Lucian: "Yeah, whatever. I'm gonna track down our naughty ahroun. Later."(luc)
to Drums on Skulls, Rune: "Dude, I'm gonna wait around here maybe Hop a rail into the city--see if I can smoke out some Retard Named Dire."And that was basically taht, would Luc fight with Dire? He WAS a Get, then again he was ALSO a galliard. Maybe he's go Opera style and start singing while beating the crap out of him--who knows.
(james)
there's a nod for Erik
there's a nod for Luc"I'll catch you back in the city.... just be careul, huh? He landed a few good ones on Decker before our naughty Ahroun got the upper hand."
patting his shoulder
he likes the kid
also knows he'll do more smoking than outing
so he's not tooooo worried"I"m going to go rescue bitch-rhya from the woods."
quirking a grin, and a wink
but the Gnawer moves off
knowing Cochran's are far better woodswear than the heels she's sure to be in
he doesn't need much to find her
he can feel her out here
meandering his way to her chosen clearing(luc)
to Drums on Skulls, Rune: "Hmmm-Mmmm.. She one sexy-- er rhya."Yeah. And with that he turns off retracing his steps back to the fire, the camp, the anthro, and the 'Ewww'.
(rune)
to Drums on Skulls, Lucian: ...even if she had not been making one unholy racket, even if the tug of pack were not a certain compass, he would still be able to find her. The acrid scent of her burning cigarette, the other scents, cityfueled, that cling to her after the long drive down the parkway - asphalt and motor oil, carexhaust and the tainted, chemical wind that poured itself through her hair during the long drive (top-down, it had been a gorgeous day by Jersey standards) are as sure a map as he needs, stand out stark against the piney woods as Dire would in Saks Fifth Avenue.Back slung against a convenient tree, bark biting into the smooth suede coat, she stares up into the treetops, nose wrinkled in doubtful distaste. Why exactly did she come out here?
Heels dig unevenly into the fragrant mix of turf and leafmold, making her uncharacteriscally unsteady. She should have changed shoes, at least. She would have changed shoes, but she didn't think it would be that far really. Dark eyes drift down from the canopy as the tug of pack comes close, and the oh-so-familiar smirk crawls across her lips.
"Come to save the fair maiden, have you, from the fucking maze of the woods?" Pause, beat. Inhale poison, exhale smoke. "...how'd it go?"
(james)
smells like..... home
some sanity amongst all this pine-sol
a bit of a laugh entering her direct vision before she does"No, I'm sorry, I told Luc I was going to go rescue the bitch-rhya, not some fair maiden.... you wouldn't make me lie to a packmate, would you?"
teased
chided
muscular shoulder finding its way to the tree that pressed up against her back
close enough to drown in the scents that pours from her thick enough to stop his sinuses from burning
(and probably start something else on fire)
though breath chuffs a soft sigh"I'm not sure. Gabriel's mislead on a lot of things, but nobody can get through to him. Basically ended up that we're still keeping Decker out of his territory, and I'll suppose that eventually means us, too."
(rune)
to Drums on Skulls: "I'd never make you lie to a packmate." Dark eyes flash up, skim over features shadowed in the lowering light, the usual thread of ironic detachment momentarily absent. It returns, of course. It always does. There's a nod in the other direction, some other direction, though Rune isn't sure which direction it may be, as discombobulated as her internal compass is right now."Anyway, the fair maiden clearing's thataway." Her voice drops a minor third, and warm, smoketainted breath slipslides through the cooling air, finds it way to his ear. "Ain't no fucking maidens here."
Her body twists sidelong, weight shifting in an attempt at balance as she pulls the more endangered heel from the quicksand of fragrant turf and rotting leaves and whatever the hell else might be down there (eww - another pair of shoes ruined and her budget - such as it is - already shot).
"What the hell does the Fianna think Decker did, anyway?" Muttered, the words, and perhaps a little incredulous.
(james)
the smile spreads slow
that look enters his eyes
hidden in the shadows beneath the trees
hidden in the shadows beneath his brows
but she can see it in the curve of lips, slowly up
lower pulled into his mouth in though
leaning in.... whispering"Oh? What does get fucked out here, then?"
then shoulders shrug
patches scraping against the bark
another few flakes plummeting to the compost on the forest floor
he really hasn't moved very far away at all"Not sure, exactly.... disprespecting territory, elders, not respecting those benath him and using Eagle's might to fight unfairly with mortals, not chasing down the fallen Gaian he knew about, brawling on sacred lands..... some of this happened, yes, but not in the way Gabriel's interpreting."
(rune)
to Drums on Skulls: "You know what?" Ohhhhh, dear. That look. That smirking grin. "I don't think I give a fuck about Gabriel."Inhale, exhale, in the gathered stillness of the wood, in the lowering dusk that settles dark and darker still, deepening the shadows all around. He's close enough to see answer to his slow-spreading smile twist itself across her blood-red mouth. He's close enough to sense the irritation at the strange politicking of the country cousins slip-sliding free of her loose-coiled form. He's close enough to hear the rustle of silk against breathing skin and the crackle of dry leaves breaking beneath her feet as her center of balance shifts and she leans close, closer.
Smooth suede brushes against the curve of bicep, leatherclad hip against thigh; dark hair dances across pale curving cheek and catches against rough bark as she dips her head and leans in closer until her brow is resting against his cheek and her smirking red mouth hovers above his ear.
"Three guesses. One hint." Ashen breath spills coils hot on the hollow beneath his jaw. "It's not a fucking elder."
(james)
that look is lost
hidden beneath falling lids
teeth clamping on lower lip though the smile spreads anyway
molten, scalding, and inherantly wickedthe Ahroun spins
that look - intense, hungry, craving.... daring
deepest umber finds polished mahogany
bark biting into suede
one Garou pinning the other against the tree
raggs against svelt against natural
all equally as strongbrow resting against hers
drowning in her smokey gaze
tempting further touch
daring a kiss
but so gallantly withholdingeven he knows how spirits watch
hands slide down her arms til fingers clasp, lock
twine - mindful of the cigarette
limbs stretched
at first to the side, arching her chest against his
then above, wrists resting against the bark
murmuring warmly across blood red red lips"Well... I am in the bitch-rhya clearing....."
(rune)
to Drums on Skulls: "Biiiiingo," she murmurs, her mouth moving against his in intimation of a kiss, hips arching against his in intimation of so much more. "...and on the first try, too."The heat of her breath and the low gravel of her voice bely the pedestrian little speech. Her voice is taut as her body beneath his, taut as her arms stretched above them, taut as her fingers twisting in slow opposition to his own, asserting her strength, daring his own.
The sky above them is all but hidden by the fragrant canopy, the woods beyond them lost in shadows and eerily silent to her hearing, which is keen to the rhythms of the city but blind to the sounds of this godforsaken place. Within the cold night, they generate their own heat, which arcs electric from form to strong form.
"There's only one problem: bitch-rhya is spoiled to all hell," she continues, teeth catching hard on his lower lip, releasing to spill a few more heated words upon his mouth. "I don't know how she feels about fucking in the woods."
(james)
hands clench
there's a sound that catches tumbling in his throat to feel teeth clench
and the strength of his body trembles against hers
weight drops, spreads, hips lifting her into their hands held aboveand he gives in
letting his mouth find hers
letting the sting of his bruised lip breach the sanctity of the kiss
letting the little temptation explode into infernos
desperate, savage, conquering
out here, the laws are not theirs
out here, this is forbidden
out here, it becomes so much more thrilling"Does she wish to find out.."
(luc)
to Drums on Skulls, Rune: In that moment a mindlink goes out to his packmatyes closest to him: Help, gonna kill the bitch.(rune)
to Drums on Skulls: Brushed suede drags soft protest against the crumbling bark of twisted pine, and fragrant needles dislodged by their grappling hands spill heedless over the arching forms. The sharp scent of sap fills the very air. The darkness bleeds quiet life, the wind rises in the canopy above, and somewhere, the stars shine down.Her control snaps, breaks, shatters against his strength. Somewhere within them, rage calls to rage. Her body rises against the trunk of the unfortunate tree, leatherclad thighs parting by slow degree (ahroun that they are, it is always a battle, the tangle of limbs and the hard sure rhythm of bodies in perfect opposition; she's going to make him fight). Strands of nightblack hair catch and pull in the sticky, oozing sap, tangle and spill across her face and his. Red nails dig into roughened knuckles with enough (still restrained) force to break the skin, some daring little taunt, another thread of opposition, another battleground.
She does not need to answer. She does not need to answer because her can feel her answer in the rumble of response caught in her throat, the words that vibrate and form against his mouth, only to spill unvoiced into the dared (disgraceful, dangerous, devouring) kiss.
In a brief moment of respite, she drags a breath of cool pinescented air, and exhales it back across his mouth hot and sure. She does not need to answer, but the words come anyway, sharp and clear in his mind, bladed as her smile.
What do you think?
(james)
the night becomes their battleground
the tree becomes their castle
forces raging against it in conquestin their consumption
in their craving
in their desires that rise the most potent dangers of allbut there is pause
before the reply volcanic it's heated depths
the voice, the pleaEagle's command
there's something in his eyes when they finally see hers once more
apology
anger
Luc wouldn't call for help unless there was really some troublebut the Gnawer pulls away
turning to run towards their packmate
following the pull that needs no sight to guide it
unminding the trench as it stags to further tatters on branch and bush
racing back to the clearing(and yes, during all this, Luc went back to Gabe's camp and talked with Nova, who ended up pushing him to brink of frenzy.... now, in our next chapter)
(luc)
Its so soft the Gnawer perhaps doesn't hear it.
"Run Now."He doesn't have that much Willpower to give ( He's ONLY sixteen) And When he says the look of intense concentration melts away.
Like the slide of flesh and the crackle one bone. Greyed pelt covers bulging muscles and hands become claws in the next moment the DIRE WOLF turns towards her at full speed--and it gives no indication of stopping.
(nova)
((Go in the right place))Turning back to the fire, just in time to see him barrelling toward her, to scream. Nothing else. He rams into her, sending her flying. She hits a tree, falls to the ground with a thump.
(rune)
The GlassWalker follows swift in the Gnawer's wake. He blazes the trail, and she is hard on his heels, tumbling disoriented through the grasping woods.Dark eyes still burning scattershot across the unfamiliar terrain, unseeing, betraying only the seeking pull of pack and need that spirals through the heated (and so close to feral) mind.
Predator.
Heels fall from running feet, stretching branches catch against sapstained suede and tangled black hair spills back from the pale face. Bare feet broken and abused by the uncertain ground slap through mud, blown leaves, over fallen limbs and through snaking creekbeds. She falls three times, but scrambles up again so quickly that blinking would make one miss it.
Following the call. Following the strange flaring scent of rage until the pair spill hard into the clearing. She overshoots, nearly runs through the smoldering fire, and has but a moment to take it all in, to react.
React she does. Feet spread wide, the Walker's sure stance is strange in the woods, but the Ahroun's gift rolls off her toward her frenzying packmate.
(dakota and santo)
Screams out in the middle of a forest. That always spoke volumes in movies. It meant that someone had opened the wrong locked door and let the movie badguy out to eat the extras.Go figure it'd happen now, huh?
Kota and Santo both glance towards the noise and look at each other. They both nod at one another, a silent agreement.
Both shift to lupus running...
A pure white -literally - wolf and a mangy cross-breed with ears that were too large and motled brown fur.
(james)
they didn't really get that far did they
not in any sense of the word
it's not that much longer before the Gnawer explodes into the clearing at full tiltdire wolf
hmm
not. good.Nova flailing to smash into tree
not. good.Walker flailing past almost into the fire
really. not. good.he does the only thing he can think of
hands clapping together
thunder CRACKS
he'll send them ALL sprawling"What the HELL are you DOING?!"
(luc)
TRUE fear...not the fake kind, the kind that makes you run like a nose without a tissue. Thats the fear that fills the galliard and muscled feral body twists only to stumble in the other direction.
......THUNDERCLAP......
Well, he DID ask for help, right?
(kota and santo)
They felt the wash of use of the thunder clap even outside of the immediate vicnity of the scene, so to speak.What the hell...? Kota's mental words came upon her packmate with the sound of coyote laughter winging it in the far distance.
This merely caused the two mis-mtaches lupus to run faster, coming stumbling-come-clattering into the campsite.
Stranger, in the middle of a bizzare situation, to say the least.
At least one of the two was a bonegnawer. His lupus form just SHOUTED that.
(nova)
She sits up, winces, then looks at Drums."It's okay. He challenged. His loss of control also lost the challenge. I won't hold it against him as long as he leaves this place."
(james)
dark eyes blaze fire from within the frame of tangled dreads
lips pulled back into an angry sneer
hackles raise beneath the tattered trench
there's blood on his handsone mellow Ahroun is not happy
so much he doesn't even notice the two lupus stumbling into the campsite
attention locked and loaded on the direwolf and the blue-haired girl
he listens to her side
then glance slices towards Luc
the Gnawer voice is seethingly low"What's your version?"
(rune)
Thunderclap. Sent sprawling sideways, Rune falls (on her ass, baby and graceful, it's not), half-a-second later, she's lifting herself to bare bruised and battered feet, spread hands crunching on falling needles. So much for the manicure. So much for the pedicure.When she regains her feet, the Ahroun stalks through the clearing and places herself definitively between Lucian and Nova. There's no need for another episode like that. Dark eyes spill over Nova, crawl and burn like corrosive over the Theurge's slight form. The woman's head turns, and she shifts her attention to Luc. The same look - dark and shadowed and sure.
(kita and santo)
The bitch white lupus form and it's counterpart - a mangy mutt of a dog - both shift to homid near the edge of the campsite. Kota, removes her mirrored sunnies from her leather jacket's breast pocket and slides them on before she grabs Santo by the shoulder, spins him around so he is facing her.Go...
Not a word, outloud, is heard spoken between them. Conversation is kept purely mental for now. No need to provoke the yokels.
Santo nods, stares into the sunnies and fades out of sight, stepping sideways.
Kota then turns back to the gathering, watching the rage bantered around like no one's business, and leans against a tree, crossing her arms.
Just watching, don't mind us...
*luc)
And the (Economy sized, with 175% more wolf!)creature sits there for a stunned moment--n another melting into the teenager once more. Brown shaggy hair touseled and he still breathing hard, it takes a moment to catch his breath."She... FUCK! I didn't channge that bitch." Another breath. Stay calm man, stay calm. "She just spouted out some bullshit and wouldn't stop."
(nova)
"Whatever. You forced eye contact. That's a challenge if I ever saw you. Anyway. Sacred space. Pissed off spirits. Gotta do my job and try to make them happy again. And you..."She looks at Luc.
"Had better talk to ThunderOak. It'll be worse if you don't, cause he'll track you down for defiling his sacred space."
(james)
he takes a moment
to think
to collect
to decidehe's not a Philodox, it is not his place to make judgement nor decision
and for crying out loud he's not ranked high enough to warrant this
but he's raging mad
and frustrated six ways from Sunday
eyes sliding back from Luc, to her"You know what, Nova? It would surprised me that you provoked him into it. In the middle of Gabriel's camp. Where you know. You KNOW that it is a place for healing because it's your Spider Provoking Ass that needs to heal in it. You're a Theurge of my Tribe but you obviously have learned nothing by it - because Luc knows there's no fighting to be done here but how easy is it to goad a Get, hm? How easy is it to take your pity me angst out on a Get to get another of the Pack you can't join in trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if it was your twisted truth that got Decker into trouble.
So listen up, kid, and listen good.
Stay the fuck out of my city and I won't hold your existance against you. It's a big enough state. Stay away from me. Stay away from my Pack. Get your head out of your ass, learn what it is that Gabriel is trying to teach you and stop disrespecting my Tribe and his honor for taking you under his wing."
the glance sears across his recovering packmate
Let's go.(kota santo)
Hey, Kota... uh... wanna give a little hand here? A little Summoning Spirits 101, maybe?The mental comments between pack even comes through now, from the Bonegnawer to his pack alpa as he looks around the Umbra scape, scratching his head.
Dakota, meanwhile, just smirks and lets the poor Gnawer try and figure things out on his own. This real world scene was just far too... amusing... to just step out of.
(gunraven)
Petite.. Jet-black as the Raven's wing... The little shadow lurking about the woodlands, trodding up the heels of her 'mates. Their scents faint but trackable, guiding by the 'Yote's chuckles as words are passed over the totem phone.. though more like fluffy, anime thought balloons in the lupus's head. Yellow-gold eyes pick out the terrain as furry midnight ears perked at the sounds of distant thunder. It was enough motive to make the wolf pick up her paws and runs faster..(gabe)
Moving out of her sight he pauses to look back, thinking to himself.~Damnit~
Looking back he carrys himself off in the blink of an eye. Using the gifts of the nature and the gifts of the world he's been part of his whole exsistance he stops just shy of the camp, hearing the words of the Gnawer he sits in the dark and watches/listens.
(nova)
Seh shrugs slightly at Drums' speech."Fine. Don't help us build a future. And if you want me to stay away from your pack, keep your pack away from me. I didn't make him come here."
(rune)
Rune draws in a breath, long and slow and deep. Inhale cold night air, exhale the rage coiled dark and black in her gut. Viscious dark eyes slant away from Luc and return to the blue-haired girl, then slide to her packmates.The silent invitation, echoed back at them. Luc. Walk away.
"What do you know of the future? What the hell do you know of the war? Are you a Theurge, to soothe spirits in the woods, or are you a Philodox, to judge the actions of another and decide whether a challenge has been made, or accept? Or are you merely a little fool, hiding behind another's shadow, provoking whomsoever you wish and then leaping back behind the shadow and your illusions of a future in the middle of the fucking woods?
"Jesus Christ. Luc. Walk. Away."
(nova)
She looks at Luc again."You know, it's sad that some people have no hope for what could be."
She stands, painfully.
(gabe)
Watching he folds his arms across his chest as his body falls back into the support of a large shadowing Elm. Every word, every emotion, he sees it, he hears it.Silent as the wind, near invisable to the world around him... just watching.
(kota)
Watching he folds his arms across his chest as his body falls back into the support of a large shadowing Elm. Every word, every emotion, he sees it, he hears it.Silent as the wind, near invisable to the world around him... just watching.
(rune)
"Luc.Go."
Rune remains between them, still protecting the Theurge bodily. If Luc rages, it will be her pale, pampered hide he rends first. His claws will sink into her back. Nova has to strain to look at the slouching Get, she has to look around the tall, tattered glory of the sleek GlassWalker Ahroun standing before her, she has to seek the confrontation she seems to want to provoke.
Rune stands there, remains there until Luc has walked away, or until James snatches him bodily away.
"James. Get him. The Fuck. Outta here. I'm not moving until he's gone."
(james)
"LUC!"the glare snaps back
don't push it, boy"No you didn't, Nova. Gabriel requested to speak with us. And it is Gabriel that will make the call of whether or not we will be invited back here. It is Gabriel that will make the request for our help to build whatever future it is he is planning on building. Not you. I won't throat you in HIS sacred place. If I ever catch you in the city or my territory again, you won't get a second chance."
some may think he's picking on the weaker
Gnawers know women and men are equals
if she opens her mouth, she can bear full responsibility
that is when he turns
if Luc hasn't moved by now, he's grabbing collar and haulinga bit of a brow lifting at Kota
hello there, when did you arrive?
but he's not taking the chances anymore
time to leave
Gabriel should be angry enough as it is(nova)
"I'm a Bone Gnawer. It would be stupid of me to think I could speak for him, or anyone else. I know I can't kick anyone out of here permenantly. I don't need told that I have no authority."(michael donnely)
That much noise is bound to draw attention - especially from someone who's been looking for this sort of noise for days now. The sort of noise that has GAROU written all over it.And he? Has just hit. The mother lode.
The big man, husky, none too graceful and well over six feet, thumps up behind Gabriel (he had the look of the old clans...er, Tribe...)and clears his throat to garner attention. Affably, "Busy night, eh?"
(gabe)
"Could say that..."He stands as the man moves near him, still against the tree, listening to the others in his camp. The words of Drums' spoken well and true. The rash word of youth and ignorance by others, the protests and posturing, yet he stood.
"And ye might be?"
Finally looking to the man who had approached him.
(kota)
When Drum lifts a brow in Dakota's direction, she unfolds one arm and finger waves with a grin.(kota)
We got us a bonegnawer or two, babe. The girl and I'm assuming dread-boy that's walkin' out.Her words, transfered via Totem Phone, as Gunraven so delicately put it, catches Santo's attention.
Santo had been drumming on a tree, attempting to wake the sleeping spirit.
Can I come out now? is his only request.
To the eyes, all she does is nod, but via spirit phone she replies... Go for it, honeysuckle.
And no few moments later, Santo is sliding back out of the Umbra near Kota, so to speak.
(james)
there's a grin at Kota
but it's not until they're a LONG way off does he stop
turning back to Luc"Y'allright?"
for all her mystical magickal theurgeness
Nova's pretty damned obvious(rune)
Arms crossed, Rune remains still as James and Luc walk away. She just stands there, staring at the young Theurge, still running her mouth.The woman's hair is black as a raven's wing, but where the firelight catches it, it sheens the color of spilled blood. Her skin is pale as the moon's light, and her lips are painted red as anything. The clothes (tattered and battered after her headlong flight through the woods) scream quality.
"You about done?" Dark brows arch above acid eyes. She can feel her packmates' retreat more than see it, but none of the tension bleeds out of her tall form.
(luc)
Teeth were gritting the entire time and finally when he's a good distance away he exhales spitting again. (Damn, bitch MADE me bite my tongue!) He grunts under his breath fishing around for a pack of ciggarettes, and finally finding his Malboros he sparks one up and offers'em to James."..fine."
(nova)
She grabs a piece of wood and dumps it in the fire, then looks at Rune."Depends. Are you guys done attacking me?"
(kota)
"Much as I love ya'll Gnawer's cute fuzzy butts, you're pressing you're luck, sweetie-pie, picking it with a Get."She breaks from the mental bantering with her packmates, speaking to Nova from where she was still leaning against the tree, arms crossed, next to Santo.
"You gotta know by now they have that whole angst-schtick about 'em"
(james)
what the hell
he reaches to take one
he'd rather it be a joint
but he's fresh out
sighing through a long exhale"Don't blame you, I've wanted to smack her for a long time. She looked funny all flailing through the air."
he can't help the light chuckle
channel the Rage
breeaaathhhh it all out
(off with you, fly away now)but he doesn't want to move too far off
else it risks leaving Luc alone again to go wave bitch-rhya from the forest(rune)
"Did you bother to notice that my packmate and I saved your scrawny ass?" The words are strangely laconic, sketched soft across the night sky. The fire pops, the piney wood crackles and hisses its protest, sap oozing darkly into the fire. "Or were you too busy feeling like a martyr to figure that out?"(nova)
"Yeah. Noticed that. Thanks and all. But frankly, words hurt worse."(kota)
Both Kota and Santo look up and sniff the air simultaneously. A glance to one another. Someone was smoking. A grin passed between the two of them, since talking to Nova at the moment seemed pretty pointless. She was too busy waxing philosophical with Rune.Kota pushes off the tree and as a pair, the two of them start heading towards the smell of the cigarette smoke on the air.
(luc)
"YOU just have some bad luck. All the folks I met semmed awright cept' her"Its the contempt laden in that last word, it makes the skin crawl. The buzz of incects over feces didn't sound WORSE that the last syllable of his sentence. Lucian DID NOT like losing his cool.
Of course, Luc didn't deal well with pretension.
(kota)
While walking Kota fishes a pack of cigarette's in a pack pack out of her leather longcoat, tapping the bottom till one slides out and lights it, offering the pack to Santo. Like the pack itself, the paper of the cigarettes were black. The brand name just read "DEATH".They walk up behind Lucian and Drums, catching the last of Lucian's comments.
(james)
"I'm a Gnawer, of course I have bad luck..... I've just learned to deal with it and roll with the punches rather than attempt being a martyr like some of my unfortunate tribesmates."if there was ever a look of eternal suffering
"If she would just stake herself up on a tree and get it over with it would be a lot less painful for all involved, ya think?"
his head shaking
dreads tumbling
(can they ever have a few hours peace without something or someone interrupting?)
he understands how Luc feels about pretention
there's sympathy in his smile
why do you think he hates Lords so much?
turning at the crack of twigs to announce the other two arriving"Well hello again...."
to Kota, Santo gets a lifted brow
"Fireworks show die down back there?"
(rune)
Oh. My.She's... laughing. Strange how it bubbles up through the controlled knot of rage sunk low in her gut. Strange how it twists her shoulders and spills from her the curving red smirk between pale savage hands that try to restrain it.
Bare feet pivot in the soft, damp earth, the surety of strength tears through the top layer and sketched leaves, releasing more of the musty smell. Rune's shoulders are still shaking with amusement as she turns and just. walks. away.
And the laughter precedes her as she follows blindly the path sketched by her packmates, sensing their presence rather than tracking their passage.
(nova)
She shows no reaction to Rune's laughter, but is happy when the lady leaves. She just sighs and goes back to tending the fire, making food, anything to keep herself busy, and her mind off her aching back.(kota)
"Just a bitta banterin' n' the like, sugar. Nothin' worth wasting good time watching."She winks at Drums with a goodnatured smile. She was an albino decked out like a Goth in the middle of the woods with a guy that looked Latino, wearing a trenchie that was... well, it could be brown, could be gray... it was a little hard to tell under all the dirt.
(luc)
And the goth gets his attention. (Mmm somma' dat' PALE lovin.) His lips twitch briefly as he takes another slow drag of the ciggarette--"I'll start shapening the spikes.."
Oh but his eyes are glued's to the Goth's breasts.
"..nothin' wrong wit' some banter."
(put Voice of the Midnight Shadow's arrival here)
(james)
Rune and Nova?
Bantering?
That oughta be richa hand runs back through his dreads
it's been a night
rebar drumsticks in the sling over his shoulder clanking with the movement
easy smile finally finding its way back to his features"Sorry I wasn't up for introductions earlier... name's James. Loverboy here" yea, he knows where Luc is looking "is Lucian, my packmate."
(kota)
She drapes an arm around both her packmate's shoulders, grinning affably at Drums and when she notes Lucian staring blatantly at her breasts - which are quite easy to see, being that she was wearing a mesh top with only a push-up bra underneath for modesty's sake - she wiggles her eyebrows at the younger Garou and winks.She looks back at Drums, although it is kinda hard to tell where she is looking, being that she was wearing mirrored sunnies.
"Name's Dakota, baby. This is Santo," She nods her head to Santo on one side and then nods breifly at Voice, "N' that's Jimmy. They're my packboys." A wicked grin.
(kota)
Santo leans down and looks at Jimmy's socks."Nice socks, rockstar."
(voice)
Now, with what he was wearing. No one ever said it was clean... His sneakers were about to die a very horrible smelly death by the looks of things.He look at Santo, speaking.
"Thanks, man, Toni got 'em for me after we Rocked the Kasbar."
(rune)
Long pale fingers slip through dark swinging hair, barred from further movement by several large, sticky gobs of clinging sap. Bare feet slap painfully against the damp, crackling ground, and the laughter dies away as she gets closer to her packmates and the knot of strangers.The light is uncertain, but it's easy enough to pick them out, and the albino in particular stands out starkly against the dark night beyond. Circling the group, she sidles up between James and Lucian, offering a brief nod to the rest and dropping a comforting hand on Luc's shoulder.
(james)
"Dakota Baby, huh?"grinned
easy enough to remember
especially for Luc
.... if he'd ever look at her facenodding to each of her boys in turn
grin widening at the Clash reference"Rune here is one of ours, too, we hold territory up Northside.... where are y'all from?"
y'all?
you are definitely hanging around Decker too much, James.(luc)
He blinks as she waggles her brows and coughs, nearly drops his ciggarette and hifting from foot to foot looks back at James. (...did you see that? I wasn't imagining that was I?) Oh, the things that can be conveyed b y a moon-singers. He straightens to the full 6'4 height the gangly length of his form, and then realizing how much taller his is than everyone else--slouched down down again with another drag."Ya'll don't live in the country do you?"
(One step away from, 'Whats yer number bay-Bee?')
(kota)
"We're touring, honey. Passin' through and all that. Ain't got a formal home. Gotta couple of gigs down in Jersey City in a coupla days." Dakota grins at Lucian's shifting from foot to foot and only grins more, winking at the kid again before she continues to speak."We're Urrah, sweetie. But Santo here wanted to come out and commune and stuff. Dance naked under the moon and make some sweet lovin' to the trees or whatever the hell the yokels are into."
(voice)
"The open road I call my home, until I die, her back I'll roam."Go the Galliard. He then looks to Dakota and mutters.
"Yeah, we're touring Jersey."
(kota)
Santo spots the Rebars on Drums' back and grins."Nice sticks, man. You play?"
Ah, warriors of Gaia, the Masters of Small Talk.
(james)
there's a grin
Yea Luc, I saw it... saw THAT too...
he can't help the amusement at Kota's demeanor
poor young Skald wants so much
and when he gets? insta-shy....
it's cute
but he'd never say it
out loud anyway
he remembers when he was that agecourse, now that Rune's here
he begins leading the conversation back towards the road
pine-sol is giving him a headache"Born and raised Albany, I wouldn't know what they do out there..."
and the grin flashes to Santo
"Yea.... Momma Ruggs taught me and it's been a love affair since."
it it weren't for the reference right there
the Gnawer glyph in the patches of his trench would give it away(luc)
Okay, Luc?
..he's turned bRIGHT beet red.And seems to chuckle at nothing in particular. "Fuck!" And almost burns himself on that damn ciggarette even as he reaches for another one sparking it shakily even as he flashes a grin at Rune ('s ass.) Lips twitching still.
"And thanks for bailing my ass out, back there guys."
Is he talking to Rune's butt? No his eyes actually manage to find the faces of his packmates--sincere.
(james)
(adds)a hand reaches over, settling on Luc's shoulder a moment
hey, that's what pack is for
you just had terrible timing, boy(santo)
Santo grins, for lack of anything else, as the trio of Howls follow the other pack."You should come jam with us, man."
(rune)
"Stand up straight," Rune murmurs to Lucian, nudging him up with an errant shoulder as she falls into step beside with the rest. The heat of battle (or almost-battle, or just plain annoyance) is wearing off, and her bleeding feet are beginning to sting. Who knows where the shoes went? She searches through the pocket of her suede