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 coat, now scuffed and stained and torn, and shakes a few more pine needles from her hair. "Don't mention it. Just don't come back here unless you're gonna go out and search for my lost shoes."The flash of a grin encompasses both packmates, before sliding back into a smirk. Bad timing, indeed.
As they walk, she offers brief nods of acknowledgment to the other Garou, the pack of urrah also wandering the woods, but doesn't say much, doesn't say anything at all.
It's been a long night. Rune needs a shower.
(kota)
Dakota, on the other hand, is till grinning, but she is checking out body parts about as openly as Lucian was. Rune definately had a peachy-keen behind and the boys weren't bad either. For a Bonegnawer and a Get. Her arms were still slung over her packmates, one on either side of her, as she guides him.In the lull that follows Santo starts singing to himself the opening lines of In the Jungle
(voice)
He notices Rune's feet and being the affable type that he is..."You wanna borrow my shoes?"
(james)
another, easy, relaxed (ha!) grin"I'd love to.... where'd I reach you when you're up North?"
it's not long
or at least it doesn't seem as long as Rune's tredge into the forest
he's got them nearing the road again
not like his sense of direciton out here is any better
he's just following her scent and inward trail
backwards(voice)
He then breaks into song with Santo on cue, wailing rock-star style..."In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight..."
Go the Galliard.
(luc)
And successfully sparked and inhaled. He stays tearfully close to Rune, not in a sexual way almost as if he's not quite sure what to do with himself. But see that perma-grin?--it don't come off. He straighten as Rune points out nearly missing a low branch as he does.Did he HAVE to be so FREAKISHLY tall--geez.
(rune)
There's a brief glance cast over a lowering shoulder, sweeping over VotMS's shoes. Some small, suppressed little smirk plays across her lips. "No thanks. Doubt they'd fit, and it shouldn't be much farther."Hopefully. If James knew what he was doing. She's too turned around to navigate.
"You know how to drive stick, Luc?"
(luc)
"Course.."Note she didn't ASK if he HAD a license. And the information isn't supplied. A nervous tongue slides over his lips as the tall (Tall. Taller than a man, Like Ares he strides--Raise high the roofbeams Carpenters.)boy mananes to look behind him at the pale girl--nah it HAD to be in his head.
Yeah.
(kota)
"Ya'll wanna grab a drink or somethin'? Do a lil' schmoozing between packs n' all?" Kota offers over the bawling of her packmates.(voice)
He saw what Kota said, more than heard and stops singing, eyes widened."Smooching? There's gonna be smooching?"
He belts out the first few lines of "I Kissed a Girl", flashing a shit-eating grin to Dakota.
(luc)
To that he faces -dead- forward.Strae straight ahead, she can't tell what your thinking. (Stop thinking about--)Ugh it was almost painful the way the tall boy just stared straight ahead, smoking the THIRD ciggarette as if he were a soldier in the war.
Oh yeah, he IS a soldier in war--isn't he?
(kota)
Santo, who was still going along with In The Jungle, slowly fades out, looking confused."Awim Away... Awim... uh... what the fuck?" He stares at Jimmy.
(rune)
"Good. If I let you drive my car, are you gonna wreck it?" She snatches the cigarette from his hand, and takes a good long draw herself before handing it back. Strange, to be so dwarfed by a gangling 16-year-old. He almost makes her feel small. "Cos if you wreck it, I'm gonna hafta kill you."They're coming abreast of the road now, Rune's Beemer gleaming on the shoulder a hundred yards south. As she climbs the berm and gains the crumbling blacktop, she turns and flashes Dakota a grin. "I'm going to hafta take a raincheck. I'm a fucking mess, and there's no way I'm going to appear anywhere in public looking like this."
(kota)
She looks at Rune's feet and shrugs a little."We got beers back at the pad if ya don't mind slumming it with us. Ya'll wouldn't be the group packin' it with Decker 'n' Dire, would ya?"
(james)there's a bit of a flashed grin
he'll follow his Beta
onto the road, and homeLuc has choice of where to go
oooooh but that grin hardens, a bit
"Decker's pack... Dire is not"
(luc)
"Rune.. If there's a scratch--" A thoughtful pause. "..there won't be."And He's grinning, a Beamer, a 16 year old and a hot albino woman givin him the eye.. oh yes--tonight is HIS night.
(kota)
"Guessin' you have a beef with the punk, as well?"And boy did she not like Dire. She was the friendly sort, save to those who thought she would find it amusing to have a complete stranger rip out her eyebrow piercing like it was amusing or some shit.
(james)
there's a bit of a chuckle"You can consider it a beef, I guess..... the punk isn't welcome in our territory."
we'll just glean over why
(rue)
"I got no problem with slumming," she smirks, attempting, once more, to slideshake long lean fingers through sap-anointed black hair. "...but I do have a problem with not getting shower sometime in the next hour."Hands slide smooth over leatherclad hips. It's true: she's a mess. She's not just a mess. She's a freakin' mess. Lipstick smeared, tumbled hair filthy with sap and leaves and little bits of sticky bark, feet ooozing mud between toes with every step on the asphalt.
(kota
"Normally, I wouldn't consider myself a vengeneful kinda person, ya know, but when a snot-nosed kid comes up and rips out a piercing as a how-ya-goin', I figure... what the hell." A shrugs of her shoulders as she lifts a hand to finer-wave at Gunraven, the petite japenese girl looking some manga-ish out here in the middle of the boonies.(voices)
"We got showers at the trailor park, miss... Miss... uh... what's your name, anyway?"Oh you smooth talker you...
(rune)
"Rune," she offers her name. If they glance up to the license plate on the metallic purple Beemer, they'll see it there, too. R U NE1. Jersey tags, now, not California like they were, but some things never change.(kota)
On the bonnet of the Beemer something seems to materialize out of thing air, running around the car with utmost enthusiasm. Like a child on red-cordial, even.What the hell was a Pattern Spider doing out here in the boonies, ya gotta ask yourself?
(james)
that grin moves into sneer"Dire has an.... interesting way of making friends. Makes more enemies from what I've seen."
then he looks to his packmate
"I've got some stuff in the city to deal with, Luc, you wanna hang with them I can drive Rune back."
(luc)
Quietly watching (see how insiduiously) he manuevers closer to Kota. ( Cuz the 6'4 white guy is REAL hard to spot.) Just a step or two, looks around another step and then..(Ooo.. boobies.)
Freeze.(voice)
intro(luc)
"Uh.."At the thought of being left ALONE he shakes his head vehemently. He says nothing, pulling out another stop and lighting it..
Damn, chain smoking now?
(kota)
Santo looks at Gunraven's bike and then looks at Dakota, a little pale at the thought of hitching a lift with either of his female packmates. They were not road-rule friendly people. They took the speed limits as suggestions, not laws.Dakota tightens a hand on Jimmy's neck.
"You ain't walking back, boy." She knows, given a choice, Jimmy would walk everywhere.
"You coming with us, Lucian sweetie?" She flashes a mischevious grin at the lanky youth, wiggling her eyebrows.
(voice)
"See! Five people, two bikes. Someone's gonna hafta walk... so why I don't just start now?"He didn't want to ride with either of his packmates either, by the look of it.
(luc)
"Anywhere you go.."The words come out of his mouth before he has a minute to think about it--does it matter that his eyes are directed at the shifting weave of fishnet over cleavage? (Wait did he speak?) and he nods a moment afterwards as if agreeing with his earlier words..
Baby you so fine--I'd drink your bathwater. Could catch a fish without a hook--wanna put yuo on a plate and sop your pale self up with some bread...
MmmmmHmmm.
(rune)
"Pleasure's mine," Rune replies, in an easy SoCal drawl. The two-seater's Beemer's top is down, and if the three of them have to squeeze into it, it'll be a cold ride home. Rune slipslides an affectionate hand along the curves of the car, waiting for Lucian to decide.There it is. And - of course - that's when Rune notices the pattern spider skittering across her Beemer. Her hand breaks contact with the car, and she takes a step (or three) back, suprised to see such a creature all the way out here.
"...the fuck?"
(james)
he's.... amused greatly by this
but as Rune jumps back
she bumps into him
and then he whirlsand a...
.... spider?
VIOLATING
Rune's Beemerpick your jaw up off the ground James, that's rude.
(kota)
She lets her 'boys' go and sidles up to Lucian, flashing him a black-lipsticked grin and with him slouching, she can wrap an arm wound the kid's shoulders."We'll take care of you, kid."
She notices everyone stop and looks over at the Beemer, raising an eyebrow at the actions the Spider is taking with teh Beemer. Something was in loooooove, it seemed.
"Widget, get your fuckin' ass off the Beemer already."
The Spider stops mid stroke of the Beemer's shiny hood and skitters around when it hears Dakota's voice... It skitters back a little, wiggles it "ass" (who knew what passed for an ass on these things?) and taking a running leap it launched itself into the air... straight for Gunraven's Ninja.
Only to fall short. Splat. A couple of legs twitch. That had to hurt.
(voice)
Since Widget seems to have grabbed everyone's attention, he slowly starts to back away...He casually makes his way down the road, now that Kota hasn't got a grip on him.
Maybe if he's lucky he'll be out of sight by the time Dakota notices he is missing.
(kota)
Santo wanders over to Gunraven to stand next to his packmate, now that Dakota has released him from the group 'hug'."Goin' for beers. You in, chica?"
Can I ride with you, Kota jubblies have a new fan... comes on the heals of the verbal speech, carried with Coyote's laughter and his own.
(rune)
Startled would not even begin to describe Rune's reaction. She grabs James' shoulder for leverage and takes another two steps back. It's then that the spider leaps off the car and goes splat on the pavement. Dark eyes widen, and red lips twist into a strange bemused smirk."Christ." Hands dive into her pockets and fish out the keys. She tosses them to James, not willing to drive the stickshift with bare, bruised feet. The faint grin flashes, still laced with discomfort. Pattern spider following someone around like a pet? That's just... weird. "Please tell me you can drive a stick?"
(luc)
And now he nervous.What did he get himself into? Exactly (his first instict being to kill the thing..) And that it kinda jumped at hurt itself both brows push together in a facial expression of confusion. ( She's touching my shoulder--she SO wants me) And distrated utterly as a sweaty hand creeps around to settle, on what he suspects is RATHER pale, rounded rear.
(james)
he just.... stares
yep
staresblinking as the keys jangle
snatching them out of the air
and flashing a grin".... sorta."
once.
it's not the paint she has to worry about
it may be the transmission(kota)
"Just tell me where to put my hands, babe." Santo breaks into a spanish dance, winking at Gunraven.Dakota, being a tease and not above milking everything for all it's worth with a kid like Lucian, wiggles her ass a little against Luc's hand and flashes him another mischeivous grin.
Widget, the pattern spider, pulls itself off it's crash-splat position and stumbles like a drunken-lout, shaking itself and meandering towards the Ninja.
(kota)
"I think he's eyein' the muffler." Santo snickers in reply to Gunraven's distress. If nothing else, it was sometimes amusing to watch Widget at work. So long as it he wasn't trying to weave the band gear, that is."Whoa... what is he doin' to the fuel tank!"
(luc)
Its a shuddered breath as she wiggles her rear, and Luc just closes his eyes. (Oh man. Oh man. Oh man.) Will he ever get home will he be taken by wild amazons and be forced to assuage thier sexual urges? Will he come back dressed in leater with a long whip and cuff?Stay tuned.
(rune)
"Oh," there's... doubt in her widened eyes, and they flash possessively over the beloved Beemer. "...well, maybe I should drive?"Dark brows rise in query, but briefly. She's already circling to the passenger's side, long gait made not-quite-but-almost mincing by the stinging soles of her abused feet. The door swings open, but she pauses to dust off her rear (vigorously) before sliding in, not wanting to stain the freshly re-upholstered interior.
"I think I learned something tonight, James," she continues, finally sliding into the passenger's side. "Never again will I wear heels in the fucking woods."
(kota)
She links an arm through Lucian's, raising an eyebrow invitingly."You can ride with me, cutie."
She flashes Gunrave a grin and shrugs a shoulder, but she whistles over her shoulder and Widget's... uh... head?... lifts up and he launches off the bike, dissipating in mid air.
"Better, babe?"
(james)
spiders raping beemers and ninjas
is tentacle sex next?
he doesn't even want to think about ittossing a wave over his shoulder
for.... everyone... really"Luc, get a contact for me so I can jam.... night"
sliding into the driver's seat
sticks tossed into what there is of the back
this should be interesting
hands wrap carefully over the wheel
chuckling softly"Probably a good thing to know, Rune."
the engine roars
and while his shifting may be a little rough
she doesn't have to worry about the paintPosted by james at 12:00 AM.11.09.02. - longwinded [pack-gabriel thunderoak][pine barrens]
(gabriel thunderoak)
The smoke from the fire slowly wafts up toward the heavens. The nights endeavors and events weighed heavily upon him still, yet it was purpose and reason from which such actions had to be dealt out. In time it would make sense, in time it would be better, in time .... Yet there was little time for a great many things. He sat, tending the flame and the embers, feeling the radiaing warmth across his skin and body... waiting.(bloodless star howling)
*Through the gnarled roots of a twisted, sinking tree, passes the darkness of a shadow whose shape is neither intimidating, nor demonic. The slender rabbit, half-starved and ever paranoid, flicks its tall ears forward, and then back again, whiskers twitching like the nerves of a boy on an acid trip. One paw is set to the Earth, and then lifted jerkishly from the ground, only to return again. (Yes, no, Yes...yes...) A nimble leap forward, (watch very carefully, if you will, the body of the rabbit) a sudden hop...
...and a tiny, inaudible shriek of agony tears through the otherwise placid air of the woodlands as a very audible crunch announces the death of the poor, now shadowless rabbit. The jaws of the creature, its black fur missing in patches which have been viciously replaced by terrible scarring, shake the limp body of the rabbit back and forth, droplets of blood spraying the trunk of the tree ghoulishly. Another crunch announces the inevitable severing of one half of the small, furry, innocent body from the other half, neatly.
Like a saw blade passing through wood.It's just life. All around, creatures go on living...it's nothing new, in the forest.*
(erik)
He'll wait no longer. Erik takes the lead as the pack makes its way to the camp of the elder. Decker isn't with them, but not because he didn't want to come. If he was around he'd have been there. But fuck it. don't need Decker to deal with Gabe.(gabe)
Looking up from the fire he was wondering how long it was going to be before his old friend would finally come. Staring up at the three as they entered he held up a hand pointing to the log across the fire from him..."Welcome Cousin, Alpha of a new pack I am told. Sit, share my fire, you and I have much to discuss."
His tone carried with it no malace, no regret, no order, just an offering as it should be... yet he only spoke to the Alpha directly, looking to no other and speaking to no other... just waiting.
(james)
he was told by Decker they weren't welcome anymore
he was told by Erik they were going for a little.... walk
who was he to disobey the Alpha?
his steps are a little more sure, now, on these forest paths
he doesn't really mind the bushes grabbing at the tails of his trench anymore
he's getting used to it out here
Gaia's lands
even if the pine-sol smell still clogs up his sinuses(bloodless)
*She is ever amazed by how easily she has avoided detection, but then, that may have more to do with the fact that no one has come looking for her than anything else. As she drops the body of the rabbit from her maw, blood and fur clinging to her k9's until both are consumed within the gaping blackness of the darkness that lies within, her half-limping stride carries her away from the body. She leaves some of the meat for other predators, and some still that it might return to the Earth and become new life. The scent of woodsmoke is ever heavy on the wind, and her nostrils flare wetly, accompanied by a soft snuffling sound, before she wades through the chilly water of the shallow stream.*(lucian)
Luc is along for the ride. ( A lil walk, he said.) And when he had realized they were headed to pine barrens his face had brightened immediatly. In addition to the hot bikini clad kin wandering around (heh. heh.) there was some weakling muthafuckers that needed some challenges dropped. To his way of seeing things.God bless Cliaths.
(erik)
He stands and folds his arms. He looks around the clearing with that perpetual sneer on his face. No hiding his wyrm scars... "Hello, Gabriel. What's this all about my pack now?"(james)
he stops short just behind his Alpha
but not hiding behind the Get
an easy step to the side, standing clear in Gabriel's view
he wasn't spoken to, so he just nods should he get a glance
whether or not the Pack gets along with him at the moment... he's still an Athrohere's hoping Luc has the sense to do the same
(gabe)
Slowly the Fianna Stands, returning his arm to his body as he crosses both in front of him, flexing his own size and with the Flannel removed he stood in the worn white T-shirt, allowing those tats of rank and station to show around the bands of his arms."Your pack has a few members within it that have transgressed against law and tradition and as you are their alpha I required your presence so that you may hear what has been brough before me and that you may deal the hand of justice accordingly. For as you may well know by now one of your pack has not only shown a lack of wisdom but has also dishonored himself in my presence on two seperate occasions and is not welcome within my domain until this is settled."
(luc)
Hope.
(Pssht.)He's invincible, he's got the testosterone of two stallions in heat, he turns into a giant fuzzy war machine. ( Hope? We don' need no steeenkin' hope) But yeah, good sense says he follows his Alpha's lead, though you know, its his JOB to set the tone.
And that he DOES, in spades.
(bloodless)
*The burning scent continues to tingle her nostrils, resulting in a lazy sort of sneeze that errupts from within the sizeable chest region of the beast, sending a spray of moisture out onto the greenery of local undergrowth. Movements that are not so much graceful as careful carry the bulk of the creature inbetween trees and through patches of darkness as easily as patches of light. She has no preference for either. The wilderness here is so different from that which she is accustomed to, that she still finds herself stopping every few hundred yards to sniff at an unfamiliar root or paw at the markings of a strange animal's trail.
The jungle might be forest, but it's forest of an entirely unique classification.
It is not so much the wood smoke that attracts her...what attracts her, well...High above, for those with eyes to see, the falcon navigates the perpetual darkness of the umbral sky, flitting infront of the fullness of the moon to cast nothing more than a dark dot for a shadow down upon the silver pathways that mark the distance between one oasis and the next...it moves...
Even as she moves, her steps light and holding a sense of everpresent viciousness. One ear, badly torn in a long-since-forgotten fight, flicks slightly at the sound of a mouse scurrying through its hole beneath the surface of the pine-needle-strewn earth...*
(erik)
There is no fear in Erik's stance at all, and hardly any deference. Faint, but there. The alpha of the Eagles looks stupider than he is."Right. Well, I'll havta hear ya state yer grievance plain then. Whats the -Ahroun- done now?"
(gabe)
Slowly the Fianna inhales, making ready to state the things brought before him but also what he has seen first hand. He knew Erik for some time now and they may not have always seen eye to eye on alot of issues but they atleast knew what really was going on when it mattered. And he also knew that this would be a very certain turn of events and was not going to be easy."Your packmate, Decker, Fostern Fenris has been sited with the following charges..."
(erik)
He doesn't even glance to his packmates. He doesn't need to. He can feel what they feel, sense their rage, smell their unity. He is their leader. It's been a long time...Stoicly he waits on the long winded Galliard. This is gonna take a while...
(gabe)
"1. Befriending a fellow Garou to the point of being called pack and in time of need refusual of aide of any type when the situation well warranted it. Resulting in the near fatal injury to Two fellow Garou.
2. Disrespecting the domain of another. This has the weight of two cases. One which resulted in the dishonorable and unwarrented physical brutality of the transgressed in the presence of innocent humans which almost to far and into another offence...
The second count is within my own domain and more specifically in my own sanctuary where you now stand. While in the company of a warded and protected Garou of which was under my aide he brough dishonor upon himself by breaking the sanctity and peace of his place by engaging within a petty brawl for pack dominance. Pack disputes and posturing are to be handled outside anothers domain well alone the sacred space of one of greater rank. Resulting in...
3. The disrespect of one of Greater Station on Two occasions. First was that night, and second was just last night when I confronted him about it. Result of that matter is his inability to enter my domain until this matter is handled by you his Alpha.There is more...."
(james)
he.... hates it when they start like that
cause he knows just how long a lecture is coming
eyes dark as the soil beneath them watch the ranking Garou
from deep within the frame of jungle-vine dreads
not a word
only even breath
listening
(erik)
He resists the urge, almost overpowering, to roll his eyes. "There better be. That's all crap and you know it. Are you just pissed, or did he actually break any laws?"(Bloodless)
*(I can feel it, bang the drums, something wicked this way comes...)...A thin tendril of mist begins to form around Blood Eagle's paws...it's nearly invisible, in the beginning, simply a creeping sort of paleness that winds its way upwards. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, mist is a common enough occurance when the temperature begins to drop in the woodlands, towards the later part of the day. This mist, however, does not dissipate as the first rays of the dappled sunlight spill upon it from inbetween the boughs high above...
(I can hear it, twisting round, screaming curses 'till we drown...)*(luc)
Luc eyes wander.Hey! Where are all the bikini clad Kin? (man, he got a raw deal.) The skald rolls his shoulders and listens to the ranking Skalds words, promising to himself he'll never be that gasbaggy--.
Wait, does wind-baggin' impress the babes?
(gabe)
"4. Using the powers Gaia gave you irresponsibly, and against those we're supposed to protect... and finding amusement in it. This is a charge I have not personally witnessed but have clear understanding of truth to it. The acqusation continues in that the power and strength granted to him by Gaia was used against those of Mortal Birth to goad them into drunken brawls for the sheer pleasure of the fight. This is substantiated by the Mortal news ajencies within the city.
"To Respect those beneath you as we are all of Gaia" That includes Humans.
5. Blatant Refusual to rend death to a falled Garou. This I know because it was I who mentioned it to him. He failed to Follow up and ensure that this Garou was truly Tainted and if so... "To Kill the Wrym where it Lives." You of all people know this law and it's effect."He paused and looked to the Get.
"This goes beyond petty brawls and disrespect, It continues..."
(james)
something snaps up in his gaze
he wants to speak
but he doesn't... he can't....
literally having to bite his tongue(gabe)
"I am to understand there is a New Fianna Kin in town. One who's been saught for and has had pictures posted for her. You have found this Kin I am to understand."Changing gears for a moment to allow this to settle in while he prepares for a nother list.
(erik)
He shakes his head. "Forget it. I don't want to hear any more. What do you claim as your territory?" He really just can't see why Gabe's so pissy, and he's known the elder long enough to know that there will be no convincing him of it. No, Gabriel is as stuborn as his namesake.He pauses, glancing down at the mist, thinking nothing of it. "I don't know nothin about no fianna kin, and no changin the damn subject."
(bloodless)
*The mist thinks nothing of Blood Eagle, either, which is likely a good thing...all things considered. However, it does not fade...it seems to grow, like a visual cancer, spreading palely in chilly tendrils outwards, over his paws...another sudden, sporradic sliver of it winds its way inbetween Lucian's ears, drifting lazily down over his nose before moving foward to join its companion which has now begun to twist lazily around Gabriel's mid-section...*(gabe)
"Very well then... For the transgrettions aginst man, for those against Cousin, for those against blood and Kin, for blatant shows of disrespect for disreguard and failure to attain the basic level of decency and honor required a pack and a Garou I will take as insult to youth and stupidity. But to blatanty disrespect that which is clearly a standard of our people and a law above all others to hunt and destroy the wyrm where they live is unforgivable. Now I know you and your pack have been hunting the Spiral Pack, for this I applaude you and your efforts. But my Domain extends to the Villiage just on the edge of the Park. These wood are under my protection, and this camp and the surrounding 'marked' areas is my sanctuary. You deal with your pack, and your lands of the city as you see fit, but know in my domain I will not take to being Disrespected or having that which under my protection disreguarded in slight. Now then... You have heard me and you as their Alpha are charged with the final outpour of the Law. As you and I go well back I respect you and the law you lead, but I will not abide to hear the transgrettion of petty bullshit being broken in the open any longer. Say you peace and take your leave, we are done."(erik)
"No, Gabriel, we are not. See, I've been getting some complaints as well. 'Cept mine are about you..."(luc)
Lucian, formerly distracted now sputters briefly at the wind. [The fuck is that?] His confusion immediatly morphing into hostility at the strangeness that occupies his facial area (I JUST shaved, man!) And steps immediatly to the right muscles tensing--this "territory" or whatever it was SURE wasn't what he considered friendly.(james)
he noticed the mist
the snaking, traveling, sentient mist
(or so it seems)
..... interestingbut Gabe distracts him from it with the lecture
Eagle's voice feathers through Eriks' mind
Decker didn't not fight the Wyrm if this is what I'm thinking of, I know the whole story on that one, Erik....
he won't dare it outloud unless asked
he still knows his place(system admin)
The myst rises and ebs through the land and the camp and it is not unnoticed by those who watch this place.High in the umbra a shreaking call of the Falcon crys out and the fire which is the life of light and the bringer of death to the darkness errupts both in the physical and Umbral realms. Causing a ripping wind to scream through the land with a voice of it's own like that of the great Banshee ringing through the wood and echoing off the stone as the fog and myst is burned away in a moments fierceness which is both stunning as it is unexplained... save for those who can see the large guardian Flacon brings down the justice and call of judgement against the transgressions of the land before it.
(erik)
"You give succor to Nova, care for her as a child, keep her from even witnessing harm, and forget the litany. Suffer not thy people to tend thy sickness, and all that. If the bitch can't live on er own, what is a Galliard doing taking care of her? Oh, then there are a few who have been askin me why a Gallaird, even though he is a wise elder, is handing out judgements like a Philodox, even on things he has not witnessed, but only heard of? Where is the wisdom in that? and again, people say that you condem others for that which you will not do. Why have you not hunted this Ikthya down yourself? too busy playing nursemaid to Nova?"He's on a roll, the black moon in his blood. "And where is this other Garou, a Fenrir, who was brawling with my Ahroun? Why is he not speaking to me? Why is he taking his grievences to a Fianna? Or does he have a grievance at all?"
"I'll keep Decker outta yer territory if that's what you want, but don't try to play ME like that, I know better."
(bloodless)
*The large patch of shadow which had been watching over the campsite from a distance backs up a few steps, at the sudden appearance of the Spirit Guardian. Ah, the unexpected happens everyday, doesn't it?...Indeed, it does.Far above the clearing, in the depths of the penumbral sky, a dark shape begins to descend...its small body taking on the shape of a bird of prey, the twisted beak and golden gleaming eyes sharply piercing through the shadows. It comes to land upon a branch, just outside of the ring of trees which mark the campsite, head turning from side to side as it gazes at the living Spirit within...*
(gabe)
"I give protection to those who by your packmates stupidity nearly killed not only himself but two others. Were I not there they all three would be dead, so how I deal with the Recouperation of the wounded is my own concern. As is it when I take action here where the battle goes beyond just the single pack you hunt. Stand not to me with the understanding of what truly happens in the depths of the deep in these wood for you gave up the wyld a long time ago, you and I both know this. As for my Moon, I may be Galliard but in the absence of all, I have had to learn to be more than what one moon has granted. I pass judgement only upon that which I witness first hand. What happens beyond that is your concern. I pass no further judgement against such things which is why I bring them to you. As to the Concern of the Metis Fenrir, he came to the woods seeking what he had not and found me. I asked him last evening why he had not saught you out and he knew you not though he knew Decker well enough. What does that say about you and your relationship with your own pack... when others who would join you don't know who you are? For now Nova is my student and under the blanket of my hospitality. When she is ready she will leave, until then it should concern you not."(luc)
And as his alpha speaks its ALL he can do to shout, 'Yeah!' behind it. Of course his head is facing the ground now, but the muscle tension of a Wiiiide grin is unmistakable.Damn Fianna, too busy gettin drunk.
(Watchya gonna do, BORE the wyrm to death?)
(bloodless)
*(Allow me to introduce myself...)...The sudden snapping of a twig, dry(it would have made good kindling) and shattered, announces the arrival of something on the edge of the campsite. A big something, actually, from the sound of it...it is accompanied by a low rumbling noise that, not entirely unlike distant thunder, emerges from the depths of the whatever-it-happens to be that no one is really paying any attention to...yet.This might change.
But then, the unknown is half of the fun of being alive, now isn't it?*(james)
well now
the Gnawer is still just standing there
watching, listening
seen but not heard
speak when spoken to
none much surprising, is it.(erik)
"Yeah, that's the thing right there. I'm alpha of my pack, your teacher of yours. But you have a point. You don't want Decker in your territory, so I'll tel him to stay out. I'm fairly sure he'll be heartbroken. If thats all..."(gabe)
"You lead your way, I teach where needed and lead because others have failed and it needs to be done. We both have our journey to travel may Gaia bless and Protect you on yours,... We're done. "Looking over to the new arrival the large Fianna watches...
(luc)
Luc's paying attention. That twig-snap might be one o' those kin he's been told about. His head -snaps- up in reponse, blue eyes snaking about as the gangly teenager rolls his shoulders back again.Bikini?
(bloodless)
*Bikini? Absolutely not. At least, not in public...how uncouth.Lucian probably doesn't want to sleep with this. In fact, one would venture a rather educated guess that very few creatures on Gaia's green Earth would be brave enough to contemplate anything even vaguely sexual in regards to the massive hunk of rather badly scarred flesh that stands on the edge of the campsite. It's big, not huge...that would be silly, but most definitely on the largish end of the size spectrum. The bitch wolf's head is down, but this is less a sign of submission than of keeping the sunlight that pours down over the top of her black head from glaring off of the dull, liquidy looking blue eyes. Her fur is pure black, at least, what's left of it. What hasn't been replaced in slashes all along her body with deep gouges and scars that look like(because they are)claw and bite marks. One ear is almost completely missing, shredded and hanging in...well...ugly flaps, not to put too fine a point on it. The left forepaw is slightly favored, and the creature's long tail flicks strangely, just the tip, back and forth.
One thinks it's not the wag of a happy lupine.*
(james)
a brow most definitely lifts at the new arrival
would explain the mists, now wouldn't it
while many others would be taken aback at the sudden appearence and, well, appearence
he's not
but any further reaction he'd have is hidden in the turn of his packmate
a glance at Luc
and away they go(luc)
"Ewww."Okay no Bikini. Just another fantasy crushed among the myriad of things, that rolled up issies of playboy inspire before difting to bed. He flashes a smile though (..he can't help hiimself.) before meeting eyes with James and moving with the pack.
(erik)
to Drums on Skulls, Lucian: He walks them all the way out of Gabriel's territory before he speaks. "Well, how fun was that?"(james)
there's a soft chuckle as they wander down the forest paths
one hand raising to pat Luc's shoulder
One day, Luc, one day
there's a fondness for the kid's dejectedness
he remembers being that age
(he remembers what he lost a short time later)
glancing ahead to Erik"Peachy. What was all that about anyway? Half his accusations weren't even based in fact."
(erik)
"I know. No use tellin him that though. He don't listen for crap. What's Decker doin hangin in his territory anyways? He better not be goin soft on us..." Now thats funny.(james)
muscular shoulders roll in a shrug"Not sure... know he and Imogen were doing some looking further into the flyers that were posted about the Fang kin, think the number was a township out here someplace."
dreads shake as his head does
"Gabriel seems to listen about as well as Dire does."
(erik)
to Drums on Skulls, Lucian: "Dire... That's the fuckhead that started all this. Think I'm gonna wanna meet that fucker... After all, no Garou should have to wait too long to meet his tribal Elder..."(james)
something clouds in the Ahroun's dark, rich eyes
something hardening"Well, he's not welcome in the territory around the Condo.... you may have to come out here and find him if he actually listens to the warning."
which there's a low probablility
beneath the tattered cuff of his trench
one hand balls into a fist
he doesn't really like that Fenrir, does he(luc)
to Drums on Skulls, Blood Eagle: It takes a minute. Accourse Get ain't known for thier brilliance and he moves along pretty quiet for the most of it and finally he shrugs."That guys an ANTRHO?"
Yes, the brilliant conversationsational styling of Luc. Thank you, thank you, another shoe in 20 minutes.
(erik)
to Drums on Skulls, Lucian: He grunts amusement at Luc's question. "Yeah, them fianna gotta take em where they can get em, ya know. But he's not our problem. Like it or not the forest needs im. Our problem now is Dire, but fuck if I'm gonna come out here lookin for im. If I did that I wouldn't have a reason to kick his ass. If he comes into the territory... I will."(james)
"Took Decker to make him listen the other night, he doesn't quite see a Gnawer as anything important enough to heed."smirked
he's used to it
but not in the ways Dire does it
he's as bad as a fucking Lord"Who knows, he may show back up again."
(luc)
"Whose this Dire person everyone's talking about? Sounds like a fuckhead--" Oh! He has a thought! "I'll go find him--shit. He's messin with my chick-magnet mojo thang.."How luc made that connection no one knows. But if you've learned anything you KNOW never to get between a a 16 year old boy and his mojo. That--and never try to take food away from a dog AFTER he starts eating.
Thise things will get you maimed.
(james)
he.... can't help but laugh"Can't miss him, Luc, name's Dire Warning.... metis with your family crest tattood over his eye-brow. Sees goblins, too. He's the one responsible for rearranging the mailboxes over by the condo. Disprespects territory, abuses rather than respects those under him, comes about this" holds fingers up, pressed together "close to breaking the Veil repeatedly. He's a real fuckhead."
James?
swearing?
You know there's a problem
his look says he'd hide in the shadows in wait with Erik without any moral implications"Has a huge sledge for a tat fetish and likes to carry around a crowbar."
yea, he's seconding that's not the best idea
but how else can you warn your packmate about someone without telling them about him?(luc)
to Drums on Skulls, Blood Eagle: He manages with the most serious expresion the generally babied lines of his face can muster. And nothing is quite said in response. His head twists to the side and spinal column rolls in with clicks of appeciation.OOC: So we out then?
((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 clearingPosted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 08, 2002.11.08.02. - my pleasure [rune][cont'd, north jersey, rune's apt]
[north jersey, rune's condo]
(imogen)
Decker unlocks his door a moment after. With the key gone from the lock, the car doesn't bing when the door opens, though the roof light does come on. Riding all the home with them, Lucian must wonder if there was really anything going on at all. Imogen drives, Decker stares out the window and, occasionally, fiddles with the radio.Apparently he could hear it.
Now, back at the condo, he shuts the door of the SUV and looks over the hood at Imogen. "Goin' back to yer own place, or..?"
(james)
the ride was quiet save the purr of the Z3's motor down the highway
the sleek Walker drove
the raggedy Gnawer stretched out
relaxed
long day, nice ride
all comfortable against the leather
dark eyes watching the stars as the miles passedconversation ebbed and flowed liquid in the darkness
few comments cast between them
into the city
into the parking lot
into the parking space
and into the condothe tattered trench is shrugged next to the pack
sling piled on top
he pauses between the couch and windows
the votive still sitting quietly at drape's base
it got cold in here today, but he asks anyway"Want me to seal it again?"
(decker)
Decker unlocks his door a moment after. With the key gone from the lock, the car doesn't bing when the door opens, though the roof light does come on. Riding all the home with them, Lucian must wonder if there was really anything going on at all. Imogen drives, Decker stares out the window and, occasionally, fiddles with the radio.Apparently he could hear it.
Now, back at the condo, he shuts the door of the SUV and looks over the hood at Imogen. "Goin' back to yer own place, or..?"
(rune)
She's slipping her coat from her shoulders - such a natural, thoughtless action, more reflex than anything else - when the cool air hits her bare skin. Shrugging the garment back on, she flashes James a thankful glance as she crosses the living room to peer out the window."That'd be great. Thank you."
Opening and closing doors echo through the broken windows. That'd be Imogen's SUV.
Arms folded across her torso for warmth, Rune crosses the living and turns into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge as James completes the ritual. She returns with two amber bottles in one hand, fingers curled deftly around the longnecks. She settles on the couch and waits until James completes the ritual, then offers one of the bottles up, some tracery of a smile curving her mouth. "I got the sampler pack. You want the oatmeal stout or the india pale ale?"
(luc)
He watches thier interaction, if he was any good in school he might have been taking notes. Such was the intent of his gaze on the pair..(imogen)
As Lucian exits the backseat of the SUV, the locks click as Imogen locks them from the small keychain. His door shuts, and the alarm chirps.She turns to look at him over the silver hood of the vehicle, glancing down at her watch and the time, before back up at him, "Yeah," she answers after a moment, glancing toward the damage still visible in Rune's condo, before back to Decker.
It's hard not to feel the intent gaze of the Cliath, though she doesn't look his way, instead arching an eyebrow slightly.
(james)
it doesn't take long
not like they got around to actually opening any of the windows
he just makes sure the drapes are sufficiently closed
from the candle comes life and the propensity for wamrth
even if it's not lit
cardboard palace, babythough a brow lifts
grin quirked
just..... reaching for one
like he would know the difference
finally unfolding from the crouch to stand before her
just before her
twisting the cap for the satisfying explosion of..... carbonation, right
bottles clinked"Thanks."
removing himself to stretch on the couch
(the others are coming back, James, behave)(decker)
Lucian would probably learn very little from Decker, other than the fine art of silence. At Imogen's answer, he's silent again. The audience had something to do with it, but not much. Suddenly growing aware of the wide-eyed staring, he turns to the Skald. "Lucian, fuck off."He starts toward the walk. He had until the path parted to make up his mind: go left, go right, turn around and go to the city to do what he did best.
"You workin' tomorrow?" he wants to know. They always seemed to walk like this: hands in their pockets, not quite touching.
(Luc)
Luc Fuck off.
Luc Clean the Apt.
Luc watch the Kin.Pssht. Luc goes out of the parking lot for a walk--yeah cool off a bit.
(imogen)
A brief flash of blue as she glances at Lucian, before starting to walk down the path, turning to glance at him as they reach the fork in the paths. "I'm not on call," she answers, though she still wears her pager in spite of all that."So, no," At least not in theory.
(decker)
Decker's looking over his shoulder at Lucian storming off, if only for a lack of a more interesting thing to watch. When Imogen stops at the part in the path, when she speaks, he keeps walking for a step or two, stops. Turns back to her. Looks up - past the path lights, past the condo complex, past the trees: clouds and stars. Celestial matters, too high up for him to grasp.And back to her. Eyes: blue.
(Celestial matters. Too high up...)A slight shake of his head; or perhaps simply a tilt to the side. His hands are still in his pockets, but they are relaxed now where a few short (endless) hours ago they had been balled into furious fists. Whatever he might say, the mere presence of his pack had been reassuring, even necessary.
He takes a step back towards her, and away from the left path. It's never been his style to ask, but there's a lilt up at the end - as close as it comes. "Invite me in."
(rune)
Dark eyes, half-lidded, travel ever-so-slowly up the man standing before her (just before her) as her painted mouth quirks upward into a very knowing smirk. The hiss of carbonation and the clink of bottles puncutates the brief meeting of eyes: rich-huded; dark, and darker; warm umber and polished mahoghany.When James swings onto the couch, Rune cants her head to the side, slitening to the tell-tale slap of footsteps on the sidewalk, on the stairs outside. Normally, she would have the windows closed and the CD-player turned up high, so there would be no such monitoring of the others' movements.
It's hardly been an ordinary week.
"My pleasure," she murmurs, still listening for the others' approach. Empty little phrases, hollowed of meaning and refilled. They don't really need words to communicate. "Thanks for dinner."
(imogen)
A faint quirk of a smile, a bare lifting of one corner of her mouth, as she starts walking again. As close as he gets to a question.The few steps between them are closed, her fingers cool for a moment against the half bent crook of his elbow, before she slides them back into her jean pockets, moving her head slightly in the direction of her condo, too slight and smooth a movement to be a jerk. "C'mon in," she says simply, moving her feet again to walk up toward the stairs of her own condo.
The sounds that Rune listens for are not quite heard. The stairs for the neighbouring condo are mounted, but apparently not her own, for the moment.
(james)
they need not words
they have other sounds
they have other gestures
they have other scents
they have other lookshe's more than aware of the foosteps outside
the set that walks away
the two sets that stop
but not outside
at least not outside this door
yet"My pleasure."
another little grin
mimicking her murmur
his weight shifts to slide over leather
head tipped to comfortably lean against her shoulder
dreads spilling snakes down her arm
least if their door ends up opening he can move quickly(decker)
Too slight and smooth to be a jerk: the faint cant of her head, sarabande tempo. The touch of her fingers raises gooseflesh on his arms. She doesn't touch him much, after all, and he couldn't remember the last time she had been the first to reach out to him. There was no last time.The wisps of hair that have come loose from her braid move with the gesture, but she's walking again before he quite makes up his mind to smooth them back. A beat after, he follows her up the stairs, battered boots clanging dully up concrete, nearly tripping on the top step before regaining his balance. Standing behind her while she unlocks the door, he casts a vague glance over at Rune's condo. Windows blasted, drapes shut, candlelight flickering out the edges - it was like some sort of neoprimitive cave. Imogen's windows would have to be privacy enough for all of them.
C-c-click. Dead bolt slides out of the door. Hinge squeals softly. You'd think the guys who put her door back up would at least oil them. Inside, it's even darker - no moon, no stars. If she starts to reach for the light switch, he catches her wrist halfway there, his palm rough on her skin.
His hand loosens. Her arm is held surprisingly gently (he has bruised her more than once before), even delicately, between fore, middle and thumb. Musician's fingers, hers. His: humans had no name for it, and it is better that way.
His fingers; sliding up her arm, seeing by touch, until his hand rests warm over the tattoo. There's no way he can see it, and it's unlikely that he can even feel it, but he always finds it unerringly. In the darkness, he clears his throat quietly.
"Thanks."
For walking away.(rune)
The footsteps outside do not come, or do not, at least, come closer. James can feel her relaxing by slow degrees. Beneath his head, her shoulder falls a fraction lower as tense muscles loosen and the long, lean form sinks lower into the luxuriant leather. The cushions beneath the sigh as her weight shifts and her center of balance changes, drops half a degree lower to somewhere at the center of her slouch.Her head turns, and chin and cheek brushing against the dreads, sleek black hair spilling low over the brown, spreading and shifting as her breath pushes it away and the currents of heat in the room make the strands dance right back.
"I don't think they're coming. They can think of better things to do." Murmured words spill into his ear, and the whisper of her cheek against his dreadlocks tells him all he needs to know of the slow-forming grin. "...I can, too."
(imogen)
As he fumbled over the final step, she had turned her head abruptly to look over her shoulder. He doesn't fall, so she doesn't move to help, another beat of watching him, before turning back. The door is unlocked and she steps inside, allowing him entrance. He shuts the door with a squeel of hinges, a protest of a dented and much abused door.She does reach for the light, not in the habit of walking in darkness, stopping in a half pause, half freeze as he catches her wrist. Her skin is cool against the roughness of his palm, and for a moment she doesn't bother to breath. His fingers pass across musicians fingers and callouses, roughened by use, because she plays her music the hard way, without a pick. She can literally play until her fingers bleed. The crescents of nail bitten flesh against her palm is long since faded, leaving only a faint tear, the slightest cut that did not draw blood. It's only where one nail bit deep enough into the flesh.
It takes her a moment to decide what he meant by his thanks; Two possibilities. A slow inhalation of breath, a faint whisper as she draws air into her lungs, before answering, her voice quiet in the pitch.
"Did'ye honestly think I wouldn't?"
(james)
in the low light animal senses come alive
primal survival instinct to survive, to conquer, to continuously get the upper hand
vision wanes to the background - content with just the passing flicker of shadows
scent expands - past the spa's pampering, beneath the smoke, there's musk
hearing notches slowly upwards - picking up the symphony of night's sounds, the scorch of murmured words racing a tickling quiver through so strong frame
touch prickles ever sharper - he can feel the warmth of her body relaxing against the leather, low, supple, lean how muscle suddenly seems to reshape skeletal boundaries, he can feel it pulling at his own skin, a poetic wax of flesh melting and twisting into this comfortable amalgum of emotion, presence, feeling, and raw, gut desirehis head twists
curling against hers
brush of cheek along her jawline, his brow against the smooth crest of cheekbone, breath that scalds an exploration the silken skin behind the curve of her jaw"Oh? Well.... it would be my pleasure....."
smile finding its way against her
movement of lips' speech a strange kiss in itself
his hand finding its way into the inky strands of hair in spreading caress
wrapping around the back of her neck
when he moves from the couch, he pulls her to join him(decker)
He shakes his head, a slight gesture neither seen nor even felt. It's for his own reference.He doesn't know what she thinks he meant. Three-way unknowns, walls upon walls. He leaves the lights off because somehow, a fourth unknown makes the rest easier to grasp. Confessions are given behind a screen. Doomed men are given blindfolds before they face the firing squad.
(To go blind into the night...)
To go blind for the light.Something like that. Meaningless sentences, bad poetry and artless prose: they flit through his mind and are lost. He is no Fianna. He is no Fianna and she is no Fenrir, and where his callouses come from axes and crowbars, brass knuckles and switchblades and fists in the backalleys, hers come from steel strings.
A silence falls in his mind then, complete and still. Thoughts like dust drift through slanting beams of consciousness and in the end his hand slips down to find hers. His thumb traces over the last tiny tear in her hand, a scratch to the wounds he has known, will know, will one day die of. He raises her hand as though he might kiss it, but the impulse is checked halfway there and his breath washes shallow over her knuckles.
"Dunno what I thought."
Don't know what I think.(and player promptly passes out to get rest of scene later)
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.11.08.02. - pockets [lazarus-rune-pack][atlantic city boardwalk]
(lazarus)
::It one of the warmest nights in weeks. And it seems EVERYONE is taking advantage of it, even the local music scene.::::Its the longest she's been in an area, and Proph hadn't said it was time to move on; so they hadn't. All day her fingers have churned over guitar strings, it wasn't really a task for her anymore--she was used to the hard feel of asphalt under her, the growing numbness of calloused fingers. Strange what you get used--and what you don't. still its been a LONG and profitable day, and a rather smug look creeds over her as she counts her earnings.::
(james)
he had needed a chance of scenery
while upstate Jersey had been profitable
he just wanted something.... newso we find the tall Gnawer strolling down the Boardwalk
tattered tails swaying around Cochran clad ankles
hands tucked into deep pockets
rebar drumsticks clinking with each step
patchwork tophat making his height stand out further above the slow surge of crowd along the 'walkhe caught the bus this morning
rode it all the way down here
worked the sidewalks for a good majority of the day
and now he's wandering back towards the station to catch the last ridebut he's still got time
maybe he's just using this time to think
because he sure has a lot to think about, doesn't he(laz)
Clack-boom.
Clack.
Clack.::Drumsticks (rebar or not.) Have adistinctive noise and slidinding the wad of singles away quickly, her head twists up to the source of that--Ooo. Top hat and all, huh?You're not grandiose baby, you're a grade-A-Ass. (Gotta LOVE waning galliards.)Oh, but it serves it purpose--it catches attention, primarliy from the waifish street urchin who shuffles her guitar strap against the oversized fleece and approaches.::
"Ooo, an Eagle scout!"
::Her words are likely not the first thing that alerts him to her presence, it the laughter. The ripple of Gaia-blessed notes that cascade through air, fading into memory along with all other too-peaceful moment. Amber colored eyes round with genuine amusement, from under the delicate spectacles that slide slowly (but steadly) down nose aquiline nose bridge.::
(james)
there's a point there
he did hear the blessed-by-Gaia notes realizing it laughter
he did hear the laughter before the exclamatory observation
a brow lifts over deep umber eyehow...delightful
"Good night?"
isn't that normally a dismissal rather than a greeting?
but it isn't said snidely
or even tensely
just a street performer asking anouther about her day(laz)
"Good evening."::She does the mousekateer salute, clicking her heels together in one fluid motion that would be comical--if it didn't have that derisive edge. The edge of her lips quirk up in the crooked smile as she crosses (in front of) him leaning against the rail.::
(james)
ever get that itchy feeling you're about to stumble into a game of rhetoric?
but weight shifts for hip to join her lean against the rail
half-grin tilting its way in response"Admittedly, you're one of the last people I expected to see here."
but with the luck he's been having for the past few days
is he really surprised?(laz)
"Same here, I had to cipher a few pockets--you?"::She watches him closely, it might be disigned as casual but NOTHING ever feels casual around a lord. (Even a charming one.) Does he chase after the direction of hers eyes, perhaps it might yeild the last threads of a plot before--fuckin' Lords::
(james)
"Emptied a few, felt like a change of scenery."all Silver eventually tarnishes
all Lords eventually remember what they are
no matter how casual it is, and how casual he seems, he knows better(laz)
"Nah. pockets are SUPER ripe here."::She smiles and pats a chest pocket somewhere inside that voluminous fleece she wears. interesting, how the fleece (though old) is of marked expense, while the rest of her clothes seems hauled out of the salvation army bins. The glasses are reached for and slid into that self-same pocket as eyes narrow on him.::
"I'm not pissing you off, yet?"
(james)
he may have noticed the odd contrast of the fleece to the rest of her clothes
but it doesn't seem to impress him
he grew up on the streets, fashion is creativity and necessity
a bit of a chuckle growing as he finally focuses his attention on her"No... were you trying to?"
obviously, she would have to try harder
there's a whole new standard to pissiness that was created in the last few days(laz)
::Lips twist as she appears to think that one over.(Was she trying to?)The thick weight of ink stained lashes fall briefly, can you almost hear the (Whirrr..) machinery of her mind::"Not exactly, but its rather becoming a pastime."
(james)
the easy smile spreads"What... me getting pissed off or the fact that nobody likes you?"
(laz)
::Unlike him, she was quite easy to piss off. In that half fractal of a moment she went from easy to comraderie--to outright hostility. Though you can almost feel (her face is always calm.) the scaling back of anger even as it erupts the rusty gate of her will sliding over the beast that seethed beneath::"Nobody ever likes me,"
::A smirk with the easiest of shrugs::
"S'not my job for you to like me--getting you pissed? Thats plain fun."
(james)
he can feel it
he can dig it
he can even, in a way, appreciate it
he probably likes it, too
driving that little thorn into her side
wiggling it aroundeven if it was just for a moment
and his smile never once changes"Well damn, Lazarus, sorry to rain on your personal parade today.... I just don't think you have what it takes to piss me off anymore."
(laz)
::A brow raises. The look is (positively sinful.) nigh acidic but always (always..) served with a smile. The low thunk as the guitar smacks against the rail and reaching back she hoists herself upon it.::"Cocky lil' house slave ainchya? The tole you to shave the dreads off or are they still pattin' you on the head, boy?"
(james)
there's that easy smile again
well, there it still is
he's rather enjoying the seabreeze as it kicks up tattered tails
ruffles through the dreads
much easier to deal with than pine-sol
there's a serenity in him"'Least I'm allowed in the house."
burnt umber gaze shifting
sliding over her, as if called by that resonant thump
they say what he doesn't
Unlike some...(laz)
"Baby I used to own the hose."::Odd though the way she says it. It bothers her, it still bothers her--fuck. And Rolling her eyes she flashes him another smile::
"Whatever, you're priorities are yuor priorities, right? You wanna suck ass, and maybe get some work done between cult meetings..."
::Lean limbs, muscular legs and that break in the material where the flesh of her knee is visible. She definatly didn't live in the HOUSE anymore--and likely she never did. All of this is an istant as she slides back toward the aspalt::
"..better let you get back to your shufflin then, Massa."
(james)
"Who needs to own the house when you can reap the benefits for free?"that's something he never understood about the Lords
they always had to own everything
they always had to control everything... and one
they always had to make the biggest deal of all that
they were always so uptightwhy couldn't they just enjoy it all for not even half the work?
apparently, some old dogs definitely. do not. learn new tricks
a glance down at her, calling the slave Massa
it's amusing
twisting to lean against the railing to offer his back to he water"Don't you worry about pretty little head about me, Lazarus, I've gotten quite a bit of work done between our little cult meetings. So I'm still a productive slave-boy. You can weave into your songs how the little pack of Urrah hasn't let your high and mighty expecations down like the good subjects they are, hm?"
(laz)
"Ain't no fuckin pack of Urrah. Don't kid yourself--Just a buncha country bumpkins that done caught themselves a pet."::Her nose wrinkles briefly and she chuckles. her fingers crawling about the edges of her straps to readjust it thoughtfully.::
"Drop the shit James, you ain't no fuckin orator. Use your head and not your mouth--what makes a body? Birth? Demo-fuckin-graphics?"
(james)
a moment's obvervation"You sound bitter and jealous, Lazarus. Any particular reason why?"
she still hasn't gotten to him
has she(laz)
"Do I? Then you haven't understood at all what I'm saying. I'm not like you, I'm not like your pack--who are also likely NOT like you.."A thoughtful pause.
"But thats a seperate issue. Start from this--everything you know about your cult buddies, everything you been taught? It doesn't apply--stop trying to make it, you'll only confuse yourself and make mistakes."
(james)
there's a blink
dreads dragging across his shoulders"Lazarus.... what are you talking about?"
she's right
he has no clue
she jumped tracks without telling him(laz)
And that brings laughter, unabated riotous laughter. She finally settles down and then manages to start up again, her hands moving to assauage the stitch growing in her abdomen."Nothin, baby. Ainchyo' Mama callin?"
(james)
"You know something? You are just as addled as that Silver I met the other day."that oughta sit well
at first she was just annoying
now he's convinced she's nuts
should get along with Dire real well, the fateful day their paths may cross
or they'll kill each other, which would be a bonus(laz)
"Really, then you still don't get it. Calling people crazy is nice safety mechanism ain't it? Saves on overworking that poor braincell."::All smiles, now.::
(rune)
...aaaand up the steps, down the Boardwalk she comes, waltzing out of a ritzy little dayspa, nails and toes freshly buffed, shaped, repaired, painted and dried the color of drying heartsblood, just a shade or two darker than her painted mouth. Inky hair swings down around her pale face, ruffles back away from it when she turns to glance toward the sea, spilling across her features when she looks straight ahead and the seawind catches her sidelong.High-heeled shoes, open-toed, clatter along the warped boards, forever faintly wet from the memory of seaspray at high tide. The shoes lift the already tall woman a few inches higher, and the many strange shadows scattered by the streetlights and shopwindows spill around her, a dozen distorted perspectives.
"Well, well, well," the flash of a grinning smirk, "the prodigal is still around. I hope y'all are makin' nice."
(james)
"I never said crazy, I said addled. There's a difference, but if you want to put yourself into the crazy category far be it from me to stop someone like you."least he has a braincell
hers seem to be taking a vacationbut that grin slides warmer at the clatter of heels
he left a note
but he's a little surprised to see her, too
not at all complaining, though"Of course we are, Rune."
(laz)
"Sup. Ain't seen you in a millenia--thought you booked backed to saner parts."::Head turns and she pulls the wooly cap lower over her head, only the faitest scraps of black ink tresses slide free, but think and oil--like ebon veins that curl about the rounded features of her face.::
(rune)
"Good," the flashing smile, too, shades warmer and she offers half-a-wink. Her arms cross lightly as she leans one hip against the railing and turns sidelong to catch both within the range of her vision. "And, I've been around - little busy. Went and got myself packed up with Decker and James here, couple of others. Running up in North Jersey, just came down here to get my damn nails done."Her chin drops in a lowering nod. "...but I didn't mean to interrupt y'all."
(laz)
"No way. Girl, you're an Eagle Scout--"::She smack her forehead. Duh. No wonder. And shaking her head a bit she chuckles::
"That's why the country boys-been hanging around my digs?"
::More laughter, but softer now::
(james)
"Nah..."the smile still warm as it sits on his packmate
turn of his head doesn't allow anyone to see that look other than Rune
but with a flashed grin he looks back down to Laz"Lazarus was just explaining the finer points of her opinion to me."
but it's his turn to shut up for now
let them talk(rune)
"I'm an Eagle Scout," she confirms, with a faint lift of her shoulders - what can you do? - and a low roll of laughter. Her mouth tightens with suppressed something in response to (yes) that look from James, but the long slow smirk crawls across her lips anyway, irrepressible. "...and we're gonna be hanging around you digs for a while. Sort of claimed it, since you can't hold all that yourself. That doesn't mean we don't want good relations with our neighbors, though, no matter how un-charming the Germans might be about such things."There's another pause, dark brows lifting in simultaneous query. "I don't think I've ever had that conversation with chica..." she trails off, room for opening, room for response.
(laz)
::Chemistry.(Did Decker just rub-off on people, geez?)It isn't that she doesn't notice it, its that she DOES notice it and it makes her faintly uncomfortable. Not that it manages to surface in anything but a twisting glance for an exit--::"Which conversation?"
::She feigns ignorance briefly as she glances around again--it wouldn't be anything if it were just James. But she actually had a small bit of respect for Rune--behind the cars and polish the girl seemed almost.. familiar::
(rune)
"The one about your views, chica," her voice falling, lowered, pitched to fall intimate on their ears, and little further. "why you're up here all by your lonesome. Why you left, whether you'll ever go back."Dark dark eyes slide from James to Lazarus, the still depths belying the light note that threads through her words. "If we're going to be tip-toeing around each other, it'd be a good thing to know."
(james)
he just..... he can't help the slow smile
chewing on the inside of his lower lip to mostly.... mostly.... hide it
whether its from the little lightning bolts in the darkness
the subtle power seething in toneshe's not about to say
only expectantly looking to Lazarus(laz)
::Isn't it nice to be cornered::"Is this friendly conversation, or the Gaian-interrogation-gestappo?"
(rune)
"It's the former, Lazarus," Rune murmurs, gaze shading back and away, away (briefly) over James to the lights spilling from the few shops still open on the Boardwalk, and then up and across the bastardized casino-cluttered skyline of Atlantic City. "...and maybe a little of the second."There's a pause, quiet falls, and the laughter and noise of the amusement piers (uncharacteristically busy tonight, after the uncharacteristcally lovely day) drifts over them, robbed of distinction by the distance.
"I almost left. I supposed I did leave, for a time. I returned." Her voice is low and even, and the confession (if such it is) calm but distant, without the overtones of surety and judgment that might bleed through in another's voice. In any other's voice. "We're going to be running in the same territory, too. I'd like to know whether you're going to be an asset or an enemy, or merely an acquaintance. I don't think that's too much to ask. And I'm willing to listen to your concerns."
(laz)
::She listens to to her concerns, through the filter of former justifacation. (I used to be like you--I remember the mentality too well.) And her head twists to a small coffeeshop at the corner of the block::::She doen't look behind her to see that they are following, if they are not--all the better. The faded jeans, the shirt screaming its expense, worn and tired though it is. From her breast pocket she pulls on her spectacles, tiny piece of wire and glass slid over her features as she crosses the street, its striking the way she walks in this one isolated moment. It is as if layer flutter behind her, and left only (ex-) royalty. Strange days. She leans in the doorway talking to a man at the door of the small shop. As they approach the scent of brewing coffee assails them. He nods and she moves on towards the back of the place a rather largish table beside two bookcases. There she slips the guitar from her shoulders and settles in a seat.::
(james)
a... coffeeshop?
his brows lift a little
looking to Rune
not quite... that... look
but it's lurking somewhere close to the surface
if she goes, he'll follow(rune)
Dark strands of hair swing across pale cheeks as Rune flickers a glance to James in response - we might as well - and offers a small shrug. Catching the light of assent lurking in the umber, she quirks half-a-smile and pushes off the railing, falling into a walk that is little more than hip-centered sway.Even in those heels, she does not mince. Long, swinging strides carry her across the Boardwalk in Lazarus' wake. She pauses long enough to catch the door to the coffee shop as it swings closed and slips inside, bumping it wider with a glancing blow from her hip to keep it from swinging shut on her packmate. The pair then weave through the tables until they come to Lazarus' own (throne). Rune lowers herself across from Lazarus, all easy lounge, and lifts a dark brow in the other woman's direction.
"Well?"
(laz)
::In a few moments a waitress swings by with a Mocachino for Laz. The -creature- wrinkles her nose with a genuine smile and grabs the sugar jar shoveling it into the steaming drink while the waitress inquires of Rune and James. She just another fresh faced girl, and her notebad is pulled from the stained white apon with the intensity of one adept at their work. And ace of her field--though it may only be food services::"I'm not Ronin, I'm Steppenwulf--are you (somehow the moon singer pluralizes though her eyes meets Rune's face, solely.) familiar with that term?"
(james)
the long lopey strides are followed by the ground covering walk
heels clack, Cochrans thump
a hand snaps out to grab the door before it swings closedtophat slid off, tucked into his lap, trench sprawling on the vinyl seat
his head shakes at the waitress, something muttered about water
he wouldn't know what to order in a place like this anyway
simply... listening(rune)
"Espresso, double." Rune murmurs, offering the waitress her credit card with a flashing glance at Lazarus. "It's on me." When the waitress trots off with their orders, Rune turns her attention back to Lazarus.Now then.
Dark hair spills and slides across the curve espressed by high cheekbones as Rune shakes her head in negation. "Never heard of it. I'm not familiar with most of the other tribes, anyway. I've only run with other urrah before. What's it mean?"
(laz)
Safehouses.Its a street survival tactic. Frequent certain spots, develop connections, routine stuff James probably knew. The place is lit (not brightly) but well. From the other end of the coffeehouse some girl is wailing about boys, over medicore guitar playing. Its really nothing to write home about--we all occupy our little niches.
"Actually the term orginates with the Germanic tribes, the Get.."
Her head dips as she takes a sip of her sugar (with a little mocachini mized in for flavor.) Her spectacles behinning to fog she that she pulls them off and starts to polish them on the cuff of her fleece.
"..they used it for garou who wandered the earth after thier pack was slain in combat. Refusing to socialize or to rejoin thier natural society."
She has never called herself a galliard. Her words (hushed now..) take on double their usual effect. In the smoky coffeeshop, with the medocre singer--her words pain picture, show bloody carnage--paint life.
"Literally it means 'Lone Wolf'. The Get used to walk the earth waiting to avenge thier deaths, waiting to die, I guess. Though, in this case I'm not avenging anyone in particular--or perhaps I'm avenging myself."
(james)
there was a slight smirk
he knew the term
he recognized the place
but he wasn't going to interrupt the question directed elsewherehe'd be there
if it weren't for the ....Eagle Scouts
in a way
but that thought is interrupted with the waitress returning at an opportune pause with their drinks, then carrying on her merry way, half listening to Lazarus, half listening to the musician
(rune)
"Not Ronin, then," Rune's voice - harsh and jarring to her own ears after Lazarus' more dulcet tones - comes quiet, after a short, absorbing pause. She falls silent again as the waitress brings Rune's double espresso, James' tall glass of ice water and the receipt for Rune's signature. "we're more alike than you know."So," Hands spread over the tiny cup of steaming black brew, absorbing the rising heat before curling lightly around the delicate little glass. One dark brow quirks upward in query as she continues, "...avenging yourself on whom?"
(laz)
Spectacles now slide back onto her face and her eyes fix to James taking in his reaction to this. It was all something he could not, maybe ever relate to. And then fixes onto the table--how hard was it for to explain herself. To let slip all the little secrets--that being such prerserved her life for years.Was it time that she pay for those same secrets--is the price of her life that high?
As Rune speaks she is jarred out of her reverie, a brow raises briefly as her head twists to the side, "Who am I fighting?"
She wants to laugh--it simply not funny.
"Who am I not fighting? You wantto hear me say the unmaker-wyrm and if I did it would be true--But my fight is against anyone who does NOT allow me my freedom--"
Another look at James.
"...and those who simply don't understand."
(james)
a brow lifts beneath the raggedy frame of dreads
you think so, Lord?
lips curing into an easy smile
long idle sip taken from the cool hard glass of water
chuckling softly"Perhaps I would understand what you were saying if you spoke in plain English rather than riddles aimed to get under my skin."
(rune)
Dark eyes shift sidelong to James, watching him as he speaks before flicking back to Lazarus."Freedom's a great big word," Rune drawls in her easy SoCal drawl. It comes and goes these days, goes and comes, settling over her voice like a drift of lazy sunshine. "...but it doesn't seem to mean much, all by its lonesome. Freedom from whom? Freedom to do what? Without definition, it's just a long slow slide into nothingness."
(laz)
"Maybe. And maybe you're braincell is too occupied with remembering to breathe."She sits back arms folding briefly. As a general rule she HATED to be questioned, but now she had little choice--did she? Her eyes slide from James to Rune nose wrinkling briefly.
"If its nothingness within, then I'll accept that. Its the spoonfed politics, the overarching generalizations, and based-in-bullshit ideologies I can't abide by."
(james)
"Maybe.... but now now, Lazarus, it's not nice to be that insulting infront of Rune-rhya."tongue clucking in soft tsk
squirm, Lord, squirm"And I haven't said anything degenerating to you all night."
(rune)
"Y'know, you don't look like a Lord anymore," the Glasswalker's eyes flicker over the threadbare clothes and the expensive fleece, noting the wear on the fine fabric but passingly before rising again to the woman's eyes. Rune's smirk - full and red, red and full - surfaces once more. "...but you still sound like one, sometimes. It doesn't suit this you, though maybe it would've suited whoever you were before."She hasn't lifted her espresso yet. The tiny little cup is too delicate to suit her, and looks strange in her capable hands. In the end she merely stretches and lounges back, shaking her dark head easily, staring down across the surface of her coffee.
"That sounds like more spoonfed politics, more overarching generalizations, and more based-in-bullshit ideologies." The urrah are a practical lot. Rune's eyes rise now, from the steaming espresso, back to Lazarus' own. "...what do you mean when you say that?"
(laz)
"Why?--No offence Rune but.."She leans forward on the table finished her Drink in a single gulp before a single points at the table right in front of him.
"..thats exactly the bullshit I'm talking about. If I think your a braindead uncle tom, then I say it. You guys wanna beat my ass, you can fuckin try. But a fucking title it means absolutely shit."
Exhaltion.
"I'm not in the game. I don't want any part of the game, title, rank, pack politicking--I've opted out."
(james)
a broad shoulder shrugs
dark, easy gaze leveling on the once Lord"If you don't want to be in the game, Lazarus, why are you still on the board?"
a brow lifting
easy enough suggestion to stay down here
where she said herself the pockets are deep
he doesn't want even a once Lord in his territory
and since Rune already made it obvious North Jersey was theirs since Laz couldn't handle it by herself.... well....(laz)
Her eyes close.[Obsidian...think I forgot about you? (I know that voice, whats Sergei doing here?) You're the golden girl now, the whole sept is looking to you watching you but they don't see ( Shouldn't you be in the swamps earning your stripes, cliath?) Oh Rhya.. I would, but I couldn't -not- wish you good luck--wasn't my face the biggest stepping stone of your success...]
"Because I'm a weapon and It'd be a waste not to."
When things seem most obvious, they are most clearly not.
(rune)
"So you're philosophically opposed to concepts of hierarchy?" Dark brows rising sketch a smooth arch upon moon-pale skin. "...or you're just too damn good to take orders from anyone else? You say you're a weapon. Tell me this, Lazarus. What are you fighting for besides your own freedom to insult strangers about whom you know little or nothing?"The question isn't as aggressively spoken as it is phrased; the easy rhythm of the words robs them of any sense of accusation or grievance until it almost sounds like Rune actually wants to know.
(james)
"Game pieces are useless if they're broken or never moved....."smiled
gaze flickers to his packmate
yea.... what she said
he resist to answer, simply
She's a Lord
as if that answered everything
and to him? it probably did(laz)
"Shall I justify to you? When your pack formed did you squabble over who would be alpha? Beta? Is someone even now waiting for you to fuck up so they can take your place, Rune?"She tips the cup and stares at the small bit of liquid that slides at the bottom slowly twisting the cup.
"..Its survival of the fittest. Only the most clever, the most strong will survive--and our people will be THAT much better for it. The strongest man in the world couldn't defeat an army of weaklings."
She smiles at James.
"Who said it never moved?"
(rune)
"We didn't squabble over Alpha or Beta, Lazarus, and if someone wants to take my place, they're welcome to it 'long as they're worthy." The eloquent shrug speaks volumes. Responsibility does not sit well upon her shoulders. "We could sit here trading rhetoric about the ways of our people, and it probably wouldn't make much sense. We come from different worlds, and we operate differently. There's no way to translate my experience to yours, or yours to mine, but pack is - " brief pause, swallow. Dark eyes shading darker in the uncertain, artificial light. " - should be about more than that."But you still didn't answer my question. What do you do? For whom or what do you fight?"
Are you falling to the other side? Do you still (think) you fight for ours? Should we hunt you and kill you, or live and let live? Calm as the words are, the subtext is nonetheless quite clear.
(james)
sometimes
packs do not need to speak in words
those that come from the Lords lips only twist wry smile across his features
those that come from the silence of impression spark a strange light deep in umber eyes
and so he simply watches
waiting(laz)
"I am not tainted. What ...few rules apply to the nation are still followed. You know: combat the Wyrm--not mating with garou.. that sort of thing."Her eyes roll. When the begin the conversation had she mistaken feeling that swept between the pair? Her tone is mildly amused and she already standing the guitar taken in hand lifted onto her shoulders.
"Thanks for the Joe--I'll be heading back to my digs now."
(rune)
"Wait - " the slim white hand falls on Lazarus' forearm, staying briefly. With the other, Rune scrawls a number on a napkin and offers it to the other woman. "I'll speak to my Alpha, and as long as you follow those laws, I think we can manage live and let live. In the meantime, some things require packs. If you run across something you can't handle..."The scrawl - black on thin white pulp - held up. "...give me a call."
(james)
his jaw
grits
silent(laz)
Does Rune see it?
Does James see it?The way Laz reads the number, chiseled into some memory in the back of razored mind. The edge of her lips quirking into a half smile before she turns and moves out of the cafe. No words--in this case she's said MORE than her piece.
(rune)
There's a faint shrug, weaving through her shoulders - up, down - and her short leather coat creaks as well-worn leather will, with the movement. The napkin crumples in her hand. Rune tosses it into Lazarus' empty mug, then presses it down with a spoon until the liquid dregs bleed any meaning from the ink scrawled across the thin white paper.Her head falls back, and dark strands of hair sweep across the highest slat of Rune's straight-backed chair. She doesn't turn to watch Lazarus leave, though when the bell rings and the door closes, she sinks another half-inch into her chair and releases some tension in the tap-tap-tapping of her shoe on the tiled floor. Hands drift slowly across leatherclad thighs, pushing out and away, and her slouched torso drifts ever-so-slightly upward with the gesture.
Well? The open-ended question is accompanied by a brief glance to James. Then, a beat later. "Wanna get out of here?"
(james)
he doesn't turn to watch Lazarus leave
even if that is the best sight of her
leaving
dark eyes crawling from the table
up the swell from arm's stretching movement
tracing length of white throat and jaw
already catching the glance as its tossed to himWell?
he's not sure what she asks of
though the answer to her question is only the sound of the chair's legs scooting back across the floor
waiting for her to rise before leading to the door(rune)
He's not sure what she asks; and that makes two of them. That doesn't stop the strange surety of a bemused grin from slip-sliding across her red mouth as she plants her hands on the table in front of her and rises smooth and serpentine from her easy lounging posture.Well.
She pauses just long enough to sign the credit card receipt, grab the carbon copy and slip it into her right pocket. The sprawled name isn't hers, but that's always the case and the signature flowed naturally across the slip. Heels clatter faintly on the wooden floor, though the rhythm is interrupted when she crosses the throw rugs tossed haphazardly upon the floor.
She pauses at the door, flashes James another glance and then heads on through. Outside, night has fallen fully and the warmth of the unseasonable day is dissipating to familiar November chill.
(james)
smooth, serpentine.... was she the cobra or the mongoose?
coiled muscle slithering beneath languid scales backed with deadly poison
sinuous pelted warmth eyes shining black and nebulous, lithely dancing til striking the final crushing bite
a smile wanders beneath the jungle vine hair
bell jingling as they exitonce more
loping clattering of heels
devouring stretch of Cochrans
the sleek Walker
the raggedy Gnawer
one passing the day to relax
one passing the day by working for every penny tossed into his hat now tucked into the sling of the sticks"How was the spa?"
he noticed refurbished nails
he noticed glowing skin
he noticed the scents as they permeated the sea's salty air(decker)
The sullen silence goes on and on. They're twenty miles northbound on the highway when Decker finally straightens up a little, looks behind them and - at last - at her."Go to Atlantic City."
The hell was she, a chauffeur? Nevertheless, south they went. Forty miles south, he adds another word - "Thanks." - and then after that, the occasional direction, becoming clearer as they come closing.
Pigeon to a roost, stallion to the stable, homing missile to the target, Decker finds his pack amidst the nameless glitter and glitz of Atlantic City. Lights of casinos and tourist traps glint off the silver finish of the SUV, and off the windows rolled up against the night. Tourists and college kids and the occasional professional gambler wander in and out of the casinos, stop to buy a souvenir, a pack of cigarettes, a Hustler.
The SUV rolls to a stop and the door opens. His feet hit the boardwalk and start toward Rune and James, giving them the usual nod up as he approaches.
(rune)
"Lovely," Her eyes find his, and the offered smile is warmer than it should be, though the glance slips so quickly to the refurbished nails (hands spread wide to admire) that it's hard to tell whether the warmth is for him or her manicurist. "I got my hair done, too. No more roots."Not that he'd seen any, assiduous as she is about keeping the silky dye job up. Two-tone isn't exactly the look she's going for. Dark eyes rise from her hands, one of which folds into her pocket and rummages about for her usual paraphanalia: cigarettes, lighter. "How were the tips?"
Rune's fishing a cigarette from her pack when she catches a glimpse of Decker in the near distance, lighting up as he draws in range. The first ashen breath of the smoke dispells the light scent of the coffee house, but the other scents, worked into her skin during the long half-day of pampering remain.
"Decker," the greeting is accompanied by a smooth arched brow. She doesn't even need to look at him; packmate, she can feel the tension still coiled tight within, the spring begging to be sprung. Offhanded, she holds out the pack of cigarettes. It's something at least; the setting is too public for a joint.
(decker)
Decker takes Rune's hand instead of the cigarette, raising the pack and extracting the offered cigarette with his teeth. The usual half-frown is an all-out scowl at present, and he tips his head up at Rune. "Got a light?"Eye contact while she lights his cigarette: storm grey to darkness, nearly black. Then a puff of smoke out, and the conversational tone of his words, "Seen Erik?"
(james)
the smile pulls further, breif, almost not there
then muscular shoulders shrug beneath the tattered trench"Boardwalk's good on a Friday before a long weekend.... made nearly sixty."
a hand reaches up, running through dreads
rubbing over the back of his neck
the hours were long today
and he's tired, soar
from far more than just the drummingchin lifting in a half-nod
he'd be a fool not to feel that Rage
he'd be a fool to provoke it
and unsure where they stand, from the other night
the Gnawer shakes his head, slightly
he's been down here since morning(rune)
The lighter falls from opening fingers into her left pocket, following the trail blazed by the pack of cigarettes earlier. Red lips curve, half-smile, half-familiar smirk, in response to James' statement, but she doesn't continue the thread of that conversation for now and her eyes remain on Decker."No, sorry." In the space of a short pause, her brows lilt upward in query. "Why?"
(decker)
He takes a moment before he replies. He takes a drag and he takes a breath, turning his head this time to avoid breathing smoke (fire) all over Rune."'Cause that Athro wants to talk to 'im. 'Cause we ain't goin' to the Pine Barrens no more."
(james)
it's about now that they've really got the Gnawer's attention
last he heard, Gabe wanted at least him to come back
this is new
a brow lifting"Why not?"
half of him doesn't want to find out
knowing Dire(rune)
"Why not?" the echoed query is rhetorical, and only that. Once Rune got packed up, she the single prod that sent her (occasionally) careening through the boonies in her Beemer, wandering the piney swamps in her heels.The smoke curling from her lips mirrors and twines with the smoke spilling from Decker's own, even though she, too, looks away, out over the dark rolling sea.
(decker)
A million scathing responses crowd his head and die on his tongue. In the end, Decker shrugs his shoulders. An energy hangs over him: bladed as an axe, coiled as a viper. "Ain't welcome no more." Pause, ash cigarette. "'N ThunderOak ain't welcome on our turf neither if I got shit to say 'bout it."(rune)
There's a lilting glance toward James before she looks seaward again, and the slow crawl of an amused smirk across her red lips, hidden further by the sweep of a pale hand across her mouth."I figure it was because we weren't welcome anymore. There a reason for it, or does he have something against my fashion sense?" Calm, the words. The tone veers closer to self-mocking than the merely mocking.
(james)
there's just....
.... a nodhe doesn't have much else of a response
he's not exactly sure where the axe is aimed
so that makes him uncomfortable
just a little tickle down at the base of his spine
it's naturalhe knows it could be taken out on him without recourse
just because he's lower in rankbut let's not think about that James
had enough Get taking shit out on you
glance caught, held, then his gaze drops away once moreso he busies himself by leaning aganist the rail
taking some of the cash from his pocket to count
did good today, Jamey-boy
he was going to eat on the busride home
stomach all but growling(imogen)
She had not approached with Decker, having turned instead, a hand snapping down to her pocket, confining the vibration in her jacket pocket. Turning her back on the Garou, her head turning as her eyes scan for a pay phone. She refuses to carry a cell.After a few moments, she walks down the board walk, several metres away. A free standing phone booth near one of the hotels, finding two quarters and dropping them into the slots.
Whatever conversation that was had, it was long enough. It's only now that she crosses back toward the gathering, hands sliding into her pockets.
(decker)
Self-mockery and mockery is an important distinction to make right now. Decker turns away, takes a few slow steps toward the rail, pauses to study the sea. Black. Calm. Sweeping in and out of the vast coastal plain, an endless breathing presence that had held and hid his former totem: shark, cold-eyed and cold-blooded and cold-hearted, striking with mercy, killing without regret.Decker takes a last drag off his cigarette and flicks it out to the ocean. Turns back. There's boredom in his face, and fury in his eyes.
"Some fuckin' weaklings went snivelin' to Gabriel. Wanted apologies for shit I ain't done wrong."
(luc)
LUC:"Who?"
And then there were six. A finger reaches up to scartch at the side of his nose as she walks into the small discussion.A passing glance to Imogen before he settles his hands deep in his sleeves.
(rune)
"You'd think he'd want the whole story before demanding apologies outta you," she responds quietly. When her own cigarette is smoked down to the filter, she stubs it out beneath her foot on the Boardwalk, then bends to retrieve the butt and toss it into a nearby trash container. "Ain't much of a leader or otherwise. Good riddance. We don't need the Barrens, anyway, got our own turf. You need outta the city sometime, it's an easy drive into Pennslyvania or New York. No worries there."(james)
with the arrival of Luc
he counts out 20
puts it into one pocket
the remainder shoved away for safe keepingdark eyes taking a walk to one of the "to go" joints lining the strip
but then back to his pack(decker)
"Don't matter," he responds to Luc. Then, irritated, "Ain't askin' fer no one to hold my hand, Rune." Touchy, touchy. Head down, the Modi paces a few slow steps, looks up. "Just passin' the word."(imogen)
She doesn't join the group, so much as pause at the railing some distance away, leaning her elbows on the railing, and pulling the pager from her pocket again. Peering at the LED, as she deletes however many numbers she has on file.It's not how many pages she's received today, it's how many pages she receives in a week. Like many things, she lets it slide until such time as she actually gets frustrated enough to clear them up again.
Like now.
Her other hand lightly searches pockets for a moment, presumably for cigarettes, before falling again to hang loosely at her side.
(luc)
Tall. (Raise high the roof beam carpenters!) The young skald sort of slouched down an inch or two to that he was about the same height as everyone else. A hand with draws from his pocket to scratch the back of his neck..."I say we go challenge the fucker. It'd be an epic story, man."
Gotta LOVE claiths.
(rune)
"Wasn't holding your hand," she responds with a lifting shrug. "Was just echoing the sentiment."Rune's eyes drift to Luc, and a smirk of greeting spills across her lips accompanied by a dark-eyed warning - Don't Start. - which he would probably ignore, but which she felt obliged to give, anyway.
"Got a voice mail from my uncle," she continues after a small pause, gaze flickering over the sullen Modi before sliding back out to the ocean. Rune's best idea of the night: change the subject. "Remember that place last summer? Seems they're back in business, somewhere in the northeast, probably Jersey. Can't get any details until I get some new equipment, since my cell phone's not secure enough for my uncle's tastes."
(james)
now
the snap brings his eyes to Decker
don't matter
he's heard that before
obviously it does matter
but he's not pushing it
now is more definitely not the time"Hungry?"
said to anyone, really
he's just uncomfortable standing here
(odd)
quirking a bit of a grin at Luc's suggestion
at least it's one Skald he currently likes(decker)
"Yeah?" Considering, a half-squint, a frown, punctuated by a scathing glance Luc's way. Then Rune again: "Fuckers don't ever learn. Lemme know."A glance over at Imogen, forever on the outside of the Garou pow-wows. Eyebrow up, bouncing the question over to her. You hungry?
(luc)
Scathing.Luc's good natured enough to shrug it off--of course staring at Rune's uhm.. yeah. (What was he gonna do again?) Right! A hand rubs over his stomach as he tears his eyes from Rune to James...
"Micky Dee's?"
(rune)
"Yeah, I will."and
"Yeah. I am." The brief, short words are punctuated by glances to Decker and to James. It's something to say, and something to do, something to distract her from the crushing aura of rage that circles the Modi, that pushes out from the Modi, that excites her own temper, still raw from the last few days.
"But not Mickey Dee's." She continues, stepping back and willing herself out of the range of Decker's seething anger, rolling her eyes at Luc's ...attention as she resists the urge to swat him. "It's the Boardwalk, there's gotta be better fastfood than that."
(imogen)
Forever outside of the pow-wows, she has turned to lean up against the railing. James asks the question, and dark eyes, half hooded by pale lids, flicker toward him. Decker's glance, too, and the red haired kinfolk nods slightly (even though she says nothing, though she doesn't even acknowledge half of what goes on, Luc can feel the promise of blood that runs through her veins), in response to both the silent question, and James, though he'd have to look at her to notice.A hand reaches up, absently pushing back vibrant red strands from her face, while the other hand half pushes herself off the railing.
(james)
he pulls from the railing
that said and done
shoulder slamming into Luc's
oops.
he noticed that look
just a hello, right?
there's that grin againalready starting down the way to find.... something they'll all agree on
small smile for Imogen
yea, he was including her too
always would(luc)
"Its NOT a goood time for the great taste?"He's tring not to look at Imogen, he's trying REAL hard but she's JUST. STANDING. RIGHT. THERE. And so as her hands moves he catches it just in time to turn his head and stare straight at the swell in her (Oh man, decker's gonna flip.) Yup, back to the tride and true vision of Rune's rear...
Ow! He blinks at James, too tough to actually rub his shoulder, but now a shade more pissy. Freakin clumsy gnawers BUMPING into him--should challenge HIS butt right there.
(imogen)
Decker's gonna flip.But she's the one steps away from him, and stares quietly down at the 16 year old. Luc must be used to a few things.
One of them is that kinfolk like her should not be able to meet his eyes like that. Stare. Dark eyes are blue as the depths of the ocean, and just as cold. Her walls are her only weapon, and the coldness that comes along with it. Her will.
A moment passes, and she turns, hands sliding into her pockets, beginning to walk after James, in the hopes of finding something that everyone can agree on.
Not likely.
(rune)
When James bumps into Luc, she flashes the Gnawer an amused, thankful glance, quickly dropping her gaze to the ground before her and shaking her head to dispel amusement. Rune's arms cross over her chest, though by the time the odd and somewhat defensive gesture is completed and Luc's view is obscured, he's moved on to other things.Thank god.
Falling easily in step with her pack ( how does Luc always end up behind her? and when will she finally buy a longer coat for these specific moments? ), Rune drops her arms so that they swing at her side. They're a strange group, to be certain, prowling or stalking (or gawking) or just strolling eeeasy down the Boardwalk, though at least the uncomfortable aura of Decker's rage is useful in clearing their way.
"McDonald's is only good taste if you're in preschool, Luc. You wanna real fastfood burger, you gotta go to Wendy's. Better yet, some greasy spoon diner where the waitresses wear tight blue uniforms and are all named Flo."
(decker)
Decker keeps quiet, trailing along somewhere at the back of the group. Anything that was food was good for him. Let Rune and her discerning appetite decide.James' shoulder crashes into Luc. Decker's almost amused for an instant, a twitch tugging at the edge of his mouth. Poor Luc, forever frustrated. Then Luc's staring at Imogen's, er, assets.
He's not amused anymore.
Catching up a step or two, he falls into place alongside the Fianna. No need to send Luc a glare: seemed like Imogen was doing just fine in that department. Hands in the back pockets of his lowslung pants (jeans today, dark dark blue, baggy as usual), he keeps pace with his own slow, long stride. The sway of his shoulders could brush Imogen on one side, James on the other.
The loose knot of five move down the boardwalk - by far the largest and least social crowd at this late hour.
(luc)
"Flo.. huh?"He's quiet. And walking takes the rear of the group like a good cliath (mutherfuckers..always leaving me behind!) and generall y has their back.
(james)
a strange glance back at the Skald
as if he could hear it
just try it
sparking in umber eyesthe diner it is
and it's no surprise the Gnawer leads the ragtag group towards foord
at least he's paying this time and not scrounging
but he could do that too, in a crunchthis is far better than the coffeehouse Laz took them too
at least here he understands the menu
five of which he grabs on the way in
simply heading towards a back booth(rune)
"Yeah, Luc. Flo." Rune's amused voice floats back over his shoulder, as she holds the door to the diner open for the next person. She releases the door, and long, easy strides carry her in James' wake. She nods to a waitress, and even though the nametag sewn into her uniform above her heart doesn't say Flo, she doesn't think the kid will notice.Not at all.
Sliding into the booth, she grabs one of the menus from James and settles in to browse.
(imogen)
No one appears to have much in the way of conversation. Decker walks close enough to brush against her, and unlike the humans that part like the Red Sea, Imogen does not seem to notice the burn of rage that roils through the Fenrir's body.More likely, she simply controls her reaction.
James picks the restaurant, and she enters the diner.
Booth chosen, she simply sits down, sliding and taking one of the menus, dark eyes flickering down the lists and choices.
(decker)
Decker drops in beside James, across from Imogen. The two Ahroun take up that side of the bench, which leaves Rune, Imogen ....and Luc on the other.Lucky boy.
Flipping over the menu, Decker scans over it briefly. "Know what's good?" muttered: the usual pre-food conversation.
(rune)
"Nope," Rune replies, if only to break the silence as she flips her own menu closed. "But I doubt you can go wrong with the blue plate special. I'm having a Philly cheesesteak and fries though. We're close enough to Philly that it oughtta be authentic."(luc)
In Luc's World, its a happy day. He doesn't say anything really only picks up his menue and stares at it intently being sandwiched between Rune and Imogen...Sweet dreams tonight, boy.
(james)
the thoughtful chew on the inside of his lower lip answers everything
no. clue.though there's some amusement to Luc's predicament
one comment
he can get stabbed in the leg from both sides
dull as the knives probably are
Rune's strength
Imogen's innate blood
it should be entertaining in the leasthe glances up at the waitress
waits for the others to order
it's all about rank, man, rank
skillet. lots of gravy. lots of sides.
large coke.
handing the menu back with a smile(decker)
Decker takes Rune's advice and goes with the blue plate special. After the waitress is gone, the Modi slouches down in the booth, the back of his head tipped against the top of the seat, turned sideways to look out the window.Real pleasant dinner. One brooding Modi, one jittery (you know what they say...) Skald, one laconic Ahroun and one cold kin. And James. He might be the exception to this.
"Slow service," mutters Decker, ten or so minutes after they've ordered. The diner's mostly empty and it was still taking forever.
(imogen)
She spends a bit of her perusal vaguely wondering when her last meal had been, and another bit of it berating herself because she'll probably be the first medical doctor in history to kill herself with malnutrition.She waits her turn. If it's a case of rank, Imogen goes last. If it's a case of the waitress choosing, likely she's directly after Rune, because the women seem to always be served first. Hamburger, frees. Water. No ma'am, I'm from England. Thank you very much.
After a while, the irish/scottish/australian comments are almost usual. The menu is returned to the waitresses hands.
Ten minutes of silence, and her eyes flicker to Decker as he complains of the service, eyes flickering toward the open service window, where presumedly the kitchen is. And where there is no one to be seen.
(luc)
"Uhm Can I have Cheesburger deluxe."He can't even LOOK at "Flo" right now. No way, but he cant look to his right or his left either! As the waitress goes to take the menu away he hold onto it--and after a brief tug of war (DIE!) keeps it, to stare at.
(rune)
Such close quarters, so lovely.Rune's hand slides into the pocket of her jacket and slips back out with a cigarette tucked between index and middle finger, lighter cradled in the curve of her palm. It's only when she's looking around for the ashtray that she notices the sign. By Order of the Atlantic County Health Department: No Smoking.
...fuck. The cigarette is slipped back into the pocket, but she lighter remains in her hand, the hand closest to Luc. Who needs a dull butterknife when you've got fire?
"It's late. They all wanna go home," Rune shrugs her acceptance of this simple fact of life. Her fingers tap on the countertop, and the lighter spins in a slow circle. The silence weighs heavily: no wonder they usually watch TV when inhaling their food.
(james)
while Imogen sits in her silence
while Luc tries to disappear into this lush dream
while Rune agitatedly fiddles with her lighter
while Decker broods
James?
He settles in nicely
comfortably
it's been an.... intresting... day for him
he wants to relax now
enjoying the company as removed as it isthis is pack
this is family
this is who you should be breaking bread with
there's just something about sharing a mealall changes when the food arrives
finally
instead of focused in every possible tangent to the circle
they all focus on one place
the table
foodit's all good
[cont'd]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 07, 2002.11.07.02. - i'm filthy [rune][north jersey, rune's condo]
(james)
after all the glass chunks had been gathered
after all the glass shards had been swept
after all the glass fragments had been vacuumedafter the counters straightened
after the ruined electonics unplugged
after the apartment seemed so deathly unreal.... so... foreign nowthe Ahroun sits
crosslegged
just infront of the couch
just before the useless television
legs tucked up to cross beneath himthere is something ethereal here
now
in the unnatural silence, the sheer openness the condo now holds, it has become a completely different place, it begins to feel like another world, ancient, removed, a strange mix of preter-super-natural stillness that almost becomes divineit is said the Gnawers are so far removed from the Wyld they have forgotten what they revered Gaia for
that, sometimes, the city's taint has blinded them, misguided them, reiterated the mass opinion of why they are so low among her Chosen Warriorsthe dreadlocked Ahroun sits the modern shaman
the strange urban primitive with eyes as dark as the worshipped earth beneath the concrete scabs
drapes drawn back from the open window that was once a sliding door to the balcony
leaving only the light sheer undercurtains swaying in evening's light breeze in slowmotion drunken haze
he watches, silently, reverently
last remaining rays of the sun shine orange amber on tanned skin
fire reflection deep in those umber eyes
the brilliant inferno climbing above the city's skyline silhouette before night claims the landshe knows exactly what it is he fights for
(rune)
Sunset, twilight, rawlight spilling over the concrete and asphalt, the endless snaking trails of commuters worming their way home on the crowded thoroughfares, locked inside their personal airlocks, separated from the rest of the world. She walks through them, past them - bare feet on the cold asphalt, arms tucked around close around her torso for warmth - around them, among them: past the fast food joints and the strip miles, the acres and acres of parking lots, over the short strips of sidewalk that give the illusion of community even here where the actual thing is nigh non-existant and turns at last onto the private drive, circles the smug, banal planter: home.No keys, but she doesn't need them, does she? The handle turns, the door swings open. It would be pointless to lock the damn place anyway. She pauses to wipe her feet on the map before walking in and allowing the door to fall shut behind her, but the dirt on the soles of her feet still smears the pristine carpet with each footfall.
Dull dark eyes flicker over James, on the floor in front of the couch - reverant - as she passes back into the kitchen and rummages through the shelves, retrieving a tall glass of water, and a small bottle of pills. She swings herself up and over the breakfast bar, long legs dangling into the living room from her raptor's perch and god, she looks like hell frozen solid then tossed into the microwave to defrost - black hair stringy, eyes bruised from sleepwant, lipstick long since smeared away, polished nails chipped and broken here and there.
"Cold in here."
(james)
even though he doesn't pull his eyes from the vision before him
it's obvious the sudden heighten of senses now that she is there
in the set of his shoulders, the way hands slide over BDU covered thighs
and only after the sun finally finally gives in to set over the horizon
in that brief moment of solar flare that's brighter and stronger than all the rest
just before the flaming beacon settles for its journey about the other side of the earththen nothing but the approaching darkness
it is then that he turns
dark eyes still filled with the waning glow finding her
the way he looks at her
not that way, anymore
but it's there, waiting, just as he has been since she leftwondering if she's allright
something aches to see her this way
she is his packmate - the care is genuine
as is the guilt for knowing this is his faulttongue traces over chewed and skinned lips
a slow breath filling his lungs
finally expelled in softly murmured words"I did not want to waste the heat..... but.... I think I should have gotten most of the glass."
(rune)
"It'd just fly out the windows again," her reply, murmured. Two pills, swallowed quick thereafter, followed by the music of ice clinking in the glass, clear and sure in the unutterably strange stillness. Hands sweep smooth and slow across her face, then crawl through the oily black hair, pushing the limp strands back and away. "...and you didn't have to."The faint, weaving shrug that lifts her shoulders lifts also the hem of her t-shirt. She draws her knees up, planting her dirty feet on the tiled bar, settling her arms around her legs in a loose circle.
"It was hardly your fault."
(james)
the Gnawer just..... watches..... silently
chin dropping in a half-nod
accepting without argument"I didn't have much else to do....."
(rune)
Drawing in a long, slow breath of the cold November air, Rune nods in brief response - acceptance, or acknowledgment, or merely a reflexive action puppeted back to him in lieu of anything else.Her eyes flicker up to the television still hanging ruined on the far wall and all the bits of circuitry exposed behind the illusion of the glass, staring back at her like a ruined eye.
Where the hell to start?
Another dark-eyed flicker, through the strangely dead room, toward the computer equipment tangled in what others might use as a dining room and a long breath, sucked in, blown out again like smoke. "Christ."
It's November. Their breath frosts in the cold air.
(james)
and a chilled fog coils before him
frosted plume drawn out towards the night
dissipating into.... nothingthere's only the sound of rough fingers scraping over canvas
wrists twisting as hands ball into fists
soon thereafter there's a smooth arc of his body
away
something in his belly pulls
shoulders following
and finally, eyes
gravity settling in once he's turned back to the window
back to the base of the flimsily billowing curtains"I..... think I can make it warm for the night.... if you want me to."
(rune)
There - there - the faint thread of a sardonic smile, little more than a suggestion of a twist on the uncharacteristically pale mouth."I'm filthy."
(james)
that
gets him to look back at her
a brow lifting, slightly
a faint echo of the fainter thread that seemed to draw upon her smile
finds its way to his"I......"
don't care
you look just fine to me
that inclination was the last I expected to hear out of your mouth"..... it's just a rite I know."
but this time
he doesn't look away(rune)
"That'd work just fine." Some echo of the strange humor in her voice finds its way into the glint in her eyes, the quirk of her lips wry, now, utterly self-mocking.She's such a strange sight, without her make-up, without her masks: the sweep of long pale lashes against her pale skin, the curve of cheek and twist of mouth less vibrant and defined, the shadow of the wakeful night beneath her eyes.
(james)
pale, bruised, unlined, undefined.... he still holds her gaze
for just another few moments
something of a smile widening across his features
if breifly
it's the same, easy trademark smile they know him forit's then he stands
lower lip sucked into his mouth in thought
line whizzing through the draw to slide heavy drapes closedall the other windows were already taken care of
he had been thinking ahead
he had been prepared
this was the final step
hand sliding into cargo pocket to pull out the remains of a votive candlestrong hands wrap around the paraffin wax
cupped a loose chamber that's brought to his lips
dark eyes hiding beneath half-mast lids
a long breath (life) filling the empty spacethe Ahroun folding to crouch, candle set, unlit, just before the drape's center part
"If you turn the heat on for a little bit..... it should stay in, now."
(rune)
"Thank you, James." She's swinging down off the counter - easily lifting herself with one hand planted on the corner, fingers curled over the edge for leverage - half slip-slide and half-prowl. There's music in the movement, some dark sure theme locked in the lower registers that pulls at the unconscious heavy as the moon even when the conscious mind skims right on past.Chill hands folded beneath her arms, arms criss-crossed over her abdomen, hips swing-songing the certain gait, she crosses the living room to the thermostat and flips the heat back on.
High. California girl: she hates the cold.
The furnace rumbles, and the first blast of dry delicious heat pours through the vents. Toes curl into the deep pile of the carpet, basking in the first blast of good warm air. She sinks, back to the wall, into a familiar slouch and flickers a glance at him.
"I wanted to kill her, you know." Calm, the words - the confession? - cool and distant as a winterscape glimpsed through (unbroken) glass. There's another breath, not quite deep enough to be a sigh, that does little to ease the pressure of the (welcome? unwelcome?) worm curled in her gut. "I think I still do."
It's not something in which she takes pride.
(james)
the Gnawer remains crouched
the Walker poetry in motionhe had rotated, on the balls of his feet, to hear her slip from the counter
he's there, before the window, some strange predator silhouette from the bare streetlamp light eeking through the drapes in diffuse glow, one of Maureau's beasts wrought from the science of primitive advanced to contemporary civilization
dreads hang down, low, still waving from the smooth shift of weight
to turn
to watch
to breath the first warm blast of dry air
and all it contains in its rush towards him"I don't blame you."
he wanted to kill her, too
she waltzed into their territory
she broke Rune's stuff
that's just wrong in his book
no matter her Tribe or breeding
all silver eventually tarnishes
that much he knowsand on the bait of scent the animal moves
unfolding, rising, slowly covering the ground between them
one hand straying to grab sweatshirt from its perch atop his pack in the cornera silent offer as muscular shoulder makes connection with the wall beside her
he slept in the open cold last night
you just don't enact rites on someone's place without their permission
it will take time for the condo to heat up"I'm not too fond of her either."
(rune)
"I'm not sure how I'm going to pay for all this," she remarks - quietly - as he turns and crosses the room. Her voice remains distant - almost musing - drained of the force and surety of rage, spent somehow during the long black night. Sardonic, still, the upward twist of one half of her pale mouth. "I'm not as rich as y'all think."Smoke and mirrors, baby. It's all smoke and mirrors.
Slender, capable hands curl over the fabric of the sweatshirt, dig sharp into fuzzy pile. There's a half-look: sidelong, lowering (pale) lashes and the dark sweep of eye highlighted by the long harsh sweep of light from the streetlight, outside.
"Thanks," she murmurs, glancing down at the sweatshirt in her hands, rising slowly, back still pressed against the wall. Arm brushes arm, hip brushes thigh, and she looks away. "...but I think I need a shower, first."
One step, another through the dark living room, sweatshirt trailing from her hand, whispering sweet nothings to the carpet as it trails along the floor. One glance, then another, tossed back across the lowering curve of her shoulder.
"Coming?"
(james)
there's a gentle, soft, chuffed laugh"Depends on how you define rich."
the man that grew up living in whatever shelter he could find and defend on the street
looks to the slow upward slide of the spoiled Californian
hand hanging loose at his side twisting as she glides past it
knuckles tracing graceful curves
until their heat is replaced by absence's chillgaze a lazy trail behind her
jerked up to her eyes at the question
yet again.... there is silence
save the slow intake of breath
that look
her only answer another little grin
the foreward momentum that pulls him from the wall to followPosted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 06, 2002.11.06.02. - strange meal [pack][north jersey]
(rune)
Somewhere in the middle of the night, Rune fell into a drowning and .utterly. exhausted sleep. Somewhen in the middle of the afternoon (the thin fingers of pale November light spilling long across the shuttered room, banded with darker shadow, crawl slowly up the wall as the sun falls toward the horizon slow and sure and cold and silent), she crawled from bed and slipped into the shower, downing half-a-dozen aspirin and two glasses of tap water, straight up baby, straight up.Forty minutes later - twenty in the steaming shower, twenty spent in the usual grooming rituals -having paused only to leave a little gift on the nightstand (glass of water; bottle of aspirin; powerbar) - she's headed down the stairs. Loose threads from the tattered bottom hem of jeans so old the seams are worn white skim along the plush carpet; the bottom seam of a snug white t-shirt skims the loose and low-slung waist. She turns from the stairs to the foyer, the foyer to the living room, living room to the kitchen, absently examining the polish painting her nails (time for another manicure) bright bloody red.
Innumerable little white boxes are scattered about the kitchen. Rune proceeds to poke about among them, but finds that the sauces have congealed and the rice has dried right back out. Rune sweeps the lot of them into the garbage, and turns to the fridge to forage.
(decker)
"Nn." Sort of a negating grunt, that, from the front balcony. Decker's slouched down low on her patio chair, feet up on the railing as he reads Imogen's newspaper by the light of Rune's porch lamp. "Fridge's empty. You need more food."From where she stands, she can see his feet crossed at the ankles, his legs in their usual cargoes, hips and torso up to the diaphragm. Pooled on his lap is a scatter of newspapers and inserts, and just visible beyond the edge of the door is the trailing edge of the weather page sagging in his hand. A rustle of newspapers as that page dances in and out of her sight, and then Decker leans forward to get a look at her. Christ. She ain't no sleeping beauty tonight, that was for sure. Leaning heavily back, his weight creaking the chair, Decker opens up the newspaper again. The somewhat bored southern drawl drifts through the door.
"Shoulda gotten more beauty sleep."
(james)
time passes differently for the exhausted battered and bruised Gnawer
it's. far. sloooooower.
slower than the creeping shadows across the walls, the bed, his flesh
slower than the even breaths that gently swat waterfilled mattress beneath him
as she showers, he sleeps on
and on
and on
and on something around the fifteenth minute after the steam begins seeping back to slink through the still hot, heavy, and thick atmosphere of the room, then - and only then - does he finally stir
sloooooowly
one lid peeled from dark eyes to tentatively survey the darkness of the roomyou drank how much, again, Jamey-boy?
it's another five minutes before he dares the excursion again
that much
rearranging surely dislocated limbs to navigate the rolling sea of the bed like a little lost craft somewhere in typhoon's wake
the nightstand's taunting grip on the little gift receiving a growling good morning greeting
gimme!
sudden snatch of the asprin bottle receiving a low groan when his body decides to seceed from the union of mind and matteryou did what, again, Jamey-boy?
a slow smile plasters itself across his features
... that.... and a lot of it
grabbing the powerbar and stumbling towards the humid misty jungle of the bathroom(dire)
*He walks though the area. looking about casually and pauses across the way from the Packs home.*(rune)
Shoulder leaning heavily against the frame of the fridge, Rune studies what little remains: half-empty bottle of beer, half-eaten cup of moldy yogurt, half-empty jar of mustard, one jar of pickles empty (!) except for the sick green swirl of pickling vinager and spices. Who puts an empty jar of pickles back in the refridgerator?The crisper doors slam hard open, and harder shut; even the baby carrots and the ancient, wrinkled onions are gone.
"What the hell did you do with the food, Decker?" her voice drifts from the kitchen, thick and somewhat hoarse. From sleep, most likely. Or cigarettes, doubtless. It couldn't be anything else. "Christ."
Dragging her languid body reluctantly away from the soothing perch against the nice strong refridgerator, Rune peer around and down the hall at the lounging Get. Shaking her slim white hand through dark wet strands of inky hair, she snorts softly and continues, "Would it have fuckin' killed you to pick up some milk and eggs or something? And - yeah, you're no Miss America yourself, so shut up."
No food. Jesus. Maybe her cigarettes are around here somewhere. She remembers coming down here last night, even remembers refueling with the remains of the pizza and calling out for Chinese. She remembers where that lead, too, and a slow smile crawls across her red mouth in spite of itself, siphoning away some of her irritation.
"Seen my cigarettes?" Pause. "Fuck, my car." Pause. Her stomach growls a distinct protest against its clear mistreatment. "...fuck. I'm hungry. Pizza or Thai?"
(decker)
"Me? Nothin'."Silence. He keeps her in suspense about the fate of her food. Newspaper rustles. Turn a page. Overcast, 60% chance of rain. Comics are black-and-white today, colorless, gloomy. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of comics?
Finally, Decker clears his throat quietly. Folds the newspaper over, tosses it aside. Breathing out, almost a sigh, he levers himself up, planting his feet back on the ground and getting to his feet.
"Livingston," comes the single-word answer that explains eeeeverything.
Dire coming up the path and then up the stairs gets Decker's iron-grey attention for a long, quiet, half-lidded moment. Those imposing eyes flicker between the Skald and the box, reading the words on the side, and then the Modi nods up - slight, slow. "Dire." A curl of one corner of his mouth, a smirk, likewise slight, likewise slow. "Looks like you saved the day." Over the white cotton and muscle of his shoulder, "Rune."
(dire)
*He nods. Looks at the box and then at them* I don't have a freezer. We eat or it goes bad.
(james)
another ten minutes spreads itself across the passage of time
without the segment needed for primping as she required
he emerges from the bathroom in a far thicker cloud of steam
crisscrossing the room like the obedient retriever
once black now graying BDUs
once grey now fading shirt
on...... hm.... one. sock.
hell if he knows where the other ran away to
maybe it's hiding with his boots
wherever they arethe lone, rogue sock discarded back to the floor
far be it from him to interrupt it's slink to sockly freedom
there you go, little buddy, off with you now
he has another pair in his pack belowdescent down the stairs sorta.... slow
"Thai."
and greeting for Decker interrupted by the CLANG of the pack making itself at home on their porch
near the stairs between Rune and the open door of the patio
even beneath soggy dreads and wetly clinging shirt
she can see the bristles begin to rise along his spine(decker)
"Fuck," slurs Decker, bending down to paw the soggy box up from the ground, "pity to let it go bad." Up on one shoulder goes the box, stabilized by one hand spread-fingered against the side as he heads for the barbecue grill on the pack porch. "Wipe yer feet."The inside of the condo is, in a word, slick. Spacious living room, high ceilings, carpet thick enough to be a mattress, and an entertainment center worth more than money than Decker's seen in his life. Given his feet a token wipe on the plain black mat (did you really think it'd say "WELCOME"?), Decker heads for the sliding back door out to the rear balcony, where a grill sprawls black and oily, big enough to make Sunday cooks' knees weak.
Setting the box down beside the grill, Decker crouches down to twist various gas valves open.
(dire)
*He sniffs a few times and walks to the door and pauses cocking his head to the side he seems to look to Rune for a nod before walking in. Seems he has a touch of respect for territory. At times.*(rune)
"...the hell are my fuckin' cigarettes." Cupboards clatter open, then closed, only to be opened again - and slow this time - as if she might surprise them.No dice.
Wha-huh-yeah? Bare feet squeak against the (mostly) clean linoleum as Rune pivots about from the empty cabinets to reply to Decker's call or James' vote for dinner or both, most likely. Dark eyes skimming over James, body stiffening in instinctual reaction to the bristles crawling up his spine, she crosses the kitchen and peers around and out the front door. Her hip brushes briefly against James' thigh in the close quarters, and she steps a half-step back as Dire walks in at Decker's invitation.
When Dire looks to her, she responds with a faint, wary shrug; the hem of her white tee-shirt to reveal a quarter-inch of her midsection with the movement. Her pale hand slides (almost of its own volition) to James' shoulder: restraining, perhaps, and dark eyes track Dire's progress through front hall.
(decker)
One of the valves seem to be caught. Decker grimaces, fastening his hand around it and twisting - hard - until suddenly it comes loose. Somewhere a joint or screw catches his knuckles when the valve finally slips. With a curse, Decker gets back to his feet, sucking on the cut as the gas starts to hiss. With his free hand, he raises the hood of the grill, douses the charcoal lumps liberally with starter fluid, and then strikes a match. Drops it in.Whoomp.
Fuck, no tongs. Grabbers. Whatever they're called. "Guess we just toss 'em on," he says to Dire, ripping the box open, and starts doing just that. Orange flames lick out well above the level of the grille, singeing hairs on the backs of his hands. After a moment, he shoots Dire an irritated glance, "Well, you gonna help me or jus' stand there?"
Then, to James and Rune, "Y'all eatin'?"
(james)
no greeting
no movement
no soundthe brush of hip against thigh even does little to distract the Ahroun's attention
but he obeys the Beta's restraining hand
she can feel the energy twitching through aching muscle
even if his eyes never leave Direnot until he passes
the Gnawer simply moves to his pack, retreives socks, and sinks onto the couch to drag them on"Sure"
grunted
must be too much time around the Fenrir(llyod twin)
You can't stay in the apartment all day, VAL.Her reflection.
Her Torment.A bundle of mail in one arm she sighs peering down the hallway or doors, it was all the spider webs that bothered her. (not COB weds, spider webs.) And digging into the pockets of her bathrobe, she pads down the hallway. Tiny bunnies of fuzz on her feet striking a PINK contrast to pale ankles and thin legs. Its almost as if she were being swallowed slowly (but surely..) by some nefarious commercialist cute demon.
Through my eyes it's all so clear.
Holding her keys up she jingles them against the dim-cast hall light, whispered words uttered with a tone that dared disobesiance.
~Open door.~
(dire)
*He nods to the other too and walks though and looks at Decker and the grill and srugs* Just toss them on. We are garou. We can take a few singed paws.(lloyd twin)
A lock clicked to her left.And settling her keys back into the pocket of the robe she opened the door.
Too bad its the WRONG door.
(decker)
The tension of his packmates doesn't escape him. Attention mostly on the burgers, breath hissing out in pain as he flips the burgers by hand, he still manages to cast a glance or two over his shoulder. James and Rune, sullen as he usually is. Dire, uncharacteristically quiet. Eagle's voice in the two Urrah's minds: Hell's eatin' yer asses?And then: click. All by itself, Rune's door unlocks again. Opens. Enter...one silvery-blonde waif. Inside: a shaggy Bone Gnawer. A sleek Glass Walker. A crunchy Get of Fenris. And a silent one.
Star.ing.
(rune)
"I'm in," Rune comments, as if it were a fight and not a feast. She pads through the living room - carpet sinking luxuriantly beneath her grateful feet - and half-way down the hall to the back balcony, arms crossed defensive against the chill November air spilling back into the snug warm condo. "You seen my cigarettes, Decker?"Back slung against the painted wall, feet planted firmly before her, Rune falls into her usual slouch as the front door snicks open.
"...the hell?" she spares a glance for the woman in the bathrobe and is hit by the pure breed just pulsing beneath her skin. Rune sends a sharp, puzzled glance back to Dire.
Decker speaks in her mind, and Rune is uncharacteristically silent in return. Too much is happening all at once, her mind is three steps behind her senses, and she doesn't quite know what to say.
(dire)
*He sniffs some more showing no reconition*(lloyd twin)
It doesn't register to her that she's in the wrong apartment. She just waltzes in settling the mail on a nearby table and with a soft sigh (Only dream that is--her shivers are too fleeting to define.) Right beside James, as if she weren't quite aware he was there slender fingers tremulously exploring the weave of the couch fabric.This fabric feels so forign.
--fleeting thoughts before her unmarred feet ( blood so blue it aches. Dreams so pure..) slip from those 'fuzzed slippers to tuck underneath her form. Ita the impression of folding, like a piece of paper that reducises in size but never in scope. (--so pure that they might weep blood. Silver blood.)Long unbrushed mane of hair hangs about her nigh halo-seeming.
It takes her a minute.
(...vacant eyes flicker into focus.)"..when did you all arrive?"
(james)
dark eyes flick upwards at the silent invitation
both socks on, but he hasn't moved from the couch
that asshole standing next to you
Rune allowed him entrance
he doesn't add the 'not welcome' part he wants to
a tight grin beginning to spread
just beginning
keys jangle
lock throws
the Gnawer scowls
so much for that grinhe knows the keys didn't slide into the lock
and he knows that that means
low growl swallowed back in his throat
grabbing the pinkly robed girl's wrist as she sits down next to him"How'd you do that."
(nova)
She hobbles along, stopping by a tree nearby to gaze up at the lighted windows of the condo, the open door with an unrecognized figure in it. They've got visitors. Not that she was going to go there anyway. There's only one person that goes there that she knows, and he probably wouldn't be happy to see her. Still, she stays by the tree, staring at the condo.(dire)
*He doesn't know who all lives there. he turns back to the grill and licks his lips. hand darting out to take only a slightly gray quarter pounder. he winces a bit at the heat but seems to just suck it up as he bites into it. red blood dribbling down his chin. He sniffs some more and tilts and sees Short stuff. He raises his brows and nods to her*(decker)
The hell? says Rune, and Decker slowly lowers his burnt hand to his side. Behind him, burger patties sizzle and burn on a fire turned up entirely too high. Dire sniffs, and Decker starts forward, slowly at first, then faster. The hall is narrow; the sway of his thuggish walk nearly brushes shoulders against the walls.The stranger (oh-so-familiar) sinks down.
A burger patty catches on fire.Decker shoves beside Rune, knocking James' hand aside in a thoughtless (.bristling.) gesture. Don't you touch her.
Crouches. Stares, intently, grey eyes flickering between the girl's vacant ones. "Yer that girl's family."
As soon as he says it, Rune and James see it. No question about it there. The same pure blood that had sung in the dead girl's veins, clear enough to sing out of a shard of bone, a photocopied photograph - sings in this one's.
(lloyd twin)
It might break.
(..is there SUDDENLY a draft?)
That ivory wrist.The wrist he grabs feels so fragile. The wrist he grabs (..when everything screams she is not be touched.)her breath catches and the room itself (..does it stir to life?) takes a differnt quality, a pre-audial howling as head turns to to face the dreaded man in utter shock. Her eyes decidedly fixing on his burning fingers.
(james)
his hand moves back with an inaudible snarl
hackles raising further shoved. back. down.
Silver tarnished by alleymutt's touch
and right now that's her only redeeming quality - they hate Lords just as much
but she's still invading the territory of a Gnawer already on edge
and he doesn't give two bits for royaltywho'd going to waltz in next to make his day?
Lazarus?(rune)
"Fuckin' Christ."Rune slumps further against the wall, head spilling into her hands, hands spreading to cradle her face and slip-slide through her still-wet hair.
It's just a fuckin' dream.
It's just a fuckin' strange-ass dream.
It's just a strange-ass dream bordering on weird nightmare (who is that bathrobe'd woman sitting on her couch?)."Stop it, Decker." Bristling right back at him from behind her shading hands. "Christ."
It's a trip gone terribly wrong.
"That girl's family?" - dully, now, even if she CAN see it. She's certain now that she's on something, something mind-altering, something bad. "...the hell did she find us? And why the fuck did she waltz right in?"
Eventually, Rune pushes herself up and away from the wall - back through the living room, back into the kitchen to rummage in the cabinet above the damn sink for her damn Xanax.
It'll all be better soon.
(lloyd twin)
Aberration.It feels as if time has slowed considerably, that the sandstorm of seconds has died down, melted down, and dribbles like honey across the senses. You can see the slw recoil of muscles away from the OTHER who sits on the couch, like a sea plant twisting away with a tide of anger.
"I.. WE're here to find maddie but who?"
The question remains.
"--are you all. And what are you doing here?"
(dire)
*He growls and steps back as another burger catches on fire and grunts. looking around he starts swatting at the pair of them harder. Lips peeling back* STOP! * he grumbels and swats a few more times. Grunting he grabs one burger not on fire and slings it8 Decker. Food. * Damn steraight. Heading right for his head too. * Swatting another* James, food... * A third is slung* Rune.... food....(decker)
The burger patty flying at his head snaps him out of it. Thoughtlessly, casually, almost lazily, his hand comes up and simply...pulls the patty out of the air.Then the temperature registers on him. Decker almost drops the patty on the carpet, tossing it between his two hands as he gets to his feet. "Hell if I know," to Rune's question, apparently. But the instinctive shying away from his rage is noted, and it draws a scowl across his face. No matter how many times he got that selfsame reaction, from how many different creatures - humans, Garou, kinfolk, animals - the sting never seemed to fade. Gaia weighs him down with the anger; he bears the burden. Morning to night. Night to morning. Every breath, every second.
Muttered, and only God knew whom to, "I ain't dealin' with this." The Modi pushes his way back out to the kitchen, where he wraps his patty in a paper towel, which it soaks through almost immediately. Deliberately absorbed in his food, Decker eats.
(nova)
Pain-numbed nerves irritate her survival instinct. She's virtually invisible, as usual. So she sends her mind out to that other place, where the colors are brighter, swirlier, and just watches the movements of the spirits. It's like a drug for her, getting her away from the world that carries so much pain.
(james)
ooooh, not only is she a pretty purebred little invader
she's an oblivious one, too
how....delightfulhe should have just stayed in bed
the Ahroun scowls again
twisting to lift from the couch
twisting to snatch the flying saucer of a burger out of the air
twisting to.....
well, Decker took that spot
so he stays standing just there
mindless of just how hot that burger is
some things roil hottereasy now James
ease on up
calm yourself
return to that little pleasent epicenter you woke up with
just enjoy your burgerit's only after a bite that he speaks
"We live here, in case you didn't notice. I ask you again, HOW did you open that door."
the queen sits
the pauper stands
how. apro. pos.(rune)
The bottle in her hands (dull amber, shining where it catches the light), pills shaken out into her hand, the burger flying at her head (wha-HUH?) ducked to splat and fall against the wall opposite and -- "what the fucking hell did you just say?" - her fist curls hard around the lovely, lovely, soothing little pills that will make her slooooooooow and sweet and more or less happy for another few hours tonight and the hard little seeds of destruction dig deeply into her flesh, so hard is she grasping them. Crossing two quick steps toward the living room and the couch, but holding herself back from the third stride - "...jesus. fuckin'. christ. You walk into my fucking house without bothering to fucking knock and have the nerve to ask me who the hell I am?"
There's a pause, then. There's a long slow deep-breathing I will not go crazy pause. There's an inhale a fistful of pills pause and a toss one more back for good measure pause before she straightens and runs a despairing hand over her face and just waits to the answer to James' question.
(dire)
*He leaves the other two to burn and chews on his mostly raw one. There was still a half a box of quarter pounders there. He turns and tries to peek though the others and see Nova. An inquizitive grunt?*(LT)
Confusion reigns.her head twists a bit to regard the angry man, blue-black eyes gazing at him (past him through him.) and she yawns briefly shrugging off the gesture.
"You do? --with Bast? Uhm.. I unlocked it."
(LT)
The charging woman.
The charging woman.
(...are you looking at the charging woman?)
The charging Woman.Back straightens a bit as she gazes at her a silvery brow raising as lips twitch.
"I assure you the key KNEW which lock to unlock."
(james)
snarled"How."
dark eyes narrow
"Cause you sure didn't slide something into the lock."
low class, yes
deaf? no.(dire)
*Finishing his burger he slaps another two on and manages to swat the two now charboiled hockey pucks from the grill and stomps on them just to be sure.* Grozzit....(decker)
A loud snort from behind the breakfast bar, where Decker leans with his elbows on the counter, eating without tasting, watching with eyes the color of raw steel. "Christ," condescendingly, impatiently, "she's a fuckin' kook. Just tell 'er what happened to the girl 'n show 'er out."(LT)
"I didn't unlock it--the key did."She sighs shaking her head at them.
(dire)
*Waiting for those two to cook he grabs them up and bounces them a few times on his hands. Not that they don't heal the burns almost as fast as they are made. He steps in from the back porch. Looks around to them all and takes a bite out of one of the ones in his hand. Walks though the group silent. Pauses to Sniff at Lloyd and sneezes. Snorts and walks on out the otherside and over to Nova. He grunts and nudges her with a toe* Nova. Food. * he offers her the other burger*(james)
"Cute toy. Perhaps one day you should be a little more careful in using it. Because you know what happens to your Family when they walk into the wrong apartment?"amazing
how one normally so mellow
so warm
so generous
can become. so. merciless.
the Modi tells him to? he does"Their blood paints the walls. Their bodies are found out in the middle of a field in more pieces that can ever be accounted for. Their Family puts up missing posters all over the state looking for someone they'll never. ever. find. You know why? Because something far more unwelcoming, far darker, far more dangerous than some people trying to have dinner ends up finding them in that apartment. So, if all that blood in you hasn't addled your brain, perhaps you should considering using it next time you let keys make decisions for you. I think you know where the door is. Excuse us, but we weren't prepared to grant audience tonight."
(nova)
Dire's nudge moves her a little, but she doesn't respond. She's got the look of someone peeking, being oblivious to everything happening around her. That look is so similar to the look of someone strung out on drugs, it's scary.(LT)
The howling.The air feel alive, twisting livid. As if all the color is slowly being sucked out of the room--even as a continuous gust of wind begins to pour from the balcony. A few scattered pieces of paper flutter about the living room--and her head snaps toward James--eyes steely cold.
"Would you please repeat that, I don't think I understood you."
If yuo listened really closely, perhaps you heard the opening chord of a horror movie. Shrieking voilins and icy blue potency.
Her gaze--does not flicker.
(dire)
*He grunts. looks at her and turns her hand so it's palm up. Slaps the meat in her hand. wipes his other hand on the grass and walks back up to watch them pick on the pure bred one. Re-entering he again pauses by Lloyd. Sniffs her a few more times. Licks his lips. He walks over and leans on the bar beside Decker. Looks at the woman. To Decker. To the Woman. Srugs and grunts a lower tone and finishes his second pattie and licks his hand clean*(decker)
Decker's grey eyes sleet to Nova briefly, then return to James. The line appears between his eyebrows, but the Modi keeps his silence. Absently tonguing the outside edge of his lower teeth, sucking the burger-juice off his fingers, he watches: eyes dark.His tribesmate joins him and he barely flickers an eyelid, but the set of his shoulders tells enough. He's aware of the Metis' presence, accepts it, and that's that.
(rune)
"Thank fuckin' god for my craptastic breeding," muttered through slim white fingers, "...could've ended up like that."Swallow hard, and swallow again, harder against the bitter gorge rising at the back of her throat. The sensation of a pill stuck at the back of her throat nags at her, like a bit of sand in an oyster's shell.
Her sliding foot comes in contact with the burger oozing grease onto the carpet (cleaning ladies will be so happy with scrubbing that out of the carpet). She's hungry though, so she swipes the still hot burger off the floor and is just about to take a bite when - jesus fuckin' christ - she slings the burger onto the breakfast bar and circles the couch to flank the pure bred Fang.
(james)
of course not, it's all that blood addling your brain
it's clogged your ears, too"Do you need me to use smaller words?"
the easy smile replaced by a hard sneer
definitenly. too much time. around the Fenrir.
look at what's happening to you James
the hangover isn't helping, eithereyes dark as the earth's rich soil they tread upon locking on steely blue
"Like you? The girl you're looking for? She walked into the wrong apartment. But instead of finding us settling down to a nice meal? She walked in on a Dancer. The Dancer is dead now, but that should explain why you'll never find her. Was that easier to understand, Princess?"
(nova)
So precise. She carefully eats all the parts of the burger that did not touch the ground, tossing whatever did out into the grass away from her. Then she spends some time glaring at her weakened legs, gathering anger to heal them more.(dire)
*he grunts and nods to her* Goblins got her brain. * As if it was the most logical thing you ever heard*(rune)
There's a sidelong (familiar) and a brief glance toward Dire, sardonic dark eyes lingering there briefly before turning back to the Silver Fang.Blood-red nails tap tap tap on the arm of the leather couch, a staccato, impatient rhythm counterpointed by the slow pull of her (attempts at) calming breaths.
The Xanax is beginning to work, to slipslide through her system familiar and hazy and warm, and the drugs take the hardest edge off her irritation even if the bulk of it remains raw as an onion.
(LT)
Doesn't it feel wrong?Speaking down to someone like her, doesn't it grate against the cellular structure in lycanthrpoic DNA coils? There is a quiet pause.
"I see."
And even as he speaks he feel a faint stirring in the air, is it getting drier, thinner? (What if all the air around you decided to leave?) Don't weeze full-moon's is unbecoming. She never looks at Rune as her eyes remain looked with James, own. ( As if the very your very presence casused AIR ITSELF to flee?) And yet they both begin to suffer this strange malady.
"I thank you for the explanation, do not expend yourself further."
Time slows.
(What then?)
Would you even realize it before it was too late?
"I apologize, it was my mistake, not the keys." Some strange need to protect the key? " I am Victoria Anne Lloyd, (fostern?) tHeurge of the Silver fang, house of The Austere howl, Former title holder of many things--"
A fuckin, theurge--and perhaps he put it together as she wals past, the brittle air, the growing vaccum of light and life as she moves past picking up the mail and opening door.
"I apologize for my mistake."
And exits, pulling the door closed gently behind her.
--click.
(BLAM!)Every single mirrored or glass surface cracks. The sliding doors reign down, a small waterfall of irrident glass shards, and air comes rushing back into the two pockets of nigh airlessness that the cliath and fosterm modi occupied.
Fuck--what was that?
(dire)
*He grunts. Looks at Decker, Then to Rune and then to the shattered Plazma TV and then to James and stands up to peek out of the window at Nova and then slumps again and grunts.* Yup.. Goblins.(nova)
Sitting outside by the tree still, she jumps as the door slams and glass shatters.Poor glass.
She watches the woman, as if she won't be noticed, as if she's still invisble with her bright blue hair against the trunk of the tree. But who notices street kids these days?
(LT)
The woman in question takes out her kets again and decides to hold a small confersation with it--before shoving it onto her pocket, knocking and carefully opening ANOTHER door--and heading inside.(nova)
Timidly, she calls out at the Silver Fangs back, not really wanting to attract attention, but needing to say something."I was going to look for you!"
(rune)
Great way to introduce yourself.Rune does not stand bemused amidst the destruction wrought - uninvited - upon her home. She stands up sharp and tall and follows the crazed woman. Long strides carry her through the living room, and the shattered glass - everything she owns - lacerates the soles of her feet.
Behind her is a bloody trail. It mirrors her vision: blood and blood.
Two seconds after the door has slammed shut, it slams open again and Rune is raging hot on Victoria Anne's heels. Her hand lashes out to stop the second door (how the hell did she manage to move into this neighborhood?) from slamming shut in her face. Her hand clamps down on the woman's shoulder and spins her around to face her.
That wasn't very nice of you.
(james)
feel wrong? you've gotta be kidding him
if the situation were different
he may have respected her
may have...
..... well.....he noticed her entering, but didn't her leaving
he didn't notice the air leaving, but damn well noticed it returningreactions quick as the lightning that seems to have struck the room
the Ahroun ducking the sudden glass rain
son! of! a....!
glancing around at the crystaline reflections now all over the floor
no wonder the key picked the wrong door, she keeps breaking mirrors like that her luck will NEVER get any betterburger grease in the carpet is one thing
all the glass in the condo cracked or on the carpet is another
his eyes lift to seek out the pack's Beta
then drop
sighing
there's...... not much question that this is his fault"I'm sorry Rune."
already turning to find.... something.... to clean all this up with
then he hears the crunch of glass as she stalks out after the Fang
.... oh .....shit
following Dire out after them(decker)
From behind the breakfast bar, Decker levers himself upright in an effortless, taut flex of muscles. Broken glass from the burst bulbs overhead rain down from the plane of his back, some catching in his flesh. A single dark glance at James, unreadable; all too readable.If James hadn't been his packmate. If he had been sitting where Victoria had. Listening to what she had heard. About his family. A little broken glass would be the least of the concerns. But they were pack...and that puts a different spin on things.
Rolling one shoulder in its socket, cradled in its crisscrossing belts of solid muscle, the Modi follows the Ahroun. She feels it - all of Eagle's children feel it - Decker, taking the Totem's strength before anyone else can.
Rune catches up to Victoria. From ten, twenty feet away, the Modi drops to a crouch and watches.
(LT)
Touch.Her shoulder (Glass might break--wait you KNOW that already, don't you.) Flows gently to twist the female form like water around. Here we go round the mulberry bush--the Mulberry bush.. But it isn't a smiling creature she face, the silvery haired moonchild the press of lips together.
There was precious little rage in this creature--precious little.
"Do not."
If listen hard enough it feels like something AWFUL is about to happen.
(nova)
She shakes her head, still looking at the confrontation, but addressing Dire."Maddie Lloyd. A man asked... begged me to look for her. But Decker said he'd already found her. Dead."
(dire)
*He looks at her and shakes his head* Smelled her twice. Not dead. * He drops his pack resulting in a different pitched clang and a rough hand slips inside and Babe is retreived. Yes... Babe the big blue crow bar*
(james)
a brow lifts at the dark glance
well he did say to tell her what happened then show her out
and he told her
perhaps more mercilessly than he should have
but he did exactly as he was told, and it was more than obvious the Ahroun was already on edge
but then again.... who in their right mind puts a haughty Fang Princess in the same room with a hungover Gnawer rag and expects things not to get..... explosive?
maybe the Fostern should have handled ithis journey stops behind the Modi's crouch
silent
watching
waiting(nova)
She gives a lop-sided shrug."He's not one to lie. But he could have been wrong... He did say the body was horribly mangled. Probably impossible to get a positive I.D. on it..."
(nova)
*He srugs a bit. The woman was standing right there. Kinda hard for Dire to think she was dead. he wasn't craz..... ok.. bad analogy. He watches and lays Babe across his lap and looks to Nova* Eat? * he gently pokes her ribs* More if you need.(rune)
Something very awful is about to happen.Dark eyes (smoldering) narrow in the pale framing face and tendrils of inky black hair dance down across her cheeks, half-obscuring the cruel twist of red her red mouth. The bird-boned shoulder, the tender wrist, they will break as easily as the shattered glass.
The twisted set of Rune's shoulders and the taut, lean length of her spine and the way her painted toenails - her bloodied feet - dig - into the carpet are testament to the effort it takes her to keep from wiping the thin-lipped smile (she's seeing red) clean off the goddamned Fang's face.
"Clean. It. Up. Now." The low snarl carries little further than the Theurge's ear.
(nova)
It's almost like space is warping, how this already small Bone Gnawer can get even smaller in the presence of such... is it the Silver Fang, or the confrontation? But she's stood up to confrontations before..."Can't... This isn't right... We shouldn't be fighting each other..."
Her lips, pale in the cold, disappear.
"It's not my business... And people wonder why I'm alone so much..."
She braces her hands against the tree, hauling herself up to her feet.
(dire)
*He looks up at her as she stands and stands himself. The crowbar being held gently in one hand. Almost an extention of himself* She did walk into house and break everything. She kinda bringing it on herself.
* he nods to Nova and looks her over* Almost better?(LT)
Its some foreign language.The sound--of children babbling, watter rushing--wolves howling--angels conversing(..the devil has a tongue of his own.)
She whispers softly boths hands holding each other as she remains unmoving from where where she is. Do you wonder what she is saying in this strange language (..the oldest part of you knows.) Can feel the tension building as her long whisper which ends in a word that though UNhuman sounds almost commanding.
(Psst. Its "Now.")
Szzt. ( Ladies and gentle please adjust your chairs to their full and upright position.)You know it before you Percieve it. Like a dam (..could it be a Theurges patuience too does crumble?) shattering cracks taht marr the whole until--
Trickle.
Trickle.
Trickle.
(.......whoooooosh.....)A wind rolls by like a hurricane, lights flicker and fade as it passes ( Thunder.) To por past the not-so-young Shaman and into the Modi ( When. Will. You. Rage.) with acertain amount of force--
Gravity today, its air based and moving northward.
"No. Please leave now."
(dire)
*He growls a little at that and tightens his grip on babe. The dark get tattoo standing out above his left brow like a sign. a warning in inherant danger to trifle with him. Still he waits. What's a little wind in the grand scheem of things*(decker)
Life is not a spectator sport.Life is not a spectator sport, but sometimes you had to pretend. Decker just watches. As the wind rises, the Modi leans into it, one hand bracing against the ground, shifting his center of balance forward. The other remains resting, wrist on knee. Crouched slightly forward now, there is something sharp about him, alert and poised, coiled. Like a wolf, three paws on the ground, one raised in indecision, anticipation.
Ball's in Rune's court.
The Modi - gamma-wolf of the pack - watches.(nova)
"Great. Now she's bringing the spirits into the arguement. They shouldn't be involved in personal squabbles... I'm useless here. These people wouldn't know wisdom if it stabbed them in the foot."If they want a Theurge to help fight against the Theurge, they'd have to give her a damn good reason. She turns and begins hobbling away, as fast as her atrofied leg muscles can take her.
(dire)
*He sniffs the wind and listens to Nova and nods to her. looking back he watches and keeps his eyes peeled for Goblins*(james)
sometimes.... all you can do is watch
it's Rune's argument now
even if he started it
even if he's still there to back her up
weight shifting against the wind
oh what now...
is it any wonder his opinion of Fangs(dire)
*He turns and sees a mailbox and crouches growling.There one is. A goblin.. peeking out of the mailbox. He skitters behind the tree and all but drops to all 4s. Peeking around the tree he readjusts the grip on his crowbar and eyes the mailbox something aweful*
(rune)
There's a point at which generosity ends: of spirit, of mind, of body, of will.Rune moves faster than the eye can quite see, or the mind can quite comprehend, hands sliding about the wasp-thin waist and tightening like a vise until she lifts her and flings her bodily against the far wall.
The sick crack of contact, the thud as Victoria Ann falls the floor are sheer music to her ears. Her hands tighten into fists, and she takes two lunging steps toward her fallen prey, then spins in a sure, certain arc.
And walks. Away.
Past Decker, crouched on the sidewalk, past James behind him. Past the goblins at the mailbox, down the short flight of stairs and out and away: the sidewalk, the street, the nightfalling dark and cold around her.
Away.
(nova)
Not bothering to look toward the crashing sound, she keeps her concentration on every step, mumbling to herself, as she heads back to the forest.(dire)
*He DIVES to the left doing a shoulder roll and hides behind a bush and then peeking over the top. He looks both ways and eyes the mailbox. The little green fucker must have ducked inside. Well. That means he can't see Dire now. Dire smiles evily and shifts his grip on the long blue crowbar. He holds it by the pry end and uses the hook end for the weapon. Standing he dives over the bush, another roll and he comes up on all 4s and skitters twords the mailbox. clear intent all over his face*(imogen)
Ten minutes to one in the morning. Nighttime, when all good and sane people are asleep, the prowlers are out, and apparently, the good doctor works. The SUV has been parked in the parking lot for all of fifteen minutes, the engine still warm, the interior still comfortable from a blasting heater.She'd been working on answering machine message number 99 when the crack of glass breaking had shattered the night. Some cynical part of her mind can't help but note that she is not quite surprised that this sound happened, only concerned that it did. Time was spent listening to the suddenly odd silence, head canted while her messages droned on (99 deleted, 98 played unheard, 97 a hang up....), before a hand absently stops the playback, abandoning the effort once more. She steps across the living room, barefoot, reaching the door, scooping up her jacket from where it was balanced against the doorhandle, sliding her hands and arms inside. It's as her fingers reach out to touch the door knob it idly occurs to her that perhaps she should simply stay inside. Particularly as the muted sound of a thud next door heralds... something.
The doorknob twists and she steps outside in time to watch Rune explode out of the condo, watching the sinuous stalk of the female, as hands shove into jean pockets.
(LT)
What is in the theurges hand?It falls bauble and rolls down the walk to diappear on the grass below. Perhaps she never expected a glasswalker to attack her, perhaps Rune simply moved too fast, regardless as that frail body is slammed against the wall her head tips back, skull cracking wide open and blood (among other things) pour out.
You imagine it must have been instantaneous. Funny how fragile things are--no wonder they're a dying nation.
(james)
he cannot stop the flinch that runs up his spine on contact
even if the sickening thud has that pleasurable sound of hitting the sweet spot on a drum's headit's a moment of indecision
instead of crouching with one handpaw raised
weight shifts on socked feetbut the Ahroun pivots
trotting to catch up with Rune as sidewalk bleeds to parking lot
long stride matching angry stalk
looking at the asphalt - not her
he's got a good guess at what is going to happen
he's got a good guess at what the worst will be
but that doesn't mean he doesn't hope for something a little better(dire)
*He turns seeing the dead fang and that it dropped someting. Goblin forgotten he skitters that way and peers into the house. blinks and eyes the dead thing that claimed to be garou. He sniffs and then looks into the grass and with the tip of the Crowbar he nudges the thing that was dropped getting a better look at it*(rune)
The pace continues, and the long, angry strides do not waver, or falter, or break.James looks at the sidewalk; Rune looks straight ahead, her breath frosting in the chill November air. Bare feet slap against asphalt and wet hair clings to pale skin, but the heat of her anger keeps her goosebumps from breaking out on her bare arms.
She doesn't acknowledge his presence. She just. keeps. walking.
(decker)
And the wind dies.There's no discussion. No eye contact. Nothing. It's simply...decided. You go; I stay. James goes after Rune. Decker stays, looking at the fallen Theurge for a moment before rising: smooth, easy. One imagines well-oiled machines of war.
His head tilts slightly at the door opening behind him, but the Modi does not turn. Dire begins to nudge the Lloyd girl, and Decker? "Don't."
He turns and walks into the condo. Shattered glass crunches under his feet. He finds a pad of paper, shakes the glass off, and sketches out three quick maps.
One: the field. Large black X over the burial spot.
Two: the apartment.
Three: Mick's bar.Folding the paper over once, he walks out, drops to a crouch beside the Theurge, and slides it into her slack hand. Other than that - he leaves her as she is. Rises. Looks off after the distant figures of Rune and James; at Dire; then, last, at Imogen.
(james)
even though dark eyes look to the ground
he can still see her
(just as he had the night before)
and it is the lack of acknowledgement that gets to himhe knows there isn't a drop of her shoulders
there isn't a flick of her eyes
there isn't a sneer on her red red lips
there isn't even a snap to tell him to leave
there's just.... nothinghe gets the hint
pace slowing to fall a step or three behind her(dire)
*Just like that Dire launches into the air like a riseing rocket. Cutting a flip over the mailbox he comes down with Babe bering hiss full forced swing.CLANG!!!
THe hook of the crowbar is burried into the poor innocent mailbox.
Dire snarls and ynaks back, the thin alunimum tearing free of it's mount and sticking to the end of the crowbar.
This startels Dire a bit* IT'S TRYING TO EAT BABE! * He really has a shit fit then . slaming the mailbox into the earth over and over again untill on a back swing it flips end over end, what ever was left of it that is to land in a bush. Dire nods and spits*
(imogen)
Dark eyes had followed Rune and James for several moments before her attention had shifted to the suspicious and sniffing Dire, smelling at the mail box, an eyebrow twitching ever so slightly, as she stands beneath the shelter of the neighbouring balcony. Finally, Decker, from where he stands, sliding thumbs through her belt loops.An abrupt step back, hands leaving the protection of her pockets, freeing up as Dire leaps forward, attacking the mailbox with a crowbar.
Stare. Eyes moving toward the rather decimated mailbox in something akin to shock.
(dire)
*He revertantly strokes Babe, the big blue crow bar and holds it close to his chest as he eyes the now horriably mutilated mailbox in the bush. Nodding firmly once more he stalks over to his bag on the lawn and slips babe into it*(rune)
He falls behind - one step, or three - and it's impossible to tell if she even notices. She just continues to walk - to stride - long and lean and bitterly angry, or perhaps just bitter by now. The tranquilizers swallowed ten minutes before take the angry edge off her mindless rage, and leave behind the mindlessness.She doesn't know where she's going - away - but she knows why she wants to go. She walks off the parking lot, into the rainwet grass and then veers sharply back onto the pavement.
There. The road. It'll do.
(decker)
At the Babefit, Decker turns sharply and then...watches, like he's been doing most the night. Rather impassively at that, either unamused or unimpressed or simply uncaring. Finally, a snort. He'd tell Imogen she was crazy, but that much was, well, obvious.He picks a speck of glass out of his skin and flicks it aside. Glass would be dripping off of him like rain for hours, and the inside of the condo was such a mess he didn't want to think about it.
In the distance, Rune and James. Wonder where they're going. Wonder wtf is up with them. Wonder if...?
Nahh.
(dire)
*Dire walks over to Decker as he shoulders his bag and looks after those that depart. He shakes his head a bit.* I hope they don't stray again....(james)
that's when he just.... stops
one thing a Gnawer will always know
it's when he's not wanted
for whatever reason that drives her powerful strides
for whatever reason that chokes and drains his to a stop
he can dig itonce more he pivots
rather than reflecting
tonight? we turn
round and round and round and round until things just get so damned confusedhands slink into the pockets of baggy BDUs
retracing his steps back to the shattered condo
still on James' time
slooooowly
he's not looking forward to cleaning up the mess
but he will(imogen)
She's realized Dire's insanity. No need for the news flash. As the violence subsides, hands slip back into her pocket, drawing her elbows close to her body to try and retain some semblance of warmth.She watches Dire walk toward Decker, shouldering the bag, an eyebrow twitching as he speaks of they again. Watching.
(decker)
Decker's frowning into the distance, his eyes narrowed a notch. As Dire speaks to him the focus of those eyes shift, peeling away from Rune and James (the latter turning back, something of defeat in his shoulders' set), coming to a blistering stop on Dire. The silence goes on and on. The Modi apparently didn't feel like saying shit just now. Another shard of glass is pulled out of his arm, rolled thoughtfully between his fingers until he rolls it wrong somehow, and it slices deep into his thumb. Decker's eyes flash down to his hand, breath hissing at the sudden pain. Carelessly, he tosses the shard aside.Finally, "Eh?"
(dire)
*He sees James heading back their way and shakes his head, grunts. Seeming to drop it*(decker)
Decker hates it when people do that. They did it a lot around him. He looks at them and they clam up. Just look at the good doctor.(Then again, that woman...)
The Modi compresses his lips. James was taking a while to get back. Lowering his eyes to Dire again, " 'Stray'?" Stubborn. Dog on a bone.
(dire)
*He nods* Caught um about to fuck on the steps here the other night. Talked um out of it. * he snorts* Didn't you feel their pistivity when I came in tonight? * It's amazing... this is the same guy that about 5 minutes ago was attacking a mailbox like it was wyrm spawn and now he seems totally lucid*(imogen)
She would have perhaps prodded Dire herself, considering his odd words, and what's more the fact he simply stopped talking. Perhaps she felt it wasn't her place.Perhaps she knew to count on Decker to press it.
Hands roaming her pockets in search of a rumpled pack of cigarettes, she starts to walk half backward toward the lounge chair sitting on the edge. Half way toward lighting the cigarette, her eyes jerk toward Dire as he speaks, features expressionless.
(dire)
* he snorts to Imo's look* Yeah, well... I wasn't all together pleasent about it.(decker)
The Modi's eyebrows rise a notch, lower. Impossibly, he snorts - half-amused, half-annoyed. "Uh." While Imogen's feeling around for cigarettes, he's feeling around for a joint. "Yeah, okay."Ever heard of subtlety, you little shits? Strange thought for him to have, of all people. The Modi clamps the joint between his teeth and leans forward to strike a match on the balustrade. Cupping the flame to the joint, he sucks in until it lights.
The flickering flame dances prettily back at him, reflected from a million bits of glass, everywhere. Fuckin' Theurge really did a number on the condo, that was for sure. Blowing the flame out with a puff of smoke, Decker tosses the dead match over the edge of the railing.
(james)
it's about this his socks find the step from the asphalt onto the sidewalk
weaving around the perfectly manicured plants
the snaking path through the lawn
a brow.... lifts....
..... no. there was a mailbox there.
dreads dance as head shakesit's been a long night James
first the sock wanders to its sockly freedom
and now? the mailbox has joined itno..... there it is in the bushes
dark eyes glance towards the two Fenrir, Imogen
but he just keeps his path set to Rune's door(decker)
This is when you'd expect a dry stare, a drier comment. Decker, however, offers something a little different. An irritated frown tightens his brow. Nineteen (...well. Almost...) years of kicking ass have taught the Modi a good deal about arrogance and condescension, and it's ever-inherent in the angle of his jaw, the way his grey eyes blaze down his nose at anyone, everyone, everything."It's a sulfur fuckin' match." Lazily aggressive. You wouldn't think such a thing possible until you've met Decker. His gunmetal eyes slide over James as the Ahroun makes his way back, crunching his way through broken glass. The Modi neither blocks his path, nor speaks to him, but his gaze is sharp, perceptive. Then, when James is four, five steps past, the mindlink comes alive.
Been a long night - eh, James?
A hit sucked off the joint, as the relentless grey eyes stare into the distance, after Rune.(dire)
*He srugs gently and turns to walk inside the appartment Boots crunchingHe looks lfet then right and casucally bends to look around at ankel level. Srugging he looks around and stands straight again.
Sniffs, And turns down the hall to the bathroom. Entering he looks around and gently closes the door. Apperently modesty isn't totally lost on those not of human birth.
As he's in there he's gently talking to babe*
Did you see it?
Yeah I saw it too.
*Nodding he shakes and then zips up. Checking the bowl he nods and flushes. Steping over he opens the medicine cabinate and looks though there*
(imogen)
On the neighbouring balcony, Imogen tucks one bare foot beneath her, as she reaches out, plucking the ashtray from it's customary perch on the balcony railing. Placed at by her feet on the balcony floor, she taps ash from the fag, before resettling it between her lips, the cherry of the cigarette flaring as she inhales on the filter, drawing poison into her lungs.(james)
socks, broken glass, dejected walk seeming to throw more weight on each step
we'll definitely be looking for those boots before doing much else inside the condo
muscle rippling beneath his shirt, beneath his dreads, through his shoulders and arms as the mindlink crackles to life
jaw flexing to half look back at the ModiYeh, Decker, long night.
quiet, to the point, he won't go into it anymore unless asked
back through the still open door
stopping with a sigh to plot the course of least resistance and discomfort in order to attempt finding wherever his boots where..... left behind..... the previous night
a brow lifts at the flush
hearing the cabinet open
bristling once againbut it's a rather polite knock on the bathroom door, really
(dire)
socks, broken glass, dejected walk seeming to throw more weight on each step
we'll definitely be looking for those boots before doing much else inside the condo
muscle rippling beneath his shirt, beneath his dreads, through his shoulders and arms as the mindlink crackles to life
jaw flexing to half look back at the ModiYeh, Decker, long night.
quiet, to the point, he won't go into it anymore unless asked
back through the still open door
stopping with a sigh to plot the course of least resistance and discomfort in order to attempt finding wherever his boots where..... left behind..... the previous night
a brow lifts at the flush
hearing the cabinet open
bristling once againbut it's a rather polite knock on the bathroom door, really
(dire)
*Finding the tooth paste he puts some on his finger and puts the tube back. The fucker squeess from the middle too. He closes the cabinate and opens the bathroom door.Walks back down the hall jamming his finger in his mouth at his teeth, working up a good lather. he nods to James and seems to stand in the middle of the destruction. When ever he gets a mouth full of liquid he doesn't spit. He simply swallows.
Brush brush brush*
(james)
arms fold, slowly, across his chest
he's making sure to keep his cool this time
... barely
words carefully chosen"Dire? I know I was drunk the other night. But I seem to recall Rune saying that you weren't welcome here. At any time. While she may have allowed you in earlier because you brought us food? Which don't get me wrong, I appreciate.... she's not here to revoke her decision now. So... if you don't mind. Please leave."
(decker)
Decker doesn't look after James, though his eyes slide briefly sideways as Dire goes in uninvited. One eyebrow rises for a second, then knits with the other as he draws another lungful down.Hold.
Keep it quiet. Erik finds out, he'll skin both yer asses.
Release.Seems like the third degree is over (for now). Taking the joint out from between his lips, the Modi strolls forward a step or two, ashing over the balustrade even as he peers over it, noting that Rune had yet to return, and the Silver Fang had yet to wake up.
Joint goes back into his mouth. He turns toward Imogen, though his eyes linger in the direction his packmate had gone off in. Three or four slow steps to the edge of his balcony closest to Imogen's, and then he leans his elbows on the top of the stone railing. A puff of smoke, politely away. Then his eyes are on her, the same grey as diffusing smoke.
"Gonna ask me what happened?"
(dire)
*He looks over at James, finger still in his mouth. Brushes his teeth some more as the gnawer goes off on his little thing. Listens and pulls his finger out. Sucking it clean and swishing the spit and toothpaste around his mouth and swallowing. Sucks a tooth and listens to him. Arks a brow.*Yeah. You were Drunk. Stumbeling around. Falling down. All but mounting packmates on the front steps.
* he nods*
I don't remember her sayin' "At any time" It was more of a drunken stupor "Oh fuck we just got busted about to break the litiny on the front porch. Lets get up and act all offended and try and throw accusations at the one that caught us to divert blame and save our own asses." sort of deal.
Now don't get me wrong. She might have said it.
I pointed out that I was stopping you from doing something that would being more dishonor on yourself and I left.
*he nods*
but yeah you were drunk so it could have been blurry.
*He smacks his lips. The fool Gnawer wanted to go there, he'd go there.*
I'll leave if I'm not welcome though. Enjoy the meat.
(imogen)
The silver fang has yet to wake up, and the good doctor has yet to stand up to try and help her. No wonder she works with dead people. The cigarette is quickly and effeciently smoked, half way to the filter as Decker moves toward the balcony railing.She leans forward, ashing the cigarette as her head tilted to watch Decker as he leans forward. It's quiet enough to hear the brush of his flesh against the stone. Dark eyes like the night, they drift away for a moment, toward the chaos that is what is Rune's condo. "Do I want to know?" she inquires, eyes turning back to him.
(decker)
Decker makes some sound in the back of his throat - heh, eh - something like one or the other. He takes another hit and then holds the joint away from himself, watching the tip smoulder away, tracing the mobile flecks of orange-red around and around, spiralling ever so gradually down the length of the joint.Ash joint. Speak, off the cuff, casual. "Dead girl's cousin stopped by 'n threw a fit." That wasn't quite right, but it was close enough. Decker: the ultimate Cliff Notes.
(james)
deeeeeeep breath, James
and again."You know what, Dire. All you saw was a kiss. That's it. And from any interpretation, a kiss does not constinute mating, mounting, fucking, screwing or any derivative thereof which would, then, constitute breaking the Litany. Your actions, however, could still be seen as doing so, but unlike you, I'm not pressing the issue. I'm not that much of an asshole. But I am tired. I have a mess to clean up and I do not feel like wasting my breath arguing with you. To rest your mind? We discussed it. We came to the conclusion we were not going to break the Litany. We were not going to risk anything. So yes, Skald, you did your duty that night."
the Gnawer takes a step or two foreward
closing the distance between them
his voice lowering
calm, not confrontational, just to the point"But you are not my Alpha. You are not my Pack. You are not my Tribe. And you, most defininitely, are not welcome here."
(imogen)
Dead girl. There aren't too many dead girls that Decker knows, so that narrows things down, some. A faint duck of her head in a nod, hair spilling forward to fall over her eyes. She pulls the cigarette from her mouth before speaking, her free hand sliding into the pocket of the jacket she wears."She did all o' that?" a faint gesture with the cigarette indicating the carnage. A half nod toward Decker, after a moment, eyes flickering toward his thumb, "You're bleeding."
(dire)
*He smiles a bit looking into the lesser (( in his eyes)) mans eyes.* Well that could be argued as you were locked in an passionate imbrace ontop of here while she was on hwe back in a dress and you were on top of her hands all interlaced planting a soul kiss on her. So my words "All but mounting" Would be pretty accurate. You forget I'd been stalking you for a while unseen. You wern't exactly in the way of knowing what I saw or heard.I'm glad you've discussed it and chosen not to break Gaia's law. Means less trouble in making up an entertaining spin of your disgrace to tell around a fire. * He advances the rest fo the way. his face milimetersaway from the gnawer* I'm not your alpha. If he wan'ts to spank your ass for your shit that's his business.
I'm not in your pack. The one you were on top of swapping spit is, So while your claiming such a close familiar allegance you might want to check in with your totem to see how that spiorit might see what ya were doing and talk to a theurge to see if you need pay chrimiage before tyour totem abondons your ass.
I'm not in your Tribe I'm a Get. And for every second of every day I thank Gaia and the spirits of that. * his gaze hardening* I may be born of a sin that I had nothing to do with Gnawer. But don't you ever assume that the mightiest of your blood equal the lowliest of ours. * The woices of ansestors uncounted howl in his mind and his eyes flash with rage. He is a Skald. People all think they are harp playing poets or something. Their rage was close to that of the Ahrouns and the Get especially. THE Skalds of Fenris dont lead by stories. THey lead the charges into battle and sing their anthems of war by being the first and formost to rip the intrals of the wyrm out for all to see. They Rally the troops by example.*(decker)
An upwards motion of his chin, presumably a nod. A pause, then he flicks a glance up at the crescent moon overhead, pointing with a look."She's of that moon." He replaces the joint slowly, and the tip flares red between his fingers. Smoke leaks slowly out the corner of his mouth, and then he clarifies. "Spirit voodoo-hoodoo."
He glances down at the cut, lowers the other hand (joint caught between middle and index finger), and squeezes just below the last joint of the thumb. "Yeah." Something like bemusement. Joint goes back in his mouth, interrupting a smirk, and he straightens up. Shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the cut hand closing into a loose fist against the balustrade. "Guess that's it fer me. Mortal wound, gonna die. Make sure them necro-types don't fuck me none in yer morgue, huh?"
(imogen)
Her eyes drift upward, head moving so that she can catch sight of the moon. Aware of the changes of the moon, if only vaguely (it's only important when the moon is full), she is not surprised to see the crescent moon hanging in the sky. She turns her head back to look at him, and his 'mortal wound', chuckling.The quip, however, was unexpected, so it's a few moments before she answers, as she takes another drag, the smoke trickling from her lips as she speaks, "I will do my most earnest best to keep you from having your sensibilities violated," she replies solemnly, raising her hand, cigarette between two fingers, in a mock salute.
"I'll even try not ta laugh."
(james)
and even infront of all that
the Gnawer
that lowly, worthless, lesser Gnawer
doesn't. back. down."I wouldn't want my blood to be yours, Get, I'd've died from despair long ago. Now get out."
it's unspoken
somewhere, deep in eyes the color of Gaia's earth it's obvious
but he never says it
not outloud
even if it's deafening
even if it rolls in Rage thick as a shockwave
Mule.Decker can feel a desperate tug at the back of his mind
this isn't going to go well if it goes any further
and enough of Rune's condo has been destroyed tonight(dire)
*he shakes his head*Naa. You'd never have lived. Weakness isn't allowed in our tribe.
* he looks into the Gnawers eyes. Seeing what he's seen so many times before. DARING the man to say it. All but pleading with him.
His first night in jersey he'd told an Althro that if he used that word again they'd be trading scars. Some pathetic little drunkard Gnawer would sure as fuck not forget the lesson if he did.
He nods the fine hairs on his forhead brushing the dreads on James' He's that close*
Just remember who you are. What you are. I see in your eyes what your thinking. Before you ever ever give voice to those thoughts... ask yourself if I'm stalking behind you aga
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 05, 2002.11.05.02. - let me see what i can do [rune][north jersey, rune's condo]
(rune)
Morning (...afternoon.) comes late. Wan November light filters through the blinds obscuring the two west-facing windows and the digital alarm clock on the bedside table glows dull red (4:00 p.m.) in the swimming ambient light.It's good not to think; better not to move; and best not to attempt either of those tasks simultaneously, lest the foggy pressure hovering about her temples descend and bloom into a full-blown hangover. Rune has been awake for half-an-hour, watching the shadows crawl slowly up the wall as the sun falls toward the horizon and taking inventory. The incipient hangover is oddly counterbalanced by the languid sprawl of limbs, the pleasant ache center low in her belly and the distinct warmth of the body beside her. She is loathe to move.
Dark hair fans out on the black sheets, dull in comparison to the silken sheen, but her pale limbs are a stark constrast to the unremitting black. Rune moves only to breathe, but even her slow deep breaths exert a tidal pull on the waterbed, which rolls gently beneath them. Eventually, she lifts a hand to wipe some of the sleep from her eyes; it comes away soot-stained from the make-up she never managed to remove last night. Her eyes flicker over the faint smear of dark eyeshadow and mascara, and her lips curl upward into a cat-n-cream grin.
Though she desperately needs a shower, she doesn't want to move. No, not at all.
(james)
deep breath sighs
the gentle waving sway disturbed
some kraken beneath the black silk covered tides that slowly roll beneath them
fingers curl slow tickle across her belly
smile curving unconscious lips
gravity slides them closer from the waterbed's giveshadows climb the walls
dappling the charcoal stripes across his back
he sees not the time
he sees not the wane of the sun as it slowly plunders the earth
he sees not even the pale curves and swells of the body next to himnot with his eyes, anyway
even in sleep
he can see her by the points of wamrth shared between them
he can see her by the scents drifting smokily within each breath
he can see her by the exquisite aches punctuating the slow rise towards consciousnessbut he does not wake.... not yet
(rune)
Beyond them, silence. The neighbors are off to work or school, and the roommates mercifully absent. Electricity hums faintly through the walls and the low whine of traffic continues as ever in the distance as little more than white, ambient noise, the urban equivalent of babbling brooks or wind rustling through dry leaves.She drags herself up by slow degree, careful lest the rolling wake of the of the waterbed jolt him abruptly from his (the musing curve of her mouth slides briefly into a smirk) well-deserved rest. Resting now on one crooked elbow, Rune surveys her situation as a general would his battlefield. James blocks her exit to the left, and crawling over the width of the bed would send it into ever great rolling swells.
Deft fingers brush a stray dreadlock from his cheek as she makes her decision and begins a slow shimmy down his side to the foot of the bed, then carefully. Pale feet, pale calfs, pale curving thighs flail in the dim light, awkward as a turtle turned on its back, until her feet find the floor and her hands find leverage on the hard frame of the bed. She swings herself upright then, turning to calm the rolling mattress with a steadying hand, then pads away to the bathroom. The door between bedroom and bathroom snicks closed, and the dull roar of the shower breaks the womb-like silence of the late afternoon.
(james)
even in his sleep
even in her careful shimmy and slide
the lazy sprawl of fingers across skin tighten to feel it slip way beneath themand somewhere, once he's begun reaching what could be considered near the surface of this magickal mystical tingling primordial ooze his body had become at some exhausted point of the night
he realizes the bed does sway, however lightly
in itself protesting her departure
he realizes the faint growth of chill in the air
in itself hurt and withdrawing from her departure
he realizes he does in deed know this thing called consciousnessso very careful is the venture of opening his eyes
which promptly close again
ow.
he's not sure whether it's the thundering rainfall in his ears or if the shower truly runs... has been running
gentle..... easy does it now..... a single dark eye peeks open
twisting in slow roll on the undulating surface to glance the light peeking from beneath bathroom doorthe stretch is even more tentative
mother of gaia James what did she do to you
a grin slowly finds its way through the mental fog to his face
at least he's sure of his belonging here this morningthough he may not be moving far
at least not yet
the room attempting to dislodge him firmly upon sitting up(rune)
Four aspirin and two glasses of water downed the way she downs Xanax of an evening, quick and sure and desperate to self-medicate as the shower runs hot and then hotter. She waits until it's steaming and then waits until it's scalding and then waits until it's pounding from the six separate nozzels (and you know that didn't come standard with the condo. Nothing but the best for the very spoiled Rune) like molten lava before stepping carefully inside.The steam clears sinuses thickened and clogged from the long night of debauchery and the staccato tattoo of water against her skull rivals and distracts her from the viselike grip of her looming hangover. When at last she emerges fifteen or twenty minutes later, the worst edge of the hangover has receded to a low dull throb matched by the other (and far more pleasant) aches lingering in the long, lean form.
The usual round of brushing, exfoliating, scrubbing, tweaking, studying, moisturing and pampering follows, though with a heightened awareness of her body - the turn of ankle and the curve of hip, the smooth roll of flank and even the sinuous twist of spine - until at last she settles a short red robe over her skin still tingling pink from the steaming shower and shakes her still-wet hair free from her scrubbed-clean face.
Another glance in the mirror - no, that won't do at all - and an application of smokey mascara and smooth red lipstick - much better - before she grabs grabs the bottle of aspirin and fills a glass of water and peeks back into her darkened room.
(james)
the sheer contrast
sleep tousseled (maybe more than just sleep tousseled) dreads spidering in disarray around his face
pink trails crisscrossing tanned flesh only memories of her nails
strong body curved to allow elbows rest on his knees
head hanging..... draped.... into his hands
bedraggled, fuckered, sore and satiated
the Ahroun recovering after battle
the slippery silk pooled around his waist
soft obsidian waves snaking from the bed to surround his hips and pull him back into the watery depths of oblivious sleepdark eyes shy from the emerging light
glancing up
fingers slow slide over his cheeks to bene xath his chin
a grin (warm, affectionate, almost shy) quirking lips"I was...."
oh my, how loud that is
swallowing thickly before trying again
softly
carefully".... attempting to make my way in to join you.... the bed hasn't let go yet....."
and neither has this hangover
in fact
it seems to be tightening it's grip
he's sure she can hear the tribal drums just thundering behind his eyes".... though I think you broke me anyway...."
(rune)
Oh that look she sends skimming his way across the long thin bands of wan light and pale gray shadow and slipslides into the room (more silk, and red, draped across the curves and shadowed valleys of her lean form, catching against the door and whispering quiet against steampinked skin) - that look is nothing close to innocent.Even if the room is spinning counter to the bed's clockwise, he can see - he can feel - the slow smug crawl of it down from his light-shy eyes, down over his grinning mouth, down the long lean line of his chest to the sheets pooled about his hips and then right. back. up. again.
She crosses the rest of the distant in two slow steps. The smug (satiated) smirk curling almost primal on her (already painted) mouth softens into something rarer but still (half-)remembered through the the hazy fog long, long journey through the night and into the first dim hours of the morning.
"Strange," the smirk bleeding into the smile bleeding into a strange amalgam of the two, the tall cool glass held out and pressed into hand, followed by four (more? a dark groomed brow lifts in query) aspirin, "...you don't look broken to me."
(james)
starting at the pad of feet across the plush carpet
lean calves
long thighs
the tease of sinfully red silk swaying across the tops
how it clings and teases with each step
serpent writhe to expose -just- enough pale skin beneath
oh. my. god.pick your jaw up off the floor, James, that's rude
fingers finally react and curl around the cool hard glass
odd.... that seems to be a running theme
washing the asprin down with a grateful smile
draining the water completely in some desperate attempt at rehydrationhe does nothing to resist her draw
he did not before, he's not going to start now
he very well invites that look to continue
rough palm stretching fingers to smear through the crimson spilling over her hip
delighting in the slide of silk across skin
thigh, hip, the curves leading to the valley of her lower back
the smile once shy changes
challenges
predatorystrong arm flexes to draw her down into his lap
red melting against black
Walker smoothing against Gnawer
glass set aside
hot breath slinking just beneath the curve of her jaw"Then you'll have to try harder...."
(rune)
Well, then.There is a running theme here: the slow sink of her weight sends the damn bed rolling like undulating sea serpent until she settles and stills, soft white knees firm about his hips. The slow dark fall of sooty lashes over the smoldering cinders of dark eyes in another scorching trail of a look. That one, all over again.
(I think we've been here before.)
One silken arm settles in a mirroring arc about his shoulder; the slim hand twisting hard into his toussled dreads. She finds his free hand with her own, guides it to the loose-tied knot slipping low on her abdomen, and tugs it free. The robe falls open, falls soft from the long white curve of her shoulders, falls like water in slow motion to pool over his curving arm, falls free.
The inky tendrils of her still-wet hair dance forward to brush cool against his jaw as swoops to devour (again) his grinning mouth like a bird of fucking prey, but so. damn. slow.
The gauntlet has been thrown; the challenge accepted; and the voice in his mind is slow and heavy and sure as metal made molten.
Let me see what I can do.
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 04, 2002.11.04.02. - drunk as fuck pt 2 [rune][north jersey, rune's condo]
(rune)
The Fenrir must get the feeling that the last of his words fall on deaf ears. Rune slips inside, squeezes back against the wall to admit James, and then the much abused (though considerably less abused that the neighbor's) door slams shut. The rolling clatter of metal against metal wrapped with wood is the sound of one lock and two rarely used deadbolts clicking home.Inside, she slouches against the painted drywall hands pressing flat against the smooth cool surface as if she might leech some of the chill to sooth the rage still churning hot, low in her gut. Her fingers open wide (in surrender?) and the single remaining shoe falls from now-slack fingers to crash noiselessly on the plushly carpeted floor.
She glances to the side - back up the dark rise of the stairs - and breaths in low and slow and deep, then looks back to James, to find her rage mirrored in his eyes. What on earth to say?
Wanna beer? ...is all her clever mind can come up with.
(dire)
*He turns and slinks off into the night. Picking up the shoe on the lawn and taking it with him.*(james)
the Gnawer just flops onto the expensive couch
his balance may have been askew anyway
but he wanted to throw something
and in here, he supposed it best be his weight, onto couch of padded solid whumping goodnesseven though lean form stretches out
sinuous energy still crackles through him
stoked fires still burn and roil"Are you determined to give me alcohol poisoning tonight, Rune?"
grinned
he hates to admit the clever comment was enough to chase away the angry scowl
but it doesSure
though the way he still looks at her, he probably needs a cold shower more
nothing like Rage to keep things burning(rune)
"Absolutely." She has no shoes to kick off as she crosses through the foyer to the living room, through the living room and around the breakfast nook and into the kitchen where the now-filthy soles of her feet slap softly against the cool smooth-tiled floor. The fridge sighs a relieved breath as she opens it, and whispers a faint sealed protest as she slams it shut again. "That's the first suggestion in Chapter One of misleading the youth of America."She's walking back then, noiseless but for the faint creak of leather hugging smooth skin-wrapped muscle once she hits the deep-piled carpet blanketing the living room and the occasional clink of two bottles grasped in one deft hand. From behind and above, she presses one of the cold amber bottles against his abdomen and into his hand, then circles the couch and slaps the cardboard pizza box onto the lacquered coffee table.
She shed her shoes long ago (back on the street, years ago), and only one remains anyway. In their place, she sheds her leather coat, a maneuver made awkward only when she has to switch her open open beer from one hand to the other. After flinging it across the room (the possibility of violence still seething in the sure whip-crack of the gesture) she sinks to the carpeted floor in front of the couch, resting her spine against yet more leather and flinging a bare arm out to rest beside him.
Dark hair fans as her head leans back, and she lifts her bottle to clink against his, a toast to ...what again? Anyway, a toast. "...or didn't you get that memo?"
(james)
"Youth?"almost barked laughter
"Just how young do you think I am?"
listening to the fridge bestowing its gifts upon the...
.... what were they anyway?
struggling with the quick-laces on the Cochrans
(they were quick to lace, but those pesky knots)
boots kicked to the floor
the Ahroun's re-stretch out drastically reversed in the contact of chilled bottle to fabric across his belly which acts as more of a conductor than protection
Hey!
a scowl attempts to cross his features but it gets lost somewhere around a half-grin when bottles clink"I'm sorry, the alley's fax machine must have been broken when they sent it out, I'll have to call my guy and have them check it out so it won't happen again."
still slightly slurred
(say that three times fast)
and yet he's drinking more?(rune)
"If he needs some help, have your guy call my guy." More laughter, still low, bubbling up through the hot knot of rage that husks her voice and still darkens her eyes (...or is that - still - something else there?) It translates through the leather-wrapped cushions as a low rumble and stirs her outstretched hand. "Our guys can get together. If they can't handle it, no one can."And also: youth. the familiar voice sinking like a stone in his mind, his question translated to mere bland fact. Seventeen. Eighteen.
Her dark eyes flicker back to him as she tips the bottle to her grinning red mouth; the usual smirk still noticeably absent, casualty of the warmth spreading around the ball of anger in her gut slow and thick molasses.
(james)
maybe it's the reinfusion of alcohol into the Gnawer's system
maybe it's the pleasent company
maybe he learned, long ago, how to just channel that Rage outwards, push it away, forget about it until another day
(rain rain go away....)a brow lifts above the easy grin
there it is again
mellow on the outside
burning on the inside
the only indication in the way that he isn't shy in how he looks at her
that same dark way in the moment held between them on the porch
his laugh low and thick
from the smoke
from the booze
from.... something else most likelyTry adding three or four years
weight shifts
the amber bottle chilling his hand brought into contact with her bare, outstretched arm
thick lower rim tracing along the curve and cut of lithe muscle
call it revenge
call it play(rune)
Pale skin-wrapped muscle twitches and contracts beneath the cold press of the bottle, and Rune's eyes fall to half-mast, lashes sweeping down to obscure the dark iris, darker pupil dilated to devour whatever tendrils of dim light spill from the kitchen or through the lowered blinds.well, then. In his mind once more, though her lips quirk with the twitch of unspoken words as she shifts from her long comfortable slouch and rises half-pivot on one planted knee. Her hands wraps around his wrapped around the bottle, and the contrast is stark: cool soft flesh, cold hard glass. She takes it away as easily as she gave it to him. it looks like I was wrong.
Her fingers interlock with his once they are relieved of the bottle's burden. Her weight depresses the overstuffed cushion already sunken beneath him as she slides the other knee beneath her and turns to face him fully. And her eyes - devouring dark - settle on his mouth before lifting to meet his own.
I'm not often wrong.
(james)
beneath her gaze
beneath her guidance
beneath.... her....
his lips curve into a growing smilescalding invitation rather than clumsy encounters
soft flesh replacing hard glass
soft breath replacing shocked gasp
muscle through his forarm knots and tightens in slow lace and lock of fingers
skeleton wrapped in bone wrapped in flesh stretches
manipulating her weight closerhow strange they reflect each other
tattered Gnawer and sleek Walker
again, how things have reversed
a constant transversal through the looking glass which leaves question what is real
but not what is right
he has no doubts, he'll have no regrets
the hand left free to roam slides coil around her shoulders
lessening the distance between themand this time, it is he that lifts and finds her
(rune)
Her shadows - many and faint in the dim ambient light - spill over him, tracing a path soon traversed by her body. It's rarely this silent in the condo; if there were an analog clock, he could hear it tick. As it is, the only rhythms to mark time's slow-syrup passage are the race of her beating heart and the slow tidal pull of her breath lifting her shoulders and his hand against them, the curve of her breasts against the silk of her camisole, lifting her - too - as he rises to meet not-quite-halfway.Sinking forward, she inhales the kiss, which is more gentle than it should be, and more gentle than it will be in an hour's time.
When it ends, she rises, some long slow unfurling of sleek limbs that pulls him inevitably up, inevitably after.
Upstairs. She does not have to say it. She need not even think it, so obvious is her intent. Then, the afterthought - and no more than that it is - I'm protected.
Doubts and regrets belong to another. She has none.
(james)
he listens not for the ticking clock
instead he listens for the cadence beats of their hearts
the random catching of breaths exchange across deepening kiss
the slide of fabric over skin against skin under silk
and the hard muscle the Garou share beneath
long planes notching to fit against sculpted curvesshe inhales
he devours
all that is offered and more
an unspoken challenge to the progression
a sheer consumption that only begs - demands - morebodies unfold only with intent to retwist
yet another door slams shut behind them
christening the birth of something primal
something that steams in this cavern in the urban jungle
incense, black silk, sweat
two Ahrouns tangled in the most intimate of battlesPosted by james at 12:00 AM.11.04.02. - drunk as fuck [rune-dire][north jersey]
(james)
one boot goes infront of the other, James
he's been having some problems with that
a lot of problems
for about half the night
it didn't take him long after they reached the bars to reach his limit
and exceed it
several. times. over.lucky that wall is there to hold his hand for this block
he's going to be screwed come the next intersection
he's surprised he hasn't tripped, or even tripped over, the sleek Ahroun walking next to him
he's got that easy, silly, warm and fuzzy smile plastered beneath the dreads
he's....... drunk(rune)
There's the clatter of Rune's heels on the sidewalk - two-inch, not three-inch, or she might not be able to walk - and the strange pools of light spattered on the asphalt like paint. Nothing looks quite... right, anymore. Perspectives shift and dive and dovetail together.James? Drunk off his ass. Rune? Pleasantly fucked up, no more. She drinks like a fish on ordinary days, so her tolerance is a little (alot) higher than his. Still, they hit the bars something hard - closing down two of them - and her reflexes are sufficiently skewed that she made the wise decision to leave her damn beloved Beemer behind - in a secure parking garage, thank god - rather than risk fiery death for the both of them.
One bus-ride later, and the endless walk back to the condo, she pauses as the brick runs out and James is flailing for air again. Smiles a wide half-smile and turns to settle an appraising glance on him. Dark eyes flicker in the phantom light, and shadows play across her sleek form. "...you gonna make it?"
The stoplight turns yellow. Red. "Time to dare the fuckin' street, James. Need a hand?"
(officer jamison)
<< She drives up the street...eyes peering out onto the dark streets of North Jersey. The sound of the police scanner inside the vehicle the only sound coming from the car. She drives and looks...heading towards the pool hall...Just another case? Not this time...not at all...
girl gone missing? She drives slowly up the street towards the pool hall. The seat next to her vacant, no partner, she didnt want one...that could be detrimental later...but she didnt care, she didnt want one...past too hard to forget>>
(james)
the wall runs out before he notices
weight suddenly thrown backwards in desperate reverse to grab the brick before it floats away
world.... stretching.... hoo boy
he'll just hold the wall down for a moment here
let it catch its breathdark dark eyes slowly crawl from the sidewalk, up pleasently fucked up form to finally.....there they are..... find her eyes above red red mouth curved into a smile far more generous than the usual smirk
slurring words together like popcorn on a wiggly string"I think I'd stand a much better chance if the condo didn't keep walking away as we were walking towards it."
it does seem like it's getting farther
muuuuuch farther
but even that amuses him greatly
he wants to shake his head to clear it
but he's convinced the dreads are about the only thing still tying it to his body
so a nod is ventured instead"Yesplease."
pre-flight coordination seems a slow process
he hasn't moved yet(rune)
"Yeah?" ...yeah. Dark hair swings around Rune's pale face as she rakes a hand through it, pivoting and turning back to him. Amusement laces her tone, which is low and thick with the two packs of cigarettes she smoked tonight. Clattering back to the reeling James in those fucking ridiculous heels, she continues, "...doesn't have the decency to walk the fuck toward us, does it? Not to worry. Not much farther."Reaching him, she kicks off her heels (if she's going to have to manage balancing for the two of them, she has sense enough not to try it on the thin sharp points of those fashionable shoes) and bends to retrieve them. Straightening, she slips her left arm under his shoulder and around his back. Laughter - strangely slurred, oddly bright - spills from her mouth as she brushes his tumbling dreads out of her face. One step forward, another, balancing his weight with the strength of her lean arm, against the curve of her leather-clad hip. Murmuring, the sound slipsliding in the general direction of his ear, "...n'much farther a'tall."
(james)
"Ooooh yea."flat out beamed
it's the amusement in her tone
it's that she sounds.... happy
and that infects himshe pulls tumbling dreads from her face
he reaches to pat the departing bricks
you fly safe now, y'hear? good wall.
right arm slinging itself across slenderstrong shoulders
smooth curve of leathered hip snug against flat planes of camoflaged tendon
he can smell the smokey bar and alcohol the bodies the night pressed close
he can smell, beneath it all, the smokey incense that clings to her skinand no.... that is not a little shiver working its unconscious way up his spine in response to the murmur that slipslides in the general direction of his ear but seems to punch him right in the gut
honestsmile soft and warm (and silly)
reply a half-murmured slur of its own
thickly purred from the amount -he- smoked"Thank you."
(dire)
*He keeps his eyes peeled for those little fuckers too. The one at the truckstop had gotten away. They were getting quicker. He walks to a covered buss stop and almost sits on the bench. sniffs and makes a clear yuck face and looks up. He hops. grabbing the edge of the roof and with powerful arms he swings up. Squatting there he looks like some huminoid gargole for a bit. Glowering down on the chattle around him. Damn monkeys stunk. He looks around for something or somone familiar*(rune)
One foot in front of the other, down the depressed curve and daring the long wide street. Hers are bare, her impractical shoes dangling from her free hand, slapping (Italian leather on Italian leather: only the best for Rune) against her thigh as she walks, and walks James, forward: one foot in front of the other.Daring the dark wide street as the light changed abruptly from red back to green again, they go, Rune murmuring encouragement the whole way. (Talkative, isn't she?) It's a good thing there are few cars out this later at night, or they'd be serve Garou pancakes back at the condo come morning.
"We're gonna make it," Half-way through the intersection, and she can feel the tension like compressed stings - the not-shiver; the punch in the gut - she can sense that, translated through the long muscles lining his spine as their bodies move in tandem across the intersection. The thread of awareness slipslides through her, too: bodies and smoke and the scent of her shampoo still clinging to his dreads. Low as her tone is, it's open, and uninfected by her usual rampant bitchy irony. They're drunk, it's late, the shields are at half-power. "...we're gonna be just fine."
(james)
low words
murmured encouragement
filtering slinky through dulled senses
an incense all their own
warm, smokey, floating coil that wraps and taunts and teases as it drifts around and around the fuzzy mind beneath the jungle vine hair, it's like the call of the ancients that filter on winds snaking through the ruined temple surrounded by the rainforest canopy, tempting forth the primal, removing the urban from the primitive, leaving only the deepest and darkest bared naked before the star's judgement abovethis creature, having crawled from the primordial darkness of his mind only scant hours before
now held upright upon the glamorous shoulders of fasionable, raw strengthit's like he can reach for those stars
riding on the smoke-haze wings of dulcet tones
but instead he reaches for her
(only.... after... they've climbed the opposite curb)
muscle contracts to curve his arm
a careful process, uncoordination now would ruin all the pre-flight setup and send them to firey crash and burn
her weight shifted sideways.... close
the movement he should have completed earlier but she had to for him inside the condo
now reverses itself out here on the street behind the guise of whiskey and beerhow strange a reflection each is of the other
bridge of his nose resting against the top of her head
we're gonna be just fine
the time spans a step, a breath, a simple, wordless communication
yes we will
concentration returning to the steady progression of steps(rune)
Dire is not of the city, he is merely in the city, but the pair before him - glasswalker, bonegnawer - are in their element, even stumblefooted as they are. The streets rise to meet them, and their feet slap softly on the familiar pavement, the shadows hold few terrors, and the streetlights form their own strange, changeable constellations against the night sky.The nightwind is rising, slick with the scent of oil and exhaust fumes, chilly in the November night. It stirs James' dreads but barely, but sends Rune's inky strands spiraling flyaway across her cheek, across his. His ... words spill through the fogged swirl of her drink-and-drug addled consciousness, but the meaning is clear.
She believes him.
Her hand tightens on his right flank, just below the shoulder, and he can feel more than see the generous red smile spreading across generous red lips. There's a breath drawn, another, in tandem with this, in tandem with their stumbling pace onward down the sidewalk and a stretched though not unpleasant silence falls - interrupted only by the pull of breath, the rustling of paper drifting on the wind, the distant roar of an engine gunning past - to carry them home.
(dire)
*Crouching low he skitters slowly to the edge of the roof he's on.
Moving on all 4's is more than a little animalistic. SOme weird urban predator? No.. it's a normal predator in an urban setting. He's not "OF" the city. He's just "IN" the city. There is a differance.Crouching down he peers over the edge of the buss stop.
His form Distorted by the nights lights in the city. His body seemingly mishappen with the backpack on and him arrayed like that.
Unconsciencly he almost shifts up to crinos but some niggling thought in the back of his mind keeps him from shattering the veil in that manner. .He tilts his head and coils to spring. Watching them approach even closer he observes them with keen frosty blue eyes and trys his best to get a scent off them in this pitiful monkey form.
Raggad fingernails scrinch slowly as the musels beneight his skin quiver. The change to glabro almost impossiable to tame. Some how he does. Perhaps his intent observation saves him the added mass and mussel*
(james)
he doesn't notice being watched
he's doing damn well to stay on his own two feel even with Rune's help
they may be one with the concrete turf over which they stumble
but he would rather not stumble and trip to make the both of them one with the concreteas with her tone
her smile infects him
red poison drawn across the lips of Eve
the warmth spreading, tugging at his lips
eyes of earthen umber lift to the night's navy skiescomfortable, in this silence
..... safe...the half-tighten against his flank
the flex around her shoulders
the draw closer of the two strong frames
gravity's harsh mistressry calls to them in slight stumble into the drive of the condo's parking lot
should've watched where you were going, James(dire)
*A lip peels back from sharp teeth. Hair ripples and still itches to be reliced to flow over his form.
He watches the city dogs and their movements.
They appear to be poisioned... or drunk. The smells of the city clogging his nose and confounding one of his most prevelent sences he gets aggitated. As they draw closer he crouches lower.
GAROU SHALL NOT MATE WITH GAROU!!!!
Echos hundreadsl.. thousands of times in his head. Who he is... what he is.. it all screams it.
He watches them and their pathetic pawing at each other. Teeth grinding a bit he slinks a touch back from the edge least his shadow on the side walk give him away, turning he slowly slinks to the side of the roof and peeks over as they walk almost directly below him at the bus stop.
Hunting instincts call for him to spring down on them.
To pounce.
Rend
Tear.
He holds it back and observes.
The long dark tattoo that looks almost like a solid bar up the back of his left arm. from back of the hand up to the shoulder where the war hammers head is concealed under his shirt tingles as it calls to be let loose and drink blood.
Still he watches the urrah*(rune)
"Shouldn't've had that last one, James..." Laughter again, and the mirthful twist of her shoulders beneath his strong arm as they regain their footing and the lurching rhythm of their stumble home. They're drunk enough - the both of them - to be unaware of Dire's presence even with the malevolence bleeding out of him, even when their hackles should rise from the sheer force of it. "...shouldn't've had that last five."Past the entrance, down the drive, circling around the planter with the nice wooden sign ("Rolling Meadows") bathed in floodlights that reflect back against their skin and send innumerable shadows skittering in every directions from their strong, fit forms. Past the nicely tended evergreen bushes and the splashy color of blooming mums and pansies planted for color until the first long hard frost comes along to the last of the hardy annuals, into the quiet streets of the condo community. Rune's bare feet curve over speedbumps, and even James manages to stumble over a few without bringing the pair crashing down. Past the first building, past the second and into the drive where a dilapidated once-blue pick-up truck sits silent in its place.
Onto the sidewalk. Home.
(dire)
*Slinking to the edge as they walk past he leaps.
Grabing ahold of the street sign he slides down and seems to hide behind it.
Scampering after them he stays low to the ground.
His movements predatory and fluid.
He hides behind the planter. with the nice wooden sign. Staying out of the flood lights though he sticks to the long shadow cast by it and scurrys over still scampering mostly on all 4s to the bushes.
Sniffs and blinks. Something pleasentin this scab.
Diving over the bushes he ccrouches on the grass ans slithers down to the curb and across to the second lawn.
Low crawling up to hide behind a tree there and watch them.*(james)
"I shouldn've had any"one hand sweeping out infront of them to part the air for safer passage
back!... ye scoundrel mums...
or perhaps emphasize soggy words
he almost spins to follow it
but the tightening of his arm keeps him nestled next to her"I don't think I've ever drank that much."
though that familiar warm grin speaks that he doesn't mind it
not one bit
he might tomorrow morning when his head takes a vacation from his body because of the hangover
but right now?
he's just...... peachyuntil faced with those stairs
even if the door is only four small stairs away
that's a mountain he must climb
just..... stairs!!(rune)
"I have." Well, yes. And on a regular basis, too. Rune prefers this nice warm feeling to whatever cold reality holds for her, thank you very much, and the answering (natural) smile still coiled just so on her mouth speaks volumes right back. The warmth in her voice is almost... smug. James may be a lightweight, but she could probably drink Decker and Erik both under the table, through the floor and into the basement. Rune's a party girl, and it's clearly a point of pride. "...an' I had twice's'much's'you."His dilemma bleeds through the shifting fog blanketing her conscious mind as they pause before the steps, and Rune releases James and stumbles forward, manages the first step even if she has to flail for the wall to do it. Straightening with strangely fluid elegance in spite of the alcohol burning hot through her blood, she tosses her shoes up to the landing and spins around.
"C'mon now," she encourages, offering James her hands, grabbing his with her own when he can't quite find them (three Runes, six hands - it's a difficult task to find the solid one, the warm flesh and blood one among the many phantoms dancing before his eyes). Fingers slipping down to lace long and strong and solid around his wrists, steadying and sure now that she has found her bearings. "Steps. One at a time. You can do it."
(dire)
*pausing as they struggle with the stairs he watches them trying to discern their ailment and the situation at hand*
(james)
eenie....meanie......that one!
the grin spreads as his hands are caught
(doitagain!)
rough palms slide over smooth wrists to reflect her grip
hands firm around her arms
the warm flesh and blood pulling him away from the phantoms dancing in his mind
trying to use her for leverage and balance and support
yet not pull her right back down the stairs and into him"And you probably could have drank that much again before even considering joining the state that I'm in."
teased
the first three steps are fine
but the last one reaches up to grab him
throwing his weight into her
(maybe you shouldn't try to talk and walk at the same time)(dire)
*His ears perk and as the gnawer staggers he almost launches himself off the lawn at them but holds it back*(rune)
It's always the last step.James catches his toe on the curved roll of concrete jutting out from the landing and spills over the last step and Rune - firmly anchored to him by gripped wrists and steadying hands - steps back and stumbles on her discarded heels (d'oh!), succumbing to the damnable siren song of the Gnawer's forward momentum and greater weight. She falls hard on. her. ass. and as her body connects with the concrete, it sends her other shoe (damnable, damnable things) spinning away and away. At least she managed to avoid cracking her head open on the front stoop.
" - oh - " the exclamation with the impact, breath knocked out of her in a long hot whoosh of air. And " - ...oh... - " again, born on the tattered remnants of the first breath she managed to suck back in, breathing in an upward arc against his weight pinning her to the concrete, dark eyes stilling, though the pupils are hungry-wide, wide as the generous smile even if she's not laughing, now.
"I think we made it," quiet and still, the spill of warm breath from red lips. She gestures backwards with one of his still-grasped hands. "...door's somewhere. back. there."
Somewhere.
(dire)
*there it is. something flying his way. He springs. flying shortly though the air to catch it in hsi teeth. OOPS. He looks around and crouches low and takes off ass for leather for the bvushes diving into them and spinging around to see if he's been seen before spitting what's in his teeth into his paws... Hands. Runes errant shoe*(james)
gravity is a very harsh mistress
sorta
breath grunts out of him on impact
the end rolling into a soft growl
soft laughterrealizing how very close she is
he recognizes the hunger in the darkness of her eyes
he knows the reflection of it prowls within his own
the sudden stilling of inhale that draws her up agaisnt his weight
his own heart thumping against ribs
the grasp of their outstretched hands twists
rotating his palm against hers to lace fingers
drawing their hands back in, closea movement on the lawn wants to drag his attention from her
but it can't break this invisable lock
must just be a stray cat or something
dreadlock curtain sheilds him (them) from the world
periphreal provides visage of the door in the shadows"So it is..... means we didn't get.... too.... lost...."
murmured from a shy, boyish grin
wondering if his breath trembles even as it washes across her skin(dire)
*He gnaws on the expensive italian leather as he watches them. Unsure if the gnawer is mounting the bitch on the steps or not. If so they will have a rude awakening as alot more GET than they are ready for attacks. He watches most intently now from the bushes*(rune)
His weight, his breath warm ( - and, yeah, she feels it, the catch of awareness in the rhythm, the leaping pulse to mirror her own - ) warm as blood on her pale skin chafed cold by the long walk home, and the teasing dance of dreadlocks spilling down across her cheek. Her own hair is spread out like an inky fan on the cold gray concrete, soaking in the ambient light and reflecting it back as a hue of red three shades darker than the painted mouth stilling somehow beneath the amused grin.His fingers twist and lace with hers, and his hands draw hers back to their side. She squeezes back, communicating - what? awareness perhaps, of the meaning of the sudden stillness, of the absence of the world.
"...no. Not too lost." It's not the cigarettes, this time, that drag her voice to a lower register. It's not the alcohol that burns through her blood. And it's not the need to speak or breathe that parts her red red lips as her head drifts up from cold concrete and her mouth finds his. Not at all.
(james)
in just the last two days, how many times has she found him
how many times has her reach pulled him from a darkness neither would admit
a gentle touch
a curving smirk
slide of leather against his thigh
tonight, once more, the soft curve of her lips find hisand then he's lost once more
in her mouth
in her scents
in her touch
in her taste beyond the whiskey and cigarettes
weight drops
lean body folds against lush curvesthen tightens from the explosion overhead
dreads whipping around
dark snarl rumbling in his chest
dark eyes blaze volcanic
visably bristling"Decker's not home and you're disrespecting my territory......get lost."
taking into account the amount of alcohol he's had
the angry Get's defensive stance
that he is recoiling into a crouch not only to brawl but to let Rune get in on the goods
and that now was a seriously bad time for visitors to come calling
this isn't going to go well(dire)
* his snarl deep as he seems to grow a few inches, slipping up to glabro*
Territory means DICK where the litiny is about to be broken Gnawer. * He stare the drunken man down. the crowbar held by the bottom, about two and a half feet long, blue iron with the hook end out to do business.*YOU STRAY TOO CLOSE!
* his nature and demenor bleedinging though. He watches them and his voice drops to sickening low level* Garou shall not mate with garou.... EVER... _I_ am Metis... I know what happens... things that make your lowered breeding pale in comparision.
I am a scald... unless you want every caern from here to the western shore knowing of your actions you will think twice.
(rune)
The world is absent - nothing more than a fog of light and darkness - her senses consumed in and by him: the weight of body lean body, the thumping beat of his heart, the double helix spiral of her mouth against his, his mouth upon hers.And then: explosion. The porchlight shatters and sings shards of glass and smoking filament over the steps, falling to sizzle in the grass wet from forming dew. James rises fast and snarls at the intruding Get, and Rune has found her feet a moment later, crouched like a panther or a spitting snake - lean back leather, cool white silk, hot breath steaming through flaring nostrils.
The line between want and wanton violence in thin and narrow, as thin as the border between their civilized bodies and their wild souls, but Rune manages to construct a word from the savage swirl of raw. fucking. urge. steamrolling her slick urban veneer. Pale face twisting, red lips drawing back to show dull human teeth as she spits that short sharp sound like a bullet toward the Get.
".go."
(dire)
*He Snorts at them both. A drunken gnawer and drunken bitch walker didn't scare him. He stares them both down*
DO you CONCIDER THE LAWS you almost break?Here
*He gestures hitting the crowbar aginst the wall for empithis*
YOU stumbel drunked and slurred home. Unaware that your being followed. A disgrace for the worst of tribes. THen you fall apon each other and almost RUT in the open like swine!?
Think of what you do. Are you ready to feel the scorn of the entire garou nation? Are you redy for that disgrace to be levied on you?
Have you thought about it!?? HAFVE YOU CONCIDERED THE CONSIQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS!!???
It's the FIRST TENNIT THAT WE LIVE BY!
(james)
muscular cords through his arms tighten
hands balling into fists"I count your two to my one, Get"
a brow lifts
"Do you want them all to know your disregard for the majority just to point fingers at a lowly mutt? Get out of my territory. Now."
(dire)
I don't care if you were 1000 YOU STILL BORDER BREAKING THE LITINY! You still brook DEATH! * he snarls at them.* Look at you both. Barly able to stand. I'd be surprised if you could see straight right now.* his voice droping and disguisted* You should both be ashamed.
Look at each other. Your garou.. GAROU... You know better than this.
You should know better.
Art the metis you've seen in your life glaring proof that this isn't a rule to be broken?
DO you think of the results of your actions?
Think. * his voice almost a whisper*
Look at each other and think.
(rune)
Rising on bare feet planted wide on cold concrete, hands griping soft leather (hard) with the effort not to charge forward and rip and rend and tear, the Glasswalker snorts and shakes head. Inky hair flares with the movement, catches the light, gleams dull black red: blood spilled on asphalt, blood spilled into the uncaring ground.She's spilled blood in her time. She can do it again.
"You heard him. This is not your place. This is not your land. This is not your territory, Cliath." Rising now, straightening until she stands her full height, looming 5'10" and four long steps above Skald, confident in her high ground. "You've said your piece. Your shame is not ours.
"Go."
(james)
"I border on breaking the rules, drunk. You have already broken two, sober. Would you like to make it three? Do you need me to list them out for you?"slurred, indeed
but seething mad
amazing how much Rage
which normally blurs everything
can clear one's mind"Is that even registering, or are you taking your anger at being mistreated out on a man, which, by common knowledge among the Tribes, treats what you are as an equal and not some scorned creature that should have been rolled in ashes upon its birth - which is the very reason you think he and his people are so low. Why don't you take a good look at the results of your actions before you walk in and start destroying someone's home."
i will not back down
not. from. you.
even if he still crouches beside Rune's bare feetand boy is the alcohol helping with this sudden lack of inhibition
his voice just as low"Maybe it is you who should be ashamed. A final time. Leave before you disgrace yourself further."
(dire)
*He twirls the crowbar* THE LITINY DOESN"T CARE ABOUT YOUR FUCKING HOUSE! * he points the crowbar at her* I saw what you were doing. I"ve followed you both. I see whwere this was headed! * he's not backing down* I haven't broken the liteny by STOPPING YOU FROM BREAKING IT! * He trembels in his anger and they are close to seeing how well a sober get can prove their tribal legacy aginst two garou that can't even climb stairs with out falling down. If they are so drunk then they are just as drunk now. They arn't fianna to be able to toss aside their intoxication on a whim with the use of gifts.He eyes them* Your "Territory" Is a house that you were about to break the litiny infront of for all to see.
YOu should thank GAIA that I"m here to stop that. You think TEWRRITORY will save your asses when your carrying a pup? Are you that insane? You won't be allowed to stay here when you have to assume the war form to just survive the pregnancy. All your money. Your pretty car. All of that will be left behind. Months in the wilderness outside your city. Till the birth comes...
Oh yes.. have you thought of THAT?Not all mothers survive the birth. Then you have a metis child... Your stuck with it for life if you don't take the cowards way and kill it. Both of you. * he gestures with the crow bar* BOTH OF YOU shakeled for life with that dishonor.
I break no laws. I simply stop you from disgracing yourself. The eldest here has welcomed me into HIS territory. Thusly I am able to go where I please. * He snorts at RUne* Don't act like your above me so far Ahroun. You mearly beat me by one rank and I can and will challenge your ass if you push it and we'll see just how easily glass breaks.
I respest gaia.. I love her.. I love the garou and it's that love that makes me intrrupt your drunken escipades. Do you think the get among you wouldn't tear you in half for bringin that dishonor intohis pack? Do you WANT me to tell Decker of your little show here?
* he looks at them hoping they don't fall down the stairs*
Or do you want to come to your sences. PART
* he gestuires to the lawn and back to them. Take the night to sober up and know what your about to do? * He stands straight and shrinks back to homid. Still over 6 foot. Not a small gut, wiry in his strength*
Part this night and when you can think straight again be glad that somone was around to save your honor and prevent this sin?
(rune)
"I'm perfectly aware of all the consequences mating with Garou, Get," the Ahroun replies, scorn upon heaping scorn served in a white-hot bed of seething Rage. There's no pure breed to shine from her, and there are no ancestors upon which she may call upon at this moment, but there's still something .savage. in the Ahroun's sleek and powerful form. "...and if you think I would dare those, you are a fool indeed."You saw one. kiss, and nothing more. You have reminded us of our duty, and fulfilled yours in doing so." Her words are sharp and hard, and her voice lashes out like a whip, taut with the effort of holding back the anger coiled within her gut like a compressed spring. "If my stomach starts to swell and I come crawling to your cabin in the woods begging sanctuary, you can crow your righteousness from the rooftops for all to see. Until then, you may step no further. This is my pack's territory, and you are not welcome."
With that, Rune spins away, hair flying in a wide black arc as she bends to scoop her (one) shoe from the stoop and flings open the door to the condominium. Pausing on the threshold, she turns and regards the Get with burning dark eyes, "...and lest you think to further violate my territory in the name of upholding the litany, my packmates - who are welcome and reside here - will be chaperones enough."
(james)
low
deadly"One. Respect the Territory of Another. Two. Respect for those beneath you. Three. The Veil shall not be lifted."
he's not sure whether it's the alcohol or Dire's glib tongue
but he's fairly sure he's hearing words that all Rune's neighbors other than Imogen should not be hearing screamed by some hairy crowbar weilding guy going ape-shit on their front lawn at 2 in the morning
he also wonders just how much the Get is listening, or how much dirt is clotting his ears
didn't he just say Gnawers treat metis as equals?
doesn't sound much like shackling or disgrace to him....
but the Ahroun is seething"Last time I checked there was more than one Law to consider. This territory is ours not the Elder's. He has no sway here, but he has a very sympathetic ear to us, and to our Alpha. You might also want to consider that I can't get her pregnant. So perhaps there isn't much of a question of our sinning as YOU!! ARE BEING!! AN ASSHOLE!!"
though soon as Rune's at the door
he's there too
if swaying a little still
this mule moon-calf has wasted enough of his time(dire)
*He smirks watching her* I see how they chaperone WALKER * he thorws her tribe name back at her like the insult it is* You take care and remember what you risk. I've no qurrell with either of you. * his voice softens* BUt it's not a minor thing you play with.*He looks at the Gnawer* Your a fool if you think the high kings own court would slow me one hair from speaking out aginst unrighiousness.
Two I DO respect you, hince my warning you pair to cese and thing rather than just killing the both of you unaware. I've stalked you since the buss stop. You think that while in passionate embrace I couldn't have stolen up on you quietly and dispatched the both of you? You couldn't even make it up the stiars GNawer. How effective would you have been to an attack from behind? * he shakes his head and looks around the alcove they are in* The veil is not lifted. I broke the light for a reason and this concrete * he wacks it with the crow bar again getting a dull clang* Soaks up our voices. I knew full well what I was doing when I came to seperate the pair of you from your wrongness.The pregnancy isn't the point of law... * his voice quiet again* You shall hide behind no tecnicality like some sappy little Coggie.
* he nods at the last* Better me an asshole NOW you two.. than your entire lives forfit for one nights drunken pleasure. * He slips Babe, the big blue crow bar back into his back pack* Go in peace and just think... THINK... * he nods to them*
(insert discussion about the exact layout of rune's condo here..... settle on open front, his words were emphasized, not yelled, so on, so forth)
[cont'd]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 03, 2002.11.03.02. - hairspray and a lighter [imogen-pack][cont'd]
(imogen)
Sundays are often the slower days, only punctuated by a particularly large crime scene or the occasional unlucky hiker. So she's actually home as James raps on the door. And as he does so, it stays on it's hinges, which is an improvement from the last time he'd been by. Alternately, however, the surface sports a rather new, rather large dent across the front.It appears the good Doctor's door seems to be victim to more than a bit of violence.
The file folder in front of her long since stopped making sense, and the pen had rested by the note pad for at least the last fifteen minutes. Half way through a swallow of beer, her head turns slightly to look at the door as James' fist strikes it.
Right, then. A careless hand flips the folder shut, while the other places the beer on a coaster, and she crosses the living room.
From outside James can hear the click as the dead bolt is opened and can watch the knob turn as the door opens, the good doctor moving half to the side so that the Gnawer can enter if he wants to. No greeting, as her fingers curl along the edged side of the door, her temple leaning against it.
(james)
a brow lifts at the dent
and then the other one joins it to see Imogenlooks like he wasn't the only one that had a bad night
whatever words were going to spill out of his mouth..... stop
jaw lifting to shut
rethink"uhm...... Rune wanted me to give you this."
he holds up the can of mega-hold hairspray
"but..... it takes a little explanation..... and.... I'm waiting for a pizza if you're hungry."
from way back in his mind where he's watching this whole movie
somewhere in there that made sense
he can order a pizza right now
don't ask him to hold an intelligent conversation(imogen)
It's only the faintest echoes of fatigue, the fact she cannot hide the smudges beneath her eyes. The roughness around the edges (we're all a little worn, now) that Imogen shows the slight signs that her door rather oddly declares.An eyebrow arches at the hairspray, one hand reaching up to rake through riotous curls and waves, pushing the vibrant mass over her shoulders while her other hand moves slightly in a small gesture. Her voice echoes it, "C'mon in."
(james)
dreads shake in the half-nod
quietly moving inside the doorhe still looks sleep touseled
rumpled and tense
in that wanting to crawl into himself and turn inside out sort of way
holding the can of spray out to her after the door is closed"Rune says you'd have a lighter.... you know what we were talking about yesterday?"
Everything fell apart again, yesterday
"They don't like fire...."
(imogen)
The door shuts softly behind him, and she turns around, taking the hairspray as it's offered, glancing at it critically. "The leeches?" she says in what seems to be a question, dark blue eyes flicking to him, before she starts to walk around him, heading back into the living room.She waits for his answer, crossing the hard wood floor, to the coffee table, putting down the hair spray and picking up the bottle of beer, waving it at him in question. "Want one?"
(james)
fingers release the bottle as easily as he released Rune's hand, earlier
it's strange what people share, in all their different ways
chin dropping in a nod"Yes, please."
Momma didn't raise an ill-mannered mutt.
Momma raised a murderer.
both questions answered at once
he's slow to shuffle his way across the floor after her
disconnected(imogen)
Her own half full bottle is replaced on the coaster, and she picks up the file folder, tidy and neatly labelled, then the notepad, and takes them with her to the kitchen. She walks away from the fridge and out of sight, then returning, without her work-at-home, walking toward the fridge. She pulls it open, reaching in to rummage for a moment or two, before coming up with a bottle. The door shuts with a muted thump as she turns, walking back toward the living room and the Gnawer that has presumably sat somewhere. Floor. Couch. Wherever.She's dressed in jeans, faded and comfortably fitted over hips and thighs, a few threads of fabric loose along the cuffs to brush silently against the hard wood floor as she walks. A knitted tanktop, which leaves the sinuous curves of her tattoo easily visible as she offers James the beer, holding it by the neck.
"So... what?" she says as he takes it, "You're expectin' somethin' t'happen with the vampires?"
(james)
he sank to the floor
so he could lean against the couch
looking the same as he did yesterday
except maybe a little worse for wear
mechanically reaching for the bottle
Oh, St. James, whatever happend to your Grace?"Thank you."
and this causes him to stop
another one of those silences
except he's not sure exactly what kind this is"Yes. I'm being watched. I'm being played like a sad, sad violin. Decker and Rune aren't too happy about it, haven't heard back from Erik yet. But I got distracted last night when they were talking about what to do."
that last part drifts off
he doesn't like remembering(imogen)
Her thumb runs lightly over her index finger in a movement of which she's probably not even aware, before moving away, to sit on the easy chair in the corner, leaning forward to pick up her own brew, holding it pinched between the fingers of her left hand.He hasn't known her to speak much, to begin with, testimony being several hours of silence when he'd been the one at the motel. The day before had been probably the most words she'd spoken to him, perhaps double the amount of words she'd ever spoken to him before. Without words, it's easy to catch a breath of music from the media centre in the corner, not quite audible beyond a whisp of acoustic, a drone of voice. The chair creaks beneath her as she shifts her weight, and speaks, "Kill them, I'd expect."
He doesn't like remembering. And she doesn't want to know.
(james)
there's..... only a nod
he should have let her get hit
while he is used to her at times chilly silences
it's so strange for him to not have a reply
to not have the normal warm words so ready to give should she want themhe stands, though, unfolding from his place by the couch to hear the knock on the next door over
moving to open this door
exchange a few words with the delivery boy
tip well for making it so fastand a moment later he's leaning a shoulder against the frame of her open door
"Did you want some of the pizza?"
he'll slink back to Rune's to eat if she doesn't
(luc)
"See, man then its just too easy yannow?"Ugh, that New York Accent? Where had the midwestern Galliard picked up--wherever it was it seemed to have stuck. The pointed features angled down at Decker, in the last few days he had yet another unbelieve abler growth spurt, (it seemed that his body had stretched overnight in some gumby-inspired fashion making him look even more an amagamation of bone and wire) as he huffed one hand reaching through to rake through the mess of oil and protein he called his hair.
"--its ALL about the thrill of the hunt, man. You gotta get primal wit' it."
(imo)
One leg tucks beneath her as she watches him walk across the living room, dark eyes following the almost dejected movements of the Gnawer. He speaks, he tips, and he turns to speak to her, asking a question. After a moment, inhaling slowly through her nose she stands, one hand brushing off imaginary dirt from her thigh as the other deposits the beer back on the coaster.Chilly or not, it might be something resembling sympathy that has her nod and say, "Sure," and turn walking into the kitchen to get the plates. Or perhaps she's simply been reminded that she hasn't eaten all day.
(james)
again, that half nod
just enough to make dreads twitch across his shoulders
the slink is turned inwards
creeping back to where he was
sinking down to the floor again
the pizza boxes set on the coffeetableone more round of slugging the beer into an empty stomach
once she's seated
when he holds the open box for her to take steaming choice?
he doesn't really look at her(decker)
The exertion Decker forced on his truck finally made the old lady fall apart three miles from the condo. He'd been out all night, met Lucian around 11am, and started heading back around 7pm. Around 8pm, the truck gave out and simply wouldn't start again. Coulda been worse, one supposes, but coulda been a hell lot better, too.Three miles is a long walk. Three miles is a longer push.
As Lucian circles back to the same old topic again, Decker turns around and puts his back to the tailgate, switching muscle groups. Didn't help that the night's activities left him with bruises and cuts that tear open again under the strain, but pain could be a good thing when it reminded you of release. Crunching bone and flesh giving under your fists. No claws, no teeth. Just knuckles.
"Lissen here," he says, "you wanna steer, you put yer shoulder into the pushin', too." A car whips by them on the highway. "Otherwise you git back here and push from the back while I take the door--" the truck grinds to a stop and Decker grunts as metal digging painfully into his back, "--and quit fuckin around with the gears. Leave it in fuckin neutral, fer fuck's sake!"
(imogen)
Plate handed to him, and she sits again. He is not looking at her, and for a moment she glances at him, before looking away pulling ooey gooey pizza slices from the pie, slapping them on her plate. Resettling again, she balances the plate on her knee. Respecting his silence -- and wrapped in her own.It's not until they've both finished the first round of pizza, and perhaps reaching for a second that she speaks up, eyes not on him, but flickering toward the answering machine in the corner, with it's faint glowing red lights. "Want to talk about it?" 137 messages.
She's making progress.
And her question must seem more than a little shockingly out of character.
(lucian)
"I AM pushing! Dude man, when are you gonna sell this pila' shit?"Okay he wasn't pushing as hard as he could have been. But he can't LET his man think he was a pussy. No way. He was just, you know trying to get his Mac on for chrissakes.
"Fuck it goes SLOWER in neutral."
And feeling ther ground swell of rage, a push bully'sd forth. Why did everyone HAVE to anatgonize him? Why did he hafta pack with a bunch of fostern, anyway?
Sheeeit.
(james)
as with everything
the Gnawer inhales it
his stomach wouldn't know if he sent down pieces chewed more than five times
he's gone through a good seven or eight slices
working on the breadstick crust
and her question actually gets him to stop chewingshocking indeed
between waking up in Rune's bed
and this?
seems he knows where the night is goinghe's polite enough to swallow and not gape
though perhaps.... this is the first time his eyes actually make the effort to look up to hers
and not avoid them"Do you really want to hear it?"
(decker)
"When you buy me a new one," snaps Decker from the back. He doesn't just feel Lucian's swell of rage: he feels a fuckin' swell in the road. Just. PEACHY. Now he had to push uphill. "Push harder. Let's git some momentum goin' so yer pansy muscles don't crap out halfway up."There's silence - the grunting, panting sort - while the two heave the damn pile of scrap metal up the hill. Then it's rolling down the other side, too damn fast - "Put the fuckin' brakes on! Christ! Stop it!" - making the two of them scramble after it to keep the old blue Ford from spinning out of control like a runaway heifer.
When it's under control again, they've only got a half-mile left to go. Thankfully.
(imogen)
She has an unerring ability to meet a Garou's eyes. His. Decker's. When he stops avoiding them for that moment, she is looking back, a silent blue eyed look.She leans forward, picking up one of two pieces left, placing it on her plate, "It doesn't matter if I want to hear it, or not. It's if you need to tell it," she says simply, her hand reaching up to rub at the back of her neck, a faint crackpop of her vertebrae.
(decker)
Decker switches around again as his back starts to tire, bracing his hands on the tailgate and shoving forward with his head down and feet planted, rather like a bull locking horns. A glance up at Lucian, blinking a drop of sweat out of his eyes - "We got half a mile to go, boy. You givin' up on me? Ain't no girl gonna take up a quitter."Nothing like an attack on the old Get pride. Besides, the truck was practically family by now. The trailer was nothing but a sardine can to live in, but the truck: he had a passing fondness for the big blue rustbucket.
(lucian)
Grrr."Shut the fuck up."
And he keeps on pushing. His stearing hand starting to tremble as his body does under the strain of the heavy automobile. In fact it inspires a shakily sung tune:
"Oh lord.. wonchya buy my a Mercedes benz, My asshole mate's car will not start again, I triiied to tell to point out he's wrong--just' left singing country, jus' left wit' mah' soooong."
(decker)
"Watch yer mouth, Luc," slurs Decker from around back, not so much bristling as he is slipping into a lazy contempt. That's the way he goes when his temper starts to wear a little thin from the fuck-yous every other minute. When Dominic starts taking pictures, Decker fits his shoulder against the tailgate and raises his middle finger at Dominic just in time for that polite gesture to get in on the last picture.A sullen silence. If they needed help, Decker wasn't going to be the one to ask for it.
(james)
he reaches for the last slice
quietly consuming about half of it in thought
this might be another of those I'll tell you so you can tell me I'm not crazy conversations between them"I met a little girl last night., Dimmy. Lost. Hurt. Afraid. She gave me a picture that Mr. Kitty gave to her. It happened to be of me, earlier that night, and it had the words 'I can see you' written on it. Now, I know Bastion is following me, keeping an eye on me, so it's not as surprising now as I was last night. But it gets stranger...."
for drama or that the slice is getting cold
he finishes another few bites
and all but the last gulp of that beer"... when Rune and I took her to the hospital that her wristband says she was from, they, in turn, though she was my child and said that I had checked her out just a few hours before. I know both of those aren't true. Time on the discharge sheet was when I was with you in the car. And she can't be my daughter.... my little girl died two years ago."
unborn
but he doesn't say it
the knife twists deeper"After sheer madness, we end up with the kid again. We're taking her to some friends Rune has in New York that shelter the abused, pull over at a rest stop to make the phone call rather than show up unannounced, and Dimmy... of all things.... looks into my eyes. and speaks. into. my. mind."
a tight, tight smile
I'll take my white jacket in a size large, please"About my daughter. Then dissa-fuckin-pears out of the car. Next thing I remember I wake up in Rune's bed barely an hour ago."
(luc)
Oh those last twanging notes.More pushing and grunting and he watches waiting for Decker to say something to the man. (Fuck yes, we need help.) And watching the middle finger he all but has a conniption.
"If you could give us a hand it'd be cool." His head inclines to where decker was push--no way he was going to give up the CHOICE spot of steering--no matter how bad his hands were shaking.
(imo)
She is silent through the long waits and pauses for drama or for food, waiting him out. She doesn't have much to say, anyways. He eats the last of his pizza, and she offers him the last piece she has, either deciding she's not hungry or that he needs it more.She listens to the quiet words, the half insanity that cannot be true, just like werewolves and vampires cannot be true, her thumb running lightly acrossl her index finger, over the faint white depression of an old scar.
A pause. A wait. "In your mind... as in... speaking in your head... or just knowin' things she shouldn't?"
(decker)
Decker fixes Dominic with a sullen stare all the way over, but does (deign to) move over when the man comes to help. Every little bit did make a difference. The truck goes that much faster, and the condo seems that much closer.When they get to the turn, Decker breaks the silence at last, "'S in here. Luc, turn right here."
(james)
he takes the last part of her piece with a nod
far be it from him to turn down food
that polished offhe actually gets up this time, reaching for her place and his own, and taking them into the kitchen to place in the sink
"Want another beer?"
leaving the other pizza box closed for whenever Rune gets back
it's only when he's seated infront of the couch again that he returns to the matter at hand
offering her beer if she wanted another one
he did
sighing"Both. She couldn't have known my girl died. Whatever she was.... she wasn't human either."
(decker)
Seems like he's a nice guy, and Decker might be just a little ashamed of his behavior, but no apology comes. Those are as rare as rain in the desert. So the Modi pushes in silence, muscles straining against the deadweight that seems so much heavier now than it did three miles ago. His silence is an oppressive thing; a barely-muted, unnatural sort of anger cycles through him with a humming regularity not unlike a turbine. When he turns around again to put his back to the tailgate, he nods up at Dominic's camera."You some sorta picture-taker?" He didn't like photographers much these days, given a slew of stalker-pictures getting sent him and his pack.
(luc)
And the steering wheel is turned (the truck seems THAT much havier) slowing trwisting its way about the intersection--god this was grueling. Small beads of perspiration have formed and swell further under his attempts.(dominic)
*He grunts really putting his back into it. Remembering having to push a toyota with a shot out fanblade half across Kosovo* Photo Journalist actually. I just got a touch tired of gettin' my ass shot off and came to the states a while and I"m frelancing as a photographer.(spit)
::in the alley perched on the dumpster again. Waiting quietly..stay perfectly still...They wont find you...right?
Right? Right?
Ok...minutes that linger and feel like hours. Barely taking breaths in fear he can be heard...
Black spikey hair that's in need of a haircut tipped with purple dye. The black leather jacket hangs over the black shirt. Denim jeans with the knees worn right out...He glances at his watch..it had been long enough...jumping from his perch he lands on the concrete thud Slowly making his way to the mouth of the alley where he peers around the corner::(decker)
The torque of the turn doesn't help things, no. Decker, with his back against the truck, dashes sweat out of his eyes. He gave up wiping the trickles down his neck a long time ago. Last night when he left, his clothes were clean and so was he. By this time, they're back the way they usually are: mudstained, bloodstained, grass-stained, oilstained. Looks like he got into a knock-down drag-out fight with a cyborg.Squint. "Hell's a photojournalist?"
(imogen)
A nod of her head acknowledges that yes, she'll take another beer, one hand dragging through her hair as he walks away, eyes settling on the hair spray, picking it up and absently reading the labels of directions.No directions on how to kill vampires. Though that one is pretty obvious.
He offers the beer, and she takes it, twisting the cap off with a twist of her wrist and a hiss of trapped air. Her teeth run lightly across her lower lip as he speaks, an eyebrow lifting slightly.
"I'm sorry."
It's the second time he's heard that today. After a beat of silence, "Have you told anyone else that?"
(dom)
*He pushes it though the turn.* Crazy fuckers that go into warzones.. or giant forrest fires.. up risings and the like to get the information out to the world.(james)
"So am I."it's the second time he's regretted it tonight
it's the millionth time in the last two years
it's not even the end of the vicious cycle
but a half curved smile is offered before he drowns it behind the beer"Rune."
in that quintissential moment of shared greif
for things they never really admitted
definitely not to each other
maybe not even to themselves"I don't know where the others are."
by the way he's going through those beers
for a guy that doesn't drink
doesn't look like he's planning on driving anywhere to go search(rune)
Headlights slice across the old blue rustbucket - brights - then flare brighter and then settle down to a more reasonable level of glare. It's a busy road, and this in itself is not unusual.What is unusual is that the Z3 slows rather than simply shooting past in the left lane. It might take Decker a moment or three to recognize it, since the top is actually up in a concession to the crap weather that defines Jersey in November.
Beep. Beep. ...and Rune waves.
(decker)
"Oh." Not much to say to that. And then - beepbeep, vrrom, there goes Rune. How did he know? R U NE1.Yes, he's someone. He's her fuckin' packmate, that's who he was.
"Fuckin' bitch," fumes Decker, watching the BMW rocket by while he and Dominic shoved the hunk of junk through another turn. Another half-block, and it's time for the real challenge: speed bumps in the parking lot.
[and stopping the cnp of all posts, paring down to just james and imogen](imogen)
She watches him down the beer, her weight shifting in the chair, tucking her legs so she sits indian style, taking several swallows of beer. She is not one to comment on drinking habits.She is silent for a long moment, inhaling slowly through her nose, and then exhaling a soft expellation of air. She would appreciate a cigarette right now. A small slight hand gesture, in place of words.
She doesn't know what to say.
(james)
he? would appreciate a huge friggen joint and enough rotgut to make even his liver run screaming
but he'll settle for the beer
which he finishes in silence
quicklyhe's lost in a world that was buried two years ago
unsure of what to say
unsure of what to do
knowing... somehow... he's in over his head
way overand how the hell did Bastion suddenly look like Aslan??
strange as it is
he appreciates the silent company(imogen)
She sits and finishes her beer. Quiet. Silence. It's hard to say whether or not she's there for him, but she is most certainly there. In the silence, he can hear that whatever cd that was playing has ended. It's truly quiet.As she puts her beer down, empty, the answering machine in the corner whirrs, clicking into action. The electronic timer goes from 136 to 137, a silent red change. After a moment, she stands, her movements breaking the quiet tableau of silence, her restlessness (or her addiction) getting the better of her.
"I'm going out for a smoke," she says, walking over to the small corner table, opening the drawer and rummaging through it with one hand, while the other absently picks at a fresh knick in the wood. Package found, she starts to walk toward the front door.
(james)
she's there
and that's what counted, then
just the fact that he wasn't sitting alone in a silent roomwhen she speaks, his gaze snaps up
dark umber pools in his eyes drifting to watch her, the pick at the table, the pack of smokes in her hand"Hey... you mind if I....?"
long lean body starting to raise a little
remember last night? when you crouched like this? going to save the little girl? shoudl you have really dont that.....tsk tsk
he doesn't smoke
he doesn't drink either
since he's doing one he might as well do the other
and at least it gives him something to do with his hands(imogen)
Since she's the one providing the booze and smokes, it would be hypocritical to say something; even if he is doing it because of emotional turmoil. After all, she's at the very least matched him bottle for bottle, never mind the liklihood that the first beer he saw her finish was not likely her first beer of the day.A slight roll of slender shoulders, "No, I don't... But no smoking in here." Grabbing keys from a coat pocket, and pulling open the door, she steps out into the rather cold night air without adding anything to her apparel.
Once outside, pulling the dented door shut behind James, she taps out a cigarette, and lights it, before offering him the cheap yellow bic and the long cancer stick, held flat in an open palm.
(james)
the Gnawer unfolds completely
tall, lanky, the strength in him is hidden, subtle
you don't know it's there until it's too latewhen the door shuts behind him
he moves to lean against a wall
something in him just unable to put his back to the world outside of the balcony
shoulders rolling in all attempts to relaxtaking the smoke and lighter with a soft smile
"Thanks....."
handing the lighter back on exhale
lifting the current beer in hand in a silent toast"... for this, too. I'd offer to buy the next round, but I don't have an ID to buy it with."
(imogen)
Her eyes twitch toward the gathering near Rune's Beemer and the silver SUV, Decker's derelict truck. Exhale of smoke in a slow steady stream, as she placels the cigarette between her lips, dropping down to sit on the lounge chair, bare feet quiet against the wood of the balcony. It's cool out; her skin has risen in goose flesh across her bare arms.Inhaling on the filter, the ember flickering brighter as she draws smoke into her lungs. Pause, and a slow exhale of grey cancerous fumes before she answers him, "Never mind it," she says in quiet accented tones, "I can always buy more beer." She stretches out an arm, plucking the ashtray from the balcony railing, and placing it on the wooden frame of the lounge chair, within reach of the Gnawer. Ash flicks into the sooty centre, and then the cigarette is returned between lips.
(james)
it's just about...
.... now
that he takes in the gathering around the car
well... that will answer where the pack is
or most of itbut he doesn't make a move to go join them
he also counts several strangersafter another draw of fumes into his lungs
you can tell what he normally smokes
hand cupping over the Camel to withdraw and flick with ring finger"Why is it...."
sighed on an exhale
smoke curling around the jungle vines of hair flopped about his face
he's been thinking entirely too much lately"..... I always seem to be telling you the crazy stories first?"
(imogen)
A breath of a chuckle, coloured grey with smoke as she looks up from a knot in the balcony wood, turning to glance at the bone gnawer. A faint look of amusement, as she tilts her head slightly, an eyebrow arching, "Because if I actually decide you need a room in a loony bin, there's a chance nobody would believe me?"It's safer to tell her these things. She doesn't have as much say. Theoretically.
(james)
a brow lifts
caught off guard by that chuckle
he actually looks over with a bit of a boyish reply grin
so it seems he can still smile"Either that.... or they'd set you up in the room next door?"
there's a chance that grin widens
since they already are proverbial neighbors
but it's covered with another drag(imogen)
"Fuck," she breathes, waving her cigarette to encompass the world she lives in, "Can't be all that much worse than this... food would probably be better, too."She pulls the cigarette from her lips again, eyeing it thoughtfully as she exhales, "No cigarettes, though. Or beer." Ash is tapped into the tray and the cigarette is replaced in her mouth.
(james)
there's that warm laughter again
soft, low, but it's there"They let you smoke, but no beer.... and you'd probably have neighbors on both sides raving about bloodsucking beasties that tapdance around in their minds, belching deepest, darkest secrets out to the Gaia forsaken world.... not just one."
smirked
sneered"So I guess you won't be reporting me."
smiled
(imogen)
She shakes her head, slightly, riotious hair falling forward to obscure her face for a moment, a curtain of roan and auburn, red and blonde. It's a fraction of a second, before her head lifts again, hand pushing the strands away from her fine boned features, speaking around the filter, "No, no reporting."Amusement fades. "I likely won't even mention it to anybody, if you haven't decided you're going to, anyways. It's up to you."
(james)
his chin drops into a nod
casting a half-grin once again"That's probably another reason.... I'll tell the others at some point."
when he's ready
if he's ready
though he'll probably skip around the details just the same
watching Decker approach - there's idle wonder if he's going to get reamed for this, too
a glance
snubbing out what's left of the cigarette before it burns to filter
swilling back the remnants of the beerthanks
(imogen)
She watches Decker pass near her balcony, unfathomable eyes following the frame of the Fenrir. The girl who follows is barely glanced at, as her attention returns to James, taking one final inhale on the cigarette, and stubbing it out in the tray to leave it beside the corpse of James's finished cigarette."Yeah." she acknowledges, without further comment. When he tells them. If he tells them. A vague flicker of her mind questions if it might be important to mention it, then dismisses it. Eyes lift to watch Kimber depart from the neighbouring porch and begin to walk down the stairs.
(james)
there's a bit of a nod
again
dreadlocks just skimming over his shoulders
finally pulling away from the wall
he just feels like he's wasting her time"Thanks for the beer and the company, Imogen."
murmured a bit
he picks up the beer bottle to deposit in the trash on his way out and turns for the door to go back in and grab the other pizza(imogen)
She watches him move away from the wall, nods slightly as he thanks her, tucking chilled feet beneath her, as she remains sitting where she is. "Any time," she answers quietly, picking up the pack, and beginning to tap out another cigarette, remaining outside in the cool air.(james)
he..... just shuts the door behind him
tossing the beer
gathering the still warm pizza box
then quietly lets himself back out to go next door
and back into Rune's
pizza slid onto the breakfast counter
and he rummages for another beer
turning to kick off the unlaced Cochrans
deposit self on couch(imogen)
She's smoking again as James leaves, barely looking up as he departs, eyes swept to some warping in the balcony wood, her free right hand rubbing the bare and cool flesh of her tattooed arm.Grey smoke spills from her lips as she exhales, her hand stopping it's warming movement for a moment, fingers obscuring the sinuous curve of the brand for a moment before dropping away, laying curled at her knee.
(decker)
James hits the couch right as Decker comes out of the shower, all cleaned up again. We'll see how long it lasts this time. Rubbing a towel over the sandpaper bristle he calls hair, the Modi comes up the hall, stops at the entrance to the living room, and lets the towel slide off his head like a hood.A beat. "Talkin' to Imogen, huh?"
White shirt, khaki cargoes, shitkicker boots. Unreadable grey eyes, set jaw, and a white towel pooled across shoulders like a young bull's. Another beat. Then he pulls the towel off and comes toward (at) James.
Stops a foot away.
Drops the towel on the couch.
Tension bleeds like a wound....and then it ebbs, if only for now. He gets a good look at his packmate and a frown flickers over his brow. "Look like shit." Pack bonds wrestle with ungrounded suspicion. "Rune told me what happened 'fore you woke up. Git some R&R."
Decker heads out.
(rune)
Up the walkway, into the apartment (door's unlocked), through the foyer (tossing her coat onto the table) and back into the living room goes, swinging her shopping bag the whole way, swinging past Decker with a grunt of greeting. See? Rune's learning Fenrir, one of the most difficult languages in the universe to master. She tosses it onto the breakfast bar, and blinks at James sitting on her couch.No television. No playstation. No music.
"You look like hell," she says, unconsciously echoing Decker. Keys clatter over the breakfast bar, following the tumble of plastic bottles and cosmetics in their mesh bag. "Wanna go out and get fucked up?"
(james)
he was fairly convinced, earlier, he looked like a train wreck staggering about on two legs
with two confirmations in less that two minutes
he's still convincedeyes of dark umber snap up to Decker's
brow lifting
yep, he was right on that earlier assumption
he seriously needs to reconsider the consequences of talking to people
perhaps he, too, should resort to a language of grunts and glares
screw communication
it just gets him in troublebut his attention wanes to Rune
"Sure."
unfolding to stand
head tilting to drain the rest of the bottle"Used the Master Card..... there's another pizza over there for later...." a pause ".... I don't have ID though."
(rune)
"Doesn't matter," Rune shrugs in response, the remnants of (yes) a smirk still lingering at corners of her red mouth. "I know someone who can handle that."Of course she does.
Another glance - appraising this time, rather than merely cursory - before she continues. "You wanna grab a shower, or you ready to go?"
(james)
at her appraisal
he looks down, too
probably should"Yea.... gimme five."
while wandering back towards the shower
he wonders where she's planning on taking him
not like he has anything remotely nice to wear(rune)
They'll make an interesting pair, these two: the raggedy, teetotaling (mostly) Gnawer, and the self-indulgent Glasswalker lush. While James showers, Rune rustles through her cosmetics spends five minutes primping. When he returns, her lipstick is freshly re-applied, and her dark eyes are darker than ever, long lashes made sooty by a fresh application of expensive mascara.She doesn't say anything when he returns. She doesn't say anything at all, right now. She just turns and begins to walk, pausing until he falls in step with her, and then heads out: out the door, out of the parking lot, out into the night. First stop: ID for James, chronic for the pack. Second stop: oblivion.
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.11.03.02. - confessions [rune][north jersey, rune's condo]
(rune)
Slung across the black leather couch in the living room of her condo, Rune plays a half-hearted game of Counterstrike (dying. frequently.) nursing her hangover. Still sluggish from the sheer amount of tranquilizers she took last night, she reacts slowly to the game, cursing early and often.Wet black hair spills across the rolled leather arms of the couch as she shifts and fidgets, already waking up. The Garou's constitution is strong enough that such a dose will linger as little more than a headache and a brief, fleeting sluggishness. Tipping her beer back, she considers - absently - how very much she wants to kill something, wants to strike something, wants something against which she can strike.
For now, the pixels will have to do.
(james)
it's a slow progression back up from the depths of the shadowy hell he was cast into
lost somewhere among the twisting writhing blackened turns of past mixed with present
Daddy make him stop!
muscle twitching to physically dislodge him from where he sleeps, to stop the dream
shudders rippling down the Ahroun's spine
She's better off where she is, James. I can't fix the pain
a soft cry, and he finally rips from the nether regions of the dreams fetid wombchest heaving
eyes wild as they dart around
dreads heavy with sweat
room bopping and weaving like a ship
disoriented
confusedreally. really. confused.
the surrounding room finally eeks into his consciousness
the decorations
the smells
brow lifting at the slick black sheets on the waterbed beneath him
the gentle whispering slide as they pool around his waist in struggling to sit up.... the..... hell.......
(rune)
The hell indeed.Music pours through the soundsystem downstairs. He's too far away to make out the words or melody; only the low pound of bass erupts in regular rhythm against his consciousness, tidal in its slow rhythmic pull. The door to the bathroom is half-open, but the door to the hall is closed. Vapors of steam still seethe into Rune's bedroom, the subtle scent of soap riding fresh above the other scents that linger here: the salt of sweat, sandlewood, the subtle suggestions of sex and beneath it the ashen underscent of cigarettes that clings to her clothes from the night before, tossed casually into the laundry basket in a corner of the room.
Belowstairs, the game of Counterstrike continues. Rune dies, and dies, and dies again. Her fingers will not work as quickly as she demands, and after five minutes of utter frustration, she slings the controller across the lacquered coffee table and rises in a supple arc, another half-voiced curse on her lips, just below the cusp of breath.
(james)
the Gnawer just..... lets this all sink in
he doesn't remember much of last night
what the hell were you on, boy?
and..... he's not exactly sure he wants tohe can feel the bass vibrating against his skin
translated by the water contained within the bed
nails scratch against his scalp
head.... achesit's a rather nice room, to be honest, he just... has no idea what he's doing here
there was the ride with Imogen
dinner with Decker
meeting up with Rune
the kid.....but they took the kid back to the hospital
and then he woke up.....herewhat if....
did they....
....noooanother few minutes stroll slowly by
and the Ahroun finally extracts his lanky form from the clinging silky sheets
still clothed, good sign
he knows his toothbrush is in the kitchen downstairs
half tripping over his boots on the way to the door
picking them up
and half shuffling half stumbling down the stairs
socks making almost no sound
dreads all sleep tusseledit'd almost be cute if he didn't have this feeling something was still terribly wrong
(rune)
Quiet down the soft carpeted stairs, silent through the front hall, across the wide living room with all its damnable toys and gadgets: the souped up playstation, the plasma TV mounted on the wall like a Van Gogh, the tangle of computer equipment shadowed what should be the dining room. Strange, that. Rune never seemed to use it for anything more than ordering pizza online or buying custom made cosmetics.He passes through the living room to round into the kitchen, Rune is framed by the breakfast bar. Her forehead rests against the freezer, and one hand is settled casually on the open door of the fridge as she studies the contents with all the minute care of a teenaged boy. Some people never grow up. Wet black hair spills around her face, the inky strands gleam in the dim light spilling from the open fridge, just teasing the collar of her white t-shirt. She grabs a bottle of Saranac and slams the fridge door at last, spinning to lean/slouch against the cool surface of the appliance.
Dark brows lift in concert as she takes him in, and dark eyes settle on his. She's already painted - already made-up - even if her hair is not yet dry, and her red red mouth quirks into the shadow of a familiar smirk. "Feeling better, sleeping beauty?" She pauses, and twists the beer open. Release pressure hisses satisfyingly as she continues, "...you had me worried last night."
(james)
she's already all made up and perfect
he probably looks like a train wreck
at least he still smells clean
(.... like.... her....)
boots dropped just before entering the kitchen
offering a..... small.... smile
the proper drawer gliding smoothly open to reveal his toothbrush inside - he's stayed here enough times to at least leave that behind"I feel just..... peachy."
half chuckled
almost shy at the inquiry
train wreck indeed
he made a point to avoid any mirrors on the way down
smearing minty toothpaste onto the bristles"You tell me what happened last night after we took the kid to the hospital and I'll tell you if you should still be worried."
another partial grin around the toothbrush as he settles in to listen
it's damn obvious - he doesn't remember a thing(rune)
"Wanna beer?" she asks, sliding away from the fridge to slouch long and lean against the stove. Simple clothes, today: black leather pants, t-shirt sporting some unfamiliar logo, black curving script on white clinging cotton. Mmmm. Beer and toothpaste, quite the offer.After a moment, she crosses the kitchen and lifts herself easily onto the breakfast bar. Her curving spine settles against one of the supports as she falls into her customary slinking slouch, body defining a long concave interrupted only by the expected evidence of feminimity. The males are more powerful - muscled and strong - but she is more graceful, loosejointed and lean as a snake.
"As for last night - " she continues when settled, punctuating the statement with an elegant little shrug. " - I have no idea what happened. We dropped the kid off at the hospital - you were taking forever - and then as you were coming outta the double doors, the brat rocketed past you. She got cornered by an orderly in the parking lot and kicked up but hard in the fuckin' balls, then crawled under my car.
"We grabbed her, and started heading north. I know these Fury kin upstate who run a sort of underground shelter for abuse victims and was gonna drop her off with them. Except, when I pulled off the highway to make the call, she escaped. You - I mean - you didn't even react. I hit some freakish Get who seemed to know you, and you didn't even notice. You just... sat there. Searched the damn rest area, but there was no sign of the kid. I brought you back here and put you to bed. You were like... a marionette, some kinda waking coma. You'd stand when I told you to, walk where I led you, but you wouldn't say a fuckin' word."
(james)
there's a glint in his eyes
ooo.... mint and hops..... breakfast of cham.peens...
something of a smile around the brushing
cuteas she slinkslides her way onto the bartop
he turns away, leaning over to finish brushing and spit into the sink
while she's got the curvaceous tension of a lean snake
Decker the sheer brute force of a young bull
Erik the quiet power of a bear
Luc the coiled energy of an elk in rut
the Gnawer..... he's different
there's a power there, but it's supple, discreet
almost feline
hidden until greatly disturbed
the steady movement of the toothbrush gives way the corded tendons on his forarms
swell of bicep flexing beneath t-shirt sleeve
shoulders rolling steel as he leans to rinseand her last part catches him mid-rinse
there has been a correction on the answers to tonight's test
he remembers everything
she can see it in the ridges of muscle that slowly tighten beneath the thin t-shirt
all the way up curved spinehe's silent to straighten, save the whisper of dreads across his shoulders
dishtowel grabbed to wipe his mouth, soaked in the running water to wash his face
he still hasn't turned around yet
looking at the counter tiles rather than back over his shoulder at her
there's nothing save the steady drumbeat of his heart"She...... knew about my little girl."
he'll take that beer now
(rune)
Thump. ...but softly, behind him as Rune slides off the counter and slips to the floor, following by the faint slap of bare skin against the scrubbed linoleum, the soft sigh as the fridge sucks open, slams shut.She's behind him then, is Rune. Just behind him, positioned stage left. The cold amber bottle sings as it slides across the edge of the sink until she curves his fingers around the cold brown glass.
Her left hand settles on his right shoulder, rides the corded roll of muscle beneath warm flesh and cool cotton like a piece of flotsam on the apex of a wave.
"She wasn't... natural." It's the only conclusion Rune can draw, though there's cold comfort it in the rape of memories, the plundering of the mind. There's a beat - Rune, speechless. Notify the papers. - before she resumes, her voice low and clotted with supressed... what? Even Rune couldn't say. "I'm sorry, James."
(james)
movements
once more
automaticthe dishtowel is still warm from the water
but his hand as she wraps it cold
the other? gripping the edge of the sink for knuckles to turn white
if it wasn't for that, he may not still be standingit's been a long time since I've thought about this
those eyes
such warm umber, deep and rich, filled with Gaia's earthen energy itself
..... haunted, dull
hurting so very deeply
so very openly, infront of her
as if by the touch on his shoulder alone she could feel how he still bleeds"So am I."
murmured
he wants to turn, drop his head to her shoulder, let loose the body-wrenching sobs that may, possibly, cleanse him enough for a chance at redemption for what he did, for all that he's done in the name of Gaia, so that one day he may completely forgive himself for his actions - even if he knew all along they were right
guilt is the worst enemy of all
but the Gnawer stands there
something causing such a strong frame to tremble beneath the fabric, beneath her touch
his hand lifting to the counter to slide rough palm across fine knuckles
thanks(rune)
The CD ends, and the last few drops of water suspended from the fixture hesitate, stretch and fall - plink plink plink - in sudden rapid succession. This is the only sound that breaks the silence now falling over them, the silence punctuated by the slow drag of reluctant breath and the snap/crackle/pop hiss of air bubbling up through their beers, escaping its fermented prison.
There is nothing to be done, and there is nothing to be said. Sharing pain does not lessen it, airing painful (gut.wrenching.) truths does not bleed them of their power.
Her hand flexes - squeezes - his shoulder, and then Rune does what James should, and does not: her head bows, her forehead briefly pressed against her hand, curled around his shoulder.
Words? Words. She should say something. She should say anything, but she has no wisdom to offer, she has no silver tongue, no silver bullet, no magick pill to burn the pain from his eyes or devour the deadflesh from the wound in his soul, and so she straightens, lifts her head from his hand, lifts her hand from his shoulder.
Don't mention it.
There's nothing to say. There's nothing more to say.
(james)
there are many levels of silence
some are uncomfortable - the silence of avoidance
some are heavy - the silence of truth
some are empty - the silence of loss
some are..... what this is
the silence of catharsiswhen her forhead touches the back of his knuckles, fingers spread, lacing, locking
wondering if her regrets are the same
is there something a raggedy Gnawer and a sleek Walker can share so deeply it could never be justified with spoken word
clutched, hidden, and burning somewhere beneath Eagle's brand on their chests
something that marks them far more permanentlyhe doesn't linger when she pulls away
bubbles against glass hiss when the bottle is lifted to his lips
on an empty stomach
the Ahroun chugs half the beer(rune)
It's enough. It will have to be enough, for the present steamrolls over the past and continues chugging toward the future. At the least, they can ensure that they have no more regrets."Decker made it back last night," Rune begins, clearing her stuck throat and drifting away - across the kitchen, beer in hand - to fumble for a pack of cigarettes. "but left again. His truck's gone, anyway. Someone should warn Imogen about the leeches. I dunno about stakes and garlic - couldn't hurt - but they don't like fire. There's a can of hairspray - she smokes, she'll have a lighter - I was gonna take it over, but I've got some errands to run before the stores close."
Shampoo. Laundry detergent. Those sorts of things.
After crossing the kitchen to grab her keys, Rune turns back and eyes James critically, half-grunts (too much time around the Fenrir), and offers this: "You oughta eat something," (she's six years older than the rest of them. She's allowed to be mature sometimes.) "order a pizza. Some credit cards in the drawer there, just lemme know which one you use."
And then she's gone, out into the chilly November night. Shampoo, conditioner. Xanax. There were some things she needed from the store.
(james)
there are a lot of reasons he doesn't say anything
point out what shouldn't be
ruin the moment
tempt her temper
or maybe that he's to choked up himselfmostly
he just nodsrummaging through the drawer to find a card he likes the look of
hip leaning against the counter during the order
already finishing off the beer
too bad they won't deliver that, make do with what's in the fridge, Jamey-boy
empty bottle slung into the trashcan before the Cochran's are pulled on, unlaced
trudging upstairs to find the hairsprayhe's got 30 minutes or less or the pizzas are free
one mostly for him, one for the fridge for later
both extra-large with everythingmoving out the door, around to the next, knuckles lifting to rap on Imogen's
half expecting it to fall in again
at least that brings a little grin[cont'd]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 02, 2002.11.02.02. - fast food and nightmares [decker-rune-dimitria] *njb[cont'd]
(james)
he's back to that ground covering stroll
what makes walking miles look effortless
the tattered tails snapping around his ankles with the swaying step
rebar clinking with the re-slung sling
dreads walztin in slow-half-time
leaves his hands free to untuck the edges of the long muslin strips used to wrap themfirst the left
strip end pulled out from beneath his sleeve
unwrapped
then slowly, carefully, re-wrapped for best brace
inbetween the fingers
across the palm
around the wrist
he doesn't need the brace, it just helps him blend in to the rest of the fighters working on the bagshe still can't get over how clean he got the coat
looking at the contrast of the sweaty linens compared to the scrubbed, soaked, washed four times over to get the smell out and all but bleached into oblivion sleeve(decker)
Two blocks down, a foot extends from a nearby doorframe, forcing James to hop or else fall on his face. New moon in the sky. Even Ahrouns develop something akin to wit."Ain't you all cleaned up," drawls Decker from around a joint. Scooting forward to sit on the second-to-last step from the sidewalk, he picks his backpack up from where he'd tossed it, making room for the Gnawer. The backpack is the one he took into the Umbra, and looks decidedly worse for wear. Unzipping it, the Modi digs under the sweatshirt stuffed into there and pulls out a paper bag. Reaching in, he tosses James a smashed burrito, unwraps another for himself. His turn to feed 'em.
"Don't fart."
(james)
there's a blink
what the....
it gets a stop, the tall Gnawer leaning around a bit to peeeeer at what the recognized boot had to offer
yet another wry grin twisting itself across his features"If you had to crawl through what I did last night? You'd be all sparkly clean too. Course, Rune wasn't happy I used up most of her shampoo."
and soap
and laundry detergent
and anything else that would save him the fate of burning his beloved coat
the Gnawer slides onto the step, sling dropped, blinking to catch the burrito on a length of linen stretched between one hand and one wrist, letting it slide into his lap and finishing the wrap before unwrapping yet something else and practically inhaling that burrito(decker)
Watching James inhale the beancannon, Decker grunts, "Said don't fart. Yer gonna fart if you eat that fast."He eats his own slower, the backpack rumpled at his feet. By normal standards he was still wolfing it down. By James'? He was dining. When it's done, he wipes his hands on the paper bag. Progress. Least it didn't go on his pants this time.
"How'd it go?" The sewer excursion, apparently.
(james)
a brow lifts mid-chew
pausing to swallow
then look at his packmate"Where I'm from? This is eating slow... didn't grow up scrapping for your food, did you?"
grinned in banter
fingers licked clean
even if he didn't even get anything on his hands or the wraps
it's an old habit
at least he isn't licking the wrapping clean"Sheer. Fucking. Insanity."
wait.... was that James cussing?
"Between the rusty rotting tunnel, Horatio's eight little legs clinging to my head the entire blessed journey, the pool of Gaia knows what that I took a nice, refreshing mud bath in, Graf Orlock in his bone coffin, New Jersey, the magick little tin that everyone wanted a cookie out of yet I would not let them have, and the fact there is something seriously wrong with my sinuses..... I'm not sure which is the most ridiculous part other than I went along with the entire thing."
(decker)
The Modi lifts an eyebrow at the rant, holds up a hand, and makes that rewinding gesture in the air."What?"
Crumpling up the wrapper, he stuffs it into the paper bag and then holds it out to James to put his stuff in. Zipping up his bag then, he gets to his feet and starts walking, the backpack held in one hand, swinging with his gait. If James intended to 'keep our city clean' he'd have to throw the bag away himself.
(james)
the sling finds its way to his shoulder
and the crumpled bag to the next trashbin they pass"Once Bastion, Romani and I got into the tunnel, found out it was my job to crawl through this horrifically small pipe. Whatever I was seeking as at the end of it. But I wasn't about to do it without collateral so I asked for something of theirs to take to ensure they'd wait for me to come back.... got Romani's keys and Bastion gave me his little friend.... Horatio the Child Eating Spider..... so I crawl through the pipe, Horatio on. my. head. nice and comfy in the dreads, this pipe is rank, man, even for my kind. But I get to the end, it's a nice little cavern, filled with who knows or wants to know what, grate on the wall, unlock and grate, shimmy through to find this pipe goes through a room. Once in the room, lo and behold, of all things, there's a coffin. Beautiful thing, made of bone, but a coffin. I must have swallowed some of that sewer water because I decided to open the damn thing. Inside? Graf Orlock in the rotting flesh. Huge stake sticking out of his chest, dead as a doornail, and he's holding this cookie tin. So I take the tin, plant evidence to point at Romani having it and not me, and go back the way I came. Romani and Bastion were very interested in the tin when I came out.... "
there's a pause there
glancing to the Modi to see if he needs to rewind again
he's still a little... stressed... from the past days events(decker)
Decker's brow his furrowed, and he stares at the pavement fiercely enough to drill holes, but at the pause, no demand of a retelling comes. "Cookie tin?" he prompts at last.A cold whips across the street and Decker lifts the backpack, pulling the sweatshirt out. Rezipping the former, he pauses on the sidewalk and pulls the latter on over his head. It's one of those zip-up sweatshirts, but either the zipper was broken or he couldn't be bothered to unzip it.
Picking the pack up again, he slings it over one shoulder this time and continues walking. Where they were headed is uncertain; perhaps they were simply walking.
(james)
he's also waiting to be ripped a new one
it shows
he barely even slows down as they pass the studio he was heading to
right now Decker's leading, and he's following
the rant doesn't quite have the power it used to
warm voice so much softer now"A little dented number..... I don't know what's in it, yet, though. The deal was to share what I found, so I didn't open it so I wouldn't know what was in it. I stashed it across town. Wanted to have some backup around if we opened it. Whatever's in there seems very important to Bastion and Romani. I just don't know how much that will benefit us......"
drifting off at the end, there
he knows how important this is to him
the rest of the pack probably doesn't care
and he's risking them(decker)
A block or two away, Decker stops again. Frowning down the street, then at James, "Hell happened to 'Orlock'?"(james)
muscular shoulders roll in a shrug"Somebody shoved a table leg through his heart? I wasn't about to touch it..... for all I know Mr. Nosferatu himself woulda jumped back up and bit me if I did."
he's doing a good job of not letting on just how much that spooked him
(decker)
Another long silence. Stake through heart, in a coffin. That points toward......yeah. Did they exist? Fuck him. "Gonna call Rune," mutters Decker, and heads for the nearest payphone. Feeling through his pockets, he produces a quarter and a nickel. "Got another nickel?"
While he waits for the cellphone to ring, he looks at James. "That box. Ain't nobody gonna touch it 'til we hear back from Erik."
He wasn't going to make the call on this one. Count him the fuck out.
(james)
there's a nod
rummaging through his pockets, past the bucks that were going to pay his way into the gym, pulling out the change Decker needs
and while the Modi waits
he slides down to a crouch
watching the streetnodding a bit, murmuring
"Just what I had in mind."
the Rat Finks were only rumored to interact with them
those were stories to tell cubs to keep them in line, to respect their Elders
but with what he saw last night?
that was no leftover Halloween propno. sir.
he's not just sparkling clean
he's pale
he didn't sleep much last night(rune)
The cell phone rings - always a good sign, since half the time she kept it turned off and the calls went straight into her voicemail. Loud music complete with a thudding bassline is translated through the receiver as little more than a haze of noise, and that's all there is for a few seconds until she answers, one (charming, no?) word. "...yeah?"(decker)
"Corner of," a glance up, "ninth and Jefferson. In Jersey City. Get here soon as you can."Click, he hangs up. There goes 35 cents. Moving out to the curb, Decker sits down next to the Bone Gnawer. James' pants were clean, possibly why he was crouching instead of sitting, but Decker didn't have that worry.
Moments later, "Think it was a leech?"
(spit)
::sitting in an alley. Perched on a dumpster...eyes reaching up the alley towards the opening where it spills out onto the street. Completely still almost statue like. Quiet and still.
Minutes past...heart racing in his heart....thumping and racing. Anxiety and panic filling his mind. Could they still be there...looking for him? Quiet and Still...Rustling from further up the alley as a small rat comes scurrying from a corner...on his way to find a late night snack..or whatever it was rats did at night.
In the dark he feels safe. Safe enough...for now.(james)
the street can't be that interesting
but he's studying it
scrutinizing it
as if suddenly, his thoughts needed the visual diet in order to fuel themselves into this strange concoction of.... whatever it was he happened to have let himself think aboutalmost having to snap out of it
"Huh?"
rewind, James.
"Oh...... yea, I do."
frowning a little
a lot easier when you admit it for the second time, isn't it(decker)
Well, that took care of that. Decker lapses into silence, picking bits of concrete off the sadly disrepaired sidewalk and flicking them out on the asphalt. Holding his own counsel, he runs all he'd heard about vampires through his head."Bastian 'n that Mafia ass. You think..?"
(spit)
::Ok it had to be long enough...it had to be safe now. Right? Sure...He hops down from the dumpster...hitting the pavement and crouching down low...perfectly still...for a moment before he heads up the alley and towards the opening...Peeking out around the corner...coast clear? Just his eyes peer out...sharp icy blue eyes...
Seconds pass
And he emerges...tall lanky boy, spiked black hair, with purple tips...his right eyebrow with 2 stainless steel barbells...a matching barbell in the left eyebrow. A flat disc pierced through his labret. an 8 gauge stud through his tongue. And those are the ones you can see. Tattoos fill his flesh, but his clothing cover the stories so no one can see...::
(james)
he's quiet
mulling thoughts around like a fine wine in his brain cavity"Maybe? Probably? I know they're not like us, and they definitely aren't human. Romani disappeared into the shadows.... literally.... when we were down there. And Bastion has a man-eating spider for a pet. Your guess is as good as mine."
(rune)
Ten minutes - maybe fifteen minutes later - the familiar low purr of Rune's beloved Beemer and the flare of headlights blasting bright down the unfamiliar street - high beams. It's late enough, so traffic was light and she made good time. Despite the chill in the air, the top is down: Rune doesn't believe in winter.Hair toussled from the draft, eyes shining and stinging from the cold blasting at her during the (not quite reckless) drive. The driver's side door swings opens, and heels clatter on the sidewalk as Rune approaches her packmates. She had obviously been out for the evening, and the scent of the close packed club - sweat and suggestion, whiskey and ash - clings to her skin and hair, has infused her clothes.
"You rang?" she asks, eschewing the sidewalk to lean back against her car, as the most palatable of the available options.
(dimitria)
...don't hurt me mista, I'm just a lil' girl...It was late at night and neither the time for a child to be out nor a place for a child to be alone. But one wandered, looking dazed and lost, down the sidewalk. She was dressed in pink flower adorned flannel pyjamas, was bare foot and carried a teddy bear clutched between small hands.
(decker)
Rune doesn't believe in winter because Rune is from California. The more sane people of the world believe in winter, and so Decker's in a sweatshirt, and James is in his patchwork trench. Both look up as she pulls up.Decker motions Rune closer, where they won't have to scream for her to hear. "Know anythin' 'bout leeches?"
(james)
dark eyes glance up as Rune graces them with her presence
when I have the cash, I'll replace it all, don't worry
offering a little (haunted) grinbut while they talk
he looks around
keeping watch
taking up his place at their backs until he's called inletting his eyes roam the streets like the animal that's buried somewhere within him
(spit)
::and just that quick he slinks away...another night he made it...so far::(dimitria)
... I don' mean nuffin by it, sir, honesly!...She has a small piece of what looks like rumpled paper clutched between two fingers and she periodically consults her teddy bear as she looks around her at the large large world, blue eyes large as saucers.
(rune)
The faintest of shrugs - the rustle of her bare shoulders rising and falling beneath her black suede coat, the dull glimmer of a blood-red camisole beneath - plays through her body as she approaches, and settles into a crouch alongside Decker.What's mine is yours. - the echo back, offhand, before settling to the task at hand - don't mention it.
One sculpted brow rises in a slow arch above her dark painted eyes. There's a moment of silence as she settles back on her haunches and considers Decker's question.
"Some," she says at last, mouth quirked in a lowering frown. "We had our share of 'em. Fucked up bastards. Why?"
(dim)
...always look both ways before you cross the street...She lifts a hand and rubs her nose on the sleeve of her pyjamas, eyes still amazingly large and bright - a dominant feature of her diminuative face.
From across the street, seperated by the vast lanes of the road, she pauses in her aimless wandering and stares at the gathered trio, at the shining gleam of Beemer under the illumination of the street lights.
(decker)
And there they were, the three Ahroun of the pack. Sleek-stylish-savage Rune. Mellow, easygoing James. Brooding Decker.Flicking a last pebble out to the street, the Modi speaks. "Seems James mighta dug a coupla the corpses up. Bastian, 'member him? He and his Mafia buddy took James to the sewers, had him crawl down a tunnel. Found some half-rotted thing in a bone coffin clutching a box.
"Box's 'cross the city. I said ain't nobody gonna touch it 'til we hear from Erik. But dead thing's still in the coffin. Dunno where Bastian and the Mafia fuck is."
Decker never speaks loudly, and when he makes an effort to keep his voice down, he's barely audible. When he's finished, he leans forward to scrub a scuff on his shoe with his thumb.
(james)
another of the faintest smiles, echoing that, well, echo
at least he smells really pretty
dreads all nice and shiny and full of volume
skin that wasn't scrubbed off deeply moisturized and exfoliatedrejuvenated, even
though something seems to grab his attention
weight shifting to begin rising from that crouch but he barely catches it
trying to pay attention to the conversation at hand
and. that. kid.(dim)
...never cross the street without a responsible adult to hold your hand...Apparently, though, this was never a warning that this child had been told, or chose not to heed. After all, what could possibly happen on a street so quiet as this one was becoming?
The little girl, no older than five or six, starts towards the gutter as if she was going to cross the road all by herself and Mr. Bear.
No, she doesn't pause to look both ways. She looks rather dazed, actually.
(rune)
Rune's head drops briefly, sleek black hair spilling with the gesture to curtain her pale face. Some terrible, muttered curse spills from her lips and her red nails dig into flesh of her supple suede-clad thighs until one would swear she was going to draw blood."Shit. Jesus - " the curses continue even when she looks up, even though she actually attempts to stop them, biting her tongue and holding back briefly before another savage wave of - what - frustration, utter frustration, no more - twists her features. "Burn 'em. Grenades, napalm, big fat-ass bonfire. Ripping 'em to shreds works to, I guess, but I think they're kinda like earthworms. Cut off some bit and they grow back. Back shit is, it's hard to know how many there are, what they want, what they can do to you. Manipulative, fucked up bastards, is all I've ever heard of 'em. Whadda they want with us?"
(decker)
"Woulda," replies Decker, "'cept one, dunno where they are now. And two, Bastian was makin' some threatenin' noises like no-violence-or-else-my-elder's-gonna-kick-yer-ass."The Modi shrugs, reaching up to scratch one shoulder. "Can't believe 'em, 'course. But can't not believe 'em either."
Then, "Fuck if I know what they want."
(james)
"They'll be easy to find, they're come back to find me when I'm ready to......"it drifts off
kid? cross? woah....shit
the next surge of energy through his frame isn't stopped
the Gnawer is up
dodging the two cars on the street to book it across
snatching the little girl before she goes off the curb(dim)
... always chew your food...She stares at James with huge, round blue eyes the color of a pale blue sky. If she wasn't shaking before, she was now, being collected by the dreadlocked youth before her little bare toes could even touch the gutter. Her teddy bear tumbles to the ground in the process and she makes small whimpering noises in her throat.
"Mr. Bear! Mr. Bear!"
(decker)
Decker breaks off and James does the hundred-meter dash across the street. "The fuck--" looking across, just in time to see James whisk the little girl off the street.He watches another minute, grey eyes dark, and then returns his attention to Rune.
(james)
pale blue sky
deep, dark earth
rich brown in his eyes looks to hers
Bea.... oh
swooping down to pick up the teddy bear, and holding it to the little girl now resting on a hip"Where'd you come from?"
visual check over
two.... ten.... eleven
eyes.... fingers.... toes
(dim)
...never pull a face, the wind might change and you'll be stuck like that...She has a hospital bracelet snuggly fitted to bird-boned wrist, visible when she grabs for the teddy that James' offers back and cuddles it close to her chest. She stares athim with a dazed, shocked expression and then manages to speak.
"My mommy and daddy found me in the cabage patch where the stalk left me. They said so."
(rune)
"I dunno," Rune remarks, full red mouth thinning with distaste. She fights off a shudder, but it ripples through her lean form nonetheless. Her distaste is physical, lodged low in her gut, visceral and primal. "they're like... they're like... fuckin' leeches and - "Rune, too breaks off, dark gaze rising to follow James' path as he dashes across the street. Her gaze lingers there, even as she resumes speaking - low and quiet - "don't like it. I mean, think of like, the meanest, most manipulative Shadow Lord you ever knew. Now add on three centuries to perfect his fuckin' technique. They get their claws in you, they'll drain you dry. Least if the elder or whatever comes after us, we can fight back rather than scuttling around doin' their dirty work, yeah?"
(james)
a brow lifts
damn articulate for a young'un
he reaches to gently twist the bracelet on her wrist to read it"Cabbage patch, huh? Did they tell you which one?"
(decker)
Decker shrugs with a grunt. "See what Erik says 'bout the box first. Then we'll figger what to do with the leeches. 'N if James wants to muck 'round with them anymore, he's gonna hafta go through Erik. I ain't gonna play Beta to somethin' this big no more."A pause. "Wonder what's in the box. James says the other two wanted it real bad."
(dim)
...never play with your food...The bracelet is from one of the medicial institutions in Jersey City.
"Where the monster in the closet lives."
She nods her head almost solemnly with that childlike belief that monsters do indeed reside within children's closest on a regular basis. She is still staring at him with wide blue eyes, pupils quite dilated. She still clutches a rumpled piece of paper in her hand. That wasn't dropped when James grabbed her.
(james)
"Really? What monster? And can I see this?"he reaches for the paper
comitting the name of the MI to memory
and after the night he had last night?
he'll agree right on with her those monsters exist(dim)
...never run with scissors...She pulls the rumbled paper close to her and looks at him suspiciously before taking a little peek at it, chewing her bottom lip and holding it out (almost poking his eye out in the process).
"I think that you're the one Mr. Kitty wanted to have this."
(rune)
"Probably some weird, fucked up shit we don't even know anything about," Rune snorts, hair flaring inkily as she shakes her head and mutters another half-breathed curse. "Eye of newt or bats' nuts or something freaky."There's another pause as Rune digs into her pockets for her cigarettes. Lighting up calms some of her agitation, and she continues in the same low voice, offering Decker the pack in an offhanded gesture. "They tell James anything about the... rats, or whatever?"
(dim)
...always brush your teeth after every meal...She snuggles into Mr. Bear, peeking coyly at James over one of the teddy's ears and then wriggles a little in his grip to then snuggle closer to him, burying her face against his shoulder and mumbling through his tattered trench-coat.
"You're nice and toasty."
(james)
his head snaps back to save his eye
I need that, thank you
carefully reaching up to take the paper out of direct line for his ocular socket and holding it at a safe distance to read"Mr. Kitty? Who's that...."
(decker)
Decker waves a lazy hand in the direction of the cigarettes, turning them down. "Think the leech in the coffin was scarin' 'em off or somethin'. Ask 'im."Of course, James was across the street playing Good Samaritan...Decker watches him with a detached curiosity, a half-smirk curling the edge of his mouth as James snaps his head back from the paper.
(dim)
...always sit up straight..."Mr. Kitty is soft. You smell better though. He smells like dookie."
She wraps a small hand around one of James' dreads and then moves it do that it is on top of Teddy's head. She giggles inanely, because now Mr. Bear has dreadlocks too.
(james)
he may be warm to her
but inside he goes cold
staring at the paper for moment before folding it between his fingers and putting it into his pocket
he does pretty damn well at finding that easy going good samaritan smile againshould've smelled me last night
"Can you tell me more about Mr. Kitty?"
we're good at pretending we're amused at the now stylish bear
(rune)
Rune tucks her cigarettes away, and inhales - low and slow and deep - as if she were smoking a joint, not a cigarette. The colorful paper flares, smolders, and dies to ash with each drag. They come quickly now, hard and quick after the first long savoring breath, and the smoke - exhaled just as quickly - hardly had time to reach her lungs."The hell is a kid doin' wandering the streets in the middle of the night?" she offers by way of conversation, since it seemed like the other portion of their conversation was over, or at least paused until James returned. Silence sits ill on her shoulders; after their discussion she would prefer to fill the night with noise.
(dim)
...naughty children are locked in the basement...She takes a moment to stop paying attention to the bear, still giggling a little as she looks back at James with those wide, blue eyes.
"Mr. Kitty is nice sometimes. Sometimes he is mean. Sometimes he bites. But he's a kitty. Kittys always bite."
She pulls back one pyjama sleeve and exposes a tiny arm with two neat puncture marks in her forearm. Her lower lip creeps out a little and starts to quiver slowly, her eyes looking glassy as if she was going to cry. She buries her head in his shoulder again and whispers.
"Sometimes it really hurts."
(decker)
"Scarin' the shit out of James," mutters Decker in reply. They were packmates. He could read James' body the way a scholar read a book. Hunkered down on the curbside, the Modi's eyes are narrowed (the better to see you with...).It's dark, and the distance is too great to see the puncture wounds. When the child buries her head in his packmate's shoulder, he makes a wordless noise: a sort of truncated grunt, if such sounds existed.
(imogen)
Several hours after leaving James on the sidewalk, she drives down similar streets, heading in the opposite direction, trying to make it vaguely toward home. Imagine the blink of her eyes as the headlights catch James holding the child as she rounds the corner.Odd enough that he's still wandering around. Odder still that he appears to have picked up offspring in the last few hours.
(james)
.............something inside him breaks.........
the bird-bone arm is nothing more than a stick across boxer-wrapped palm
fingers slowly closing around the wound
(as if you could make all past sins fade away)
very..... very..... softly"What does...... Mr. Kitty look like?"
maybe it's instinct
maybe it's the lack of bloodflow
but his arm sags a little
her buried head settled against his shoulder.....
(not near his throat, he's had enough strange crawly things snuggling next to his throat lately)
those dark eyes lifting to find his packmates across the streetSomething.... isn't right.....
(decker)
As James' dark glance slides across the street - simultaneously, in the exact moment - Decker slides to his feet. Easy, silent, collected, self-contained. Muscles rearrange from sitting to standing in perfect synchrony; he doesn't cross the street, but nor does he sit again.Hell's the matter? - words carried on the Eagle's back.
(rune)Rune responds with a vague grunt of her own - too much time around too many Get, perhaps - and rises from her less than comfortable crouch. She takes a moment to find her center of balance again - the heels are high, sharply pointed, forming a thin, uncertain base for the rest of her frame - and is in the middle of a luxuriant stretch when she hears him hears him.
Dark hair flies and settles around her pale features as she turns sharply. Casting the butt of her cigarette to the ground, crushing the embers beneath her feet, she waits for James' reply.
(dim)
...stop playing with that, it's not a toy..."He looks like Azlan. Azlan was in my story book. Mommy used to read it to me. But Mommy went away."
Her little voice is muffled against his shoulder as she sniffles a little and wipes her nose on his trenchcoat.
"Mr. Kitty said Mommy went to push up the daisies. Where are the daisies, mista?"
(decker)
The two Ahroun across the street are matched and beautiful in their own way: both so confident of themselves, their bodies, lean and powerful and sure. The one is loose-jointed, easeful; the other half-slouches, contemptuous, tight-coiled beneath the facade of laziness.The latter's attention leaves James for a moment, skimming over the silver SUV coming down the street. Hm.
(james)
"Aslan? The Lion? Whatever happened to the Witch and the Wardrobe?"that's who you were down in the sewers with last night, Jamey-boy
even across the street, they can hear the intake of breath is shakey
I'm being watched, she's been bitten....
but he's calm and warm with the little girl
even if she wipes her sniffly nose on his newly! washed! trenhccoat!
sighing"I'm not sure where the dasies are though, kiddo... you gotta name?"
(dim)
...don't pick at it, you'll make it bleed..."Dimmy."
She looks back up at him with one eye, head still buried against his shoulder, a tentative little smile on her cupid-bow lips.
"Who are you mista? Do you know Mr. Kitty? Does he bite you when you're naughty, too?"
(imogen)
The SUV changes it's pace not to run over the two Ahrouns as the cross the street, pulling to park some distance away from Rune's BMW. She can't really think of anything to help, but it doesn't sit well just to.... keep going and go home.Something's up. Even without the knowledge of packmates, she can tell that. The headlights die with the engine, and the SUV is quiet.
(rune)
I told you so would be ungenerous, but it flashes through her mind now even as her body stiffens. And: we weren't made for this.Rune flashes a brief glance at Decker, then continues across the street, heels clattering noisily on the worn asphalt. Dark eyes swim in a mute, careful survey of their surroundings, and the familiar streets seem changed and somehow more dangerous than ever they were before.
Through the looking glass, into the fire.
(dim)
...children are best when they come with a garnish...She plants her teddy bear against his cheek, her bare feet swinging back and forth in the chilly night air. She shivers, being dressed only in flannel pyjamas this cold night, and snuggles in closer.
"This is Mr. Bear."
Her voice trails off into a almost inaudible whisper when she sees Rune and Decker crossing the street and she hides her face in James' dreadlocks, large blue eyes wide and staring.
(james)
"Dimmy, huh? Well... our names rhyme then..... I was called Jimmy when I was your age."her smile is tentative
his is warm
(no matter how much this is killing him inside)"No, I don't think I know Mr. Kitty as you do..... can you tell me where he is so I can meet him? He shouldn't be biting you when you're naughty.... especially if it hurts...."
that Rage is controlled
very
tightly
his grip on it choking
he's getting a good idea of this Mr. Kittyfeathers whisper - Her parents are dead, I've got to take her somehwere.
(decker)
Watched? How? Who? How d'you know? Incredulous. Decker stops halfway off the curb and...sits again.First rule of any combat: watch your back. If all three of them cross the street, who was going to watch the rooftops above them?
Decker's storm-grey eyes flicker across that roofline now, though he isn't so obvious as to start looking behind him, craning his head, all that. He trusted his packmates across his street to see to his six.
Then - Not home. Take her to a fuckin' hospital.
That won't sit well with James, but Decker remembers what happened the last time they took a 'helpless' person home all too well.
(demi)
...if you keep that up, you're going into the closet!..."I'm cold."
She whimpers it against James' hair as she continues to stare at Rune crossing the street. She trembles, although maybe she was just shivering. It's a hard toss up, but either or both could be right with a child this small.
(rune)
Rune remains several feet from James and the girl; she has little experience with children and doesn't want to spook her.New York. Upstate, if you want. That should be far enough away. she adds, on Eagle's wings. Decker's right. Not home.
(imo)
She steps out of the SUV, pressing the door shut with a soft click, her shoulders resting against the curve of the SUVs frame.Outside of the mental conversation, she watches from her own distance, dark eyes flickering toward Decker and Rune, by the curb, and then toward the Gnawer with the child.
(dimy)
...put that down or I'll chop your fingers off...She parts two dreads with little fingers and stares disconcertingly at Rune, lower lip trembling as she looks at the well-dressed woman standing several feet away.
(james)
so does he
something of a glare shoots back across at the seated Modi
I'm not that stupid. Bracelet says Bridgefield Med. I should take her back there but I know he'll just track her again..... but I'm not about to come up for kidnapping charges for turning her in elsewhere. I don't have a choice. I don't have the time it will take to get to upstate. He'll follow me there anyway, so might as well get her someplace safe and warm quickly.
but at her whimper, he sighs
kneeling down
setting her on the ground and shrugging off his trench to wrap her in
he's cold, but he'll live
picking the child bundle back upglancing to Rune
"Common Dimmy.... I'll take you someplace warm."
(decker)
Decker takes an angry step forward from across the street; his voice cracks like a whip, like a thunderbolt in their minds: WHO? Who the fuck is this 'he' who's followin' you? How do you know?Even to the outside observer, his tension and anger are apparent. Dimitria and Imogen don't need a mindlink to pick up on the caged beast aura that hangs over him.
(rune)
Rune flashes the girl a quick smile in an attempt at reassurance, though the expression could well be anything but. It crawls false across her painted lips, and never quiet reaches her dark eyes. Her eyes lid briefly and then rise to James as her hand slips through her hair."Wanna ride in my car, Dimmy?" - what kind of a name is that, anyway? - Rune blinks, head snapping back at the whip-crack thunder of Decker's mindvoice.
(dim)
...come sit on daddy's lap, princess...She wriggles inside the cocoon of the make-shift blanket created by James' trenchcost and her eyes start to droop sleepily as she steadily gets warmer, now that her feet aren't like little icicles. She keeps a firm hold on the teddy bear and lifts the other hand to her mouth, sucking on her thumb. She appears to trust James not to let the monsters get her as she starts to doze. Her pale brows knit toegther and she whimpers, half-asleep, as she picks up Decker's rage radiating into the night air.
(james)
Bastion.
passing Rune, his hand slips into the pocket
pulling out the folded paper
pressing it into her handsbut he just keeps on walking across the street to her car
hell if he knows how far Bridgefield is....(ST)
The piece of paper pressed into Rune's hand is more than a little rumpled, but the image on one side is hard to mistake. It was James in the midst of activity sometime (today?) and it was taken from a distance with a telescopic lens. The words written under the printed photo read "I can see you"(rune)
The paper crackles in Rune's hand as she unfolds and studies it for a moment. Her mouth falls into a distinct, dark frown as a brief view of the image flashes across their mental link to Decker.They should've killed it. They should've killed it when they had the chance.
Heels clatter on the pavement as Rune rouses herself, and trails in James' wake, more alert, if anything, than she was mere moments ago.
(ST)
Maybe it didn't occurr to James when he first looked at the phonto being that he was somewhat distracted by the small child he now cradles, but there are faint lines - one horizontal, one verticle - across the photo, blurred by the printing and rumpling of the paper.Ya know those lines look like thy could have come from... from... hell, a gun scope, maybe?
(decker)
Decker doesn't even have to look at it. Rune sees it, and then the image streaks across his mind. The Modi scowls, watching as they bundled the child into the car.Pack was pack. You can't ditch your pack. But James would be a fool not to sense that Decker's fury over the situation. You and yer damn rats, fumes the Modi into his mind, and then the mindlink snaps off there cleanly for ten, twenty seconds, while Decker scrubs his hands over his head: a tense gesture.
Take her to the hospital. That's it. Decker was damn well ready to give them the box and be done with it. Next time they meet, blood will spill like it should. Shoulda killed it at the start, he thinks to himself, unconsciously echoing Rune. Shoulda spilled its guts across the concrete.
(dimmy)
...didn't you know that monsters are under the bed?...Mommy always said that there were no monsters under the bed. But there are. They mostly come out a night. Mostly.
She wriggles in the cocoon of the bundled trenchcoat and whimpers more, sucking on her thumb with a small frown puckering her forehead with wrinkles. She can feel the rage of the Modi as it oozes off him in deep, dark waves. No child likes it when something is angry around them. Especially that angry.
"No, Mr. Kitty, don't bite me. I'll be good." whimpered softly in her sleep around her thumb. The words were heartbreaking to hear from such a small child.
"I promise."
(james)
he doesn't watch much more than the asphalt beneath his feet
visably wincing at the reprimand
silent as it's broken
and when it opens again
his..... voice... is very soft
I'm a Bone Gnawer. Before I met you, I followed Rat. What. Else. Did you expect me to do.but he knows he blew it
sometimes, Jamey-boy, you just gotta give up what you believe in for the benefit of the bigger picture
sometimes...... Cliath.... you gotta back down.
either way, he's dead silent in the car(decker)
The Z3's a damn two-seater. Just perfect. Not like Decker wanted to ride with something that cringed every time he scowled, anyway. The two citygarou get into the car and he stays where he is, watching them. Part of him wants to thrash the Bone Gnawer for getting them into this. The other part?How could he have known?
Good fuckin' point.Even so, Decker seethes, hands balled at his sides while he watches the Beemer pull away. Then, crossing the street to the silver SUV, he does the expected. He gets a ride from Imogen.
(dimmy)
...children should be seen and not heard...The whimpering turns to keening almost, a gut-wrenching sound for anyone with even a small inkling of empathy to listen to.
"It's hurts, it hurts!" she crumples into a ball in James' arms in the car and shakes like a frightened animal, trying to hide from the big bad word. All this, and she was still sleeping.
(ST)
A rat squeezes itself from a drain along the curb and chitters, looking side to side and then its whiskers whirr maniacally befor eit darts across the asphalt to Decker's boot. Which is fair enough, save that it appeared to have a large, colored sticker plastered to its back.(rune)
Rune settles into the driver's side as James slips into the passenger's seat with the child. Fine - now the child's words slash her conscience like a whip, much as Decker's rage - James' response - the entire situation.She's silent as she settles into the car, and silent as she turns the key in the ignition, silent as the Beemer purrs to sleek life and still damned silent as she puts the car in gear and pulls away. Turning the possibilities over and over in her head like a stone worn smooth by moving water - do they even know she is what she seems to be? The whole world seems flipped over, reversed, turned inside the fuck out as the hunters become the hunted.
(james)
maybe.... just maybe.... he should just give the Gnawer some credit
he wouldn't have gotten into it if it wasn't really important to him
but it doesn' matter nowarms tightening around the keening girl
Shhhhhh"Please drive faster."
still so damned soft
this is killing him(dim)
...you want me to give you something to really cry about?...Her little arms come out from the wrapped up trenchcoat, sleeves pulled back from all the wriggling and tugging, exposing the small puncture marks in her arms again. One has started to seep blood again, staining her skin red and pink in splotches.
"I don' wanna!"
(decker)
And Decker?Crushes the rat underfoot. Stomps on it as hard as he can and snaps its back like a twig, mashes its little internal organs. Good thing James didn't see that.
Fuckin' vermin. He was ready to move back to the fuckin' Pine Barrens for a vacation.
Wiping his foot off on the curb, he scowls at the little sticker-picture on its back. A flicker of the image flashes into his packmates' minds. And that's it. Now he's fucking pissed.
He doesn't go to the SUV after all. He backs into the alley, pulls his switchblade out, snicks the blade open, looks at his reflection. Concentrates.
Think yer the only one that can disappear? Watch this.
Five seconds. He vanishes.
(rune)
Rune drives faster, and though the windshield sends most of the chilly draft over and above them, little sideblasts dances around side, making the cold night that much colder.It's an afterthought, but after a few blocks of this Rune hits a button while they idle a red light in a deserted, and the top whirrs softly as it settles over them. She reaches up to secure, then guns the engine as the light turns green.
So it goes - past the dark empty streets, in the dark, silent car, splashed by the reflected glow of the streetlamps and eerie green of the dashboard. She doesn't dare five miles an hour over the speedlimit, but she pushes that the whole way to the hospital.
(dimmy)
...never play with your food...She wriggles and writhes in James' arms, her little face puckered in response to her sleeping dreams of big, mean nasty monsters chomping on her as an evening snack. Her eyes shoot open, a glassy sky blue staring at James as she wails (no doubt, much to the detriment of their hearing).
"Daddy make him stop!"
(imogen)
The Garou take their directions, and Decker heads toward her, only to be halted by a rat. Watching the vermin be reduced to little more than a pile of bones and flesh, and then the Fenrir walks into an alley way, and does not leave.This. does. not. bode. well.
A moment or two more of staring at the alley way, eyes lifting to encompass the surrounding buildings. A click of locks, and she turns, starting to get into the SUV.
(james)
"Dimmy wake up!"
"Daddy make him stop!"shaking her just enough to pull her out of dreamstate
using the trench sleeve to press over the open wound
stem the bleeding
(keep it off Rune's car)
his ears ringing with the wordsno James, don't go there, just don't think about it
"Dimmy, it's allright, he's stopped, okay?"
he knows he's damning her by bringing her here
but he knows they'll never be able to run far enough or long enough
So why don't you just end her pain now, Jamey-boy, before it starts? Just like you did for another little girl a long time ago.....
once they're at the hospital he almost doesn't wait for the car to completely stop
he's out
he's carrying the little girl into the ER
it's amazing the frenzy of activity when you report you've found a child that was missing
and somewhere in that activity, the namless, faceless, raggedy homeless man slips back out(ST)
A nurse from the ER comes out, looking for James, with a wad of papers in her hands and a confused look on her tired, drawn features. She'd been on a long shift and this was just the icing on the cake."Excuse me, sir? I... uh... need to speak with you a moment."
(james)
he turns a bit
looking back
the nurse's eyes are black and hollow because she's exhausted
his eyes are black and hollow because he's haunted"yea?"
(imogen)
The door shuts behind her, the keys slide into the ingnition. Engine starts as she puts the SUV in gear. Nobody'd spoken out loud, so guessing where they were going (or even if she'd be of any use) was out of the question. Fingers tap lightly for a moment on the steering wheel, before her foot leaves the brake and the SUV starts to roll down the road.(ST)
"Your daughter just needs a few stitches, sir. She'll be fine to take home right after."She offers him the papers in her hand and scratches the side of her neck idly.
"Here are her release forms from earlier this evening."
"I noticed you forgot them when you picked her up."
(rune)
In the ER parking lot, Rune waits. Silently drumming her fingers on the leather steering wheel, she studies the hospital cast in stark relief by the security floodlights.The heat is blasting at her feet, and her warm moist breath fills the car, fogging the windshield. After a moment, she switches the heat to defrost, and watches at the film of condensation is evaporates in several widening concentric circles.
(decker)
On the other side, amongst the strands of a steel-spun web, the Fenrir takes his direwolf form: faster, stronger. Panting, he clambers up the shining steel strands to the rooftops. On this side, only a few of the buildings exist as more than shadows of themselves, but the webs spun from them give him a way to cross from one to the other...if he's careful.He remembers, also, his last encounter with a patternspider. As such, he dodges out of their way, avoiding disrupting the web as much as possible.
At the top of the building, his eyes glaze over and he looks across. In one direction, Imogen. In the other, a shadow...moving away.
Decisions, decisions.
Eagle's voice in the minds of his packmates: Followin' somethin' I saw. Imogen's headin' west on Jefferson.
It's unspoken: keep an eye on her, if you can. Then the direwolf's eyes focus again and, carefully but swiftly, he follows the shadow from across the Gauntlet, periodically stopping to peek.
(james)
he just....looks.... at the woman
it's one of those moments in time when everything freezes
but he can still feel his heart thumping against the cage of ribs that dare keep it within his body
he can still feel the blood rushing through his veins
he can still feel the slow, steady breaths that fill his lungs
his expression........ indescribable"Lady? My daughter died two years ago.... before she was even born. That's some kid my friend and I found on the street. I've never seen her before in my life. I'm sorry, there's been a mistake."
shoulders shift, uncomfortably
before he just turns away
this isn't happening(ST)
The nurse looks completely confused now and taps him on the shoulder."Look, we can't just keep her here now that she's been discharged. I know it'll probably be hard, having to look after the kid again, but you can't just leave her here."
Indeed, all the paper work was in order and if James had bothered to look closely he'd see what looked like a photocopy of a driver's liscense with his photo on it, even if the name was J. Box. According to the computers, this was his mess to deal with.
(imo)
Imogen's heading west on Jefferson. There isn't anywhere to go except back toward the condo. Or to the morgue. Two in the morning. She picks the condo.
(james)
the Ahroun whirls low growl thickening in his throat
he's losing control, and he's losing it fast
get into a staff member's face, it's a Code Gray, security is required by law to remove you from campus, notifying authorities only if you return"Look. Lady. She may have been discharged earlier, but she hasn't been for the stitches, so I can leave her here. Now go check your CPS handbooks on Abandonment. I'm sure there's a foster home that would be more than willing to take her. Get out of my face and go do your job."
he's walking away
and this time he's not stopping(ST)
From inside the ER there is a high pitch wail... "Don't leave me!"(decker)
...and the shadow is headed toward North Jersey. Fine. Casting about for an idea, Decker remembers what Nova had said: spirits like candy. (Candy?) Yeah. Spirit-energy. Gnosis. Whatever.Whodathunk? The little brat was useful. As they leave downtown Jersey City behind, northbound, the occasional Wyldling spirit can be seen foraging for precious Gnosis.
This's gonna be fun. Spinning a bit of his own spirit energy into the Umbral sky, Decker pantomimes, the best he can, the following of the shadowy figure.
Gafflings aren't known for their intelligence, however. Its attention wanders first, and then so does it. Losing sight of it and a little poorer for it, Decker picks up his pace and continues to track himself for another mile, five, ten.
(st)
There is nothing more the nurse can do, it seems. Not without something detrimental happening. She shakes her head and watches James walk away, thinking this was just another case of abadonment. The security starts to arrive.
(james)
he glances to Rune in the car, and stalks right on past
not connecting them
he glances to the security pulling up in their cars
if he is removing himself, they cannot touch him
only watchbless the Frankenweilers for making him read the most menial crap
he's wary
he's ready to explode
but he's leavinghere's hoping Rune will pick him up and not make him walk all the way back to the condo
(dimmy)
(ahem *blush*)...put that down, you never know where it's been...
Small children are notoriously hard to catch when they don't want to be. Being the stature that they are, they can go places and through things that are otherwise obstacles for full adults. There is commotion inside the ER and shortly there after Dimmy is seen burling out of the doors and inbetween both parked and moving ambulances with a horde of people trying to get hold of her.
Slippery little devil, ain't she?
She skitters to a halt in front of Rune's parked car, staring into the glaring lights. She then continues to run, her face looking petrified when her pursuers gain ground on her...
(dimmy)
...honor thy mother and thy father...She trips. She falls. She wails as her hands hit the asphalt hard. She scrambles like a cornered animal as the orderlies catch up and she heads in between parked cars towards the exit, it would seem. Anywhere, but here...
(james)
he looks back, at the commotion
he half expected this
shit
already booking it around a corner
out of her sight
ducking between two bungalowshe was told to take her to the hospital
no matter how much it's breaking his heart
he's leaving her therehe's at full tilt jumping into the car
(decker)
The guy walks for miles. Walks. On foot. It's fuckin' ridiculous. From Jersey City all the way north until the lights of the cities at the north end of the state start lighting up the sky.Decker follows him all the way. A few miles out of the city Decker returns to his Homid shape. The speed wasn't necessary, and with the Weaver's power ebbing, nor was the strength. Still, it didn't make him feel safe, that he was walking in the direction his pack lived. And Imogen.
But as it turns out, the man - and it was Sebastian, after all - ends up at a Bohemian cafe. Sits down and plays chess. Go figure. From across the Gauntlet Decker watched until he finishes the first game. A skillful player, Sebastian, though Decker couldn't rightfully tell except by the look on the face of Sebastian's opponent. Decker spends most the game studying Bastian, not the board, and wonders. A leech? Or no? If so, where were the Wyrmlings that the elders said followed leeches in droves? If no - then what?
Time creeps by. Finally, Decker is ready to leave. Seems like they knew Bastian well enough here, though, which meant he could find him here if he needed to. Decker makes a note of the sign outside the door - and then walks away.
A few miles away, he crosses over again and starts down the side of the highway. When cars pass he puts out his thumb, but let's be realistic here: no one's going to pick up someone like him in the middle of the night.
(dimmy)
...suffer the little children...Not only is she a slippery little devil, she also appears to be a nasty little scrapper too. When one of the orderlies corners her, she goes straight for that place that makes any man cringe when they think about getting a whack on the family jewels. He has the most bizarre expression on his face - comical even - as he falls into a ball and she keeps running like hell hounds were on her heels.
"You'll never take me alive!"
(rune)
"Its. Not. Our. Problem."That's what she says, that's all she says, as she shifts the Beemer smoothly into and pulls out onto the street. It's -
" - Jesus. Joseph, and mother Mary burning at the fuckin' stake - " Not their problem at all, but as the child takes off like a bat out of hell and sprints in front of her rolling car, Rune slams on the breaks sharply and flicks a stinging - hot - glance at James. "Grab her. I know someone who can take her. And if she's not what she seems to be, they can deal with that too."
- still not their fucking problem, but Rune just made it so.
(dimmy)
...pay attention, brat...She pelts for the exit, indeed, and straight into the traffic. She really seemed to need to learn about the whole traffic thing. She hits the ground, covering her head with her arms, just as Rune slams on the breaks to avoid hitting her. When James' exits the car - if he does, that is - all he can see is her bare feet disappearing under the Beemer as she wiggles her way under on her stomach.
(decker)
Still, given what his packmates are going through (what was that kid, a fuckin' imp?), Decker can't complain overmuch. After five or ten miles, he gives up, goes off the road. In the darkness past the reach of the few and far-between highway streetlights, the Modi shifts. The rest of the way back, until the lights of the city made it impossible for him to hide what he is, he runs as a wolf.Follow the highway to the exit, the exit to the main road, the main road to the side. From there, it's a short enough walk home. He's glad enough to see the SUV parked where it should be, the lights on in Imogen's place, but a little puzzled that his packmates were still out when he lets himself into Rune's condo.
He's tired.
(He thinks he's tired.)He's tired and he pours himself a tall glass of OJ, drinking it down in the darkness of the living room. He leaves it parked on the coffee table next to one of the PS2 controllers. He kicks his shoes off and then throws his clothes off as well, making his way to the downstairs shower, flicking on lights as he goes. Afterwards, clean and dressed again, short hair still dripping occasionally at the back, he sits on the couch and stares blankly at the late night news while he waits for his packmates to get back.
After the second rerun of the same headlines, Decker gives up. Grabbing his sweatshirt off the ground where he'd left it, he heads next door to ring the doorbell.
(james)
having not quite gotten his seatbelt on yet
one boot goes up to brace against the fine leather glovebox to keep his skull from smacking into the windsheild
but he doesn't exit the car
just opening the door, leaning out
boxer's fist wrapping around a tiny little anklethe child slid out and picked up
door slammed shut againwith the little girl held tightly in his arms, he stares out the window
this is not our problem
jaw clenched so hard teeth should break
she is not my child.(dimmy)
...suffer not thy sickness...She buries her face in James' shoulder and whispers over and over in his ear.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
He can feel a tentative child's kiss planted on his cheek as he stares out the window.
(imogen)
The useless feeling is like a maggot, slowly eating away at dead flesh. She made it home, turned on a CD, it's music a bare drone beneath the level of her hearing. Opened a file folder, and paid attention to the grisly photos and stark words, painting a picture of death. A pad of paper beside her, slowly fills with scrawled notes as her near unreadably cursive hand writing places thoughts and ideas in order.Some few minutes before Decker rings the door bell, she's stopped, staring at the red glow of the answering machine that still declares 150 messages, looking at it as if staring at it would allow her to learn the messages through osmosis.
The door bell rings, and fingers drag through undone red hair, falling down to press the heels of her palms against her eyes. Pause. She gets up, one hand reaching down to close the file folder, leaving the note pad still open, as she crosses the room.
A glance through the peephole, and the dead bolt is thrown open, and the door slides open, to let him in, "What th'hell happened?" she greets him.
(rune)
The tension in the car is thick enough that one could - if one will forgive the cliché - cut it with a knife, though a machete would be more appropriate. Both Ahrouns are stretched thin - close to the breaking point - by the absurd drama that just played itself out in the ER waiting room, in the parking lot.Given her current state of mind, Rune can likely be forgiven the fleeting wish that she had just run over the damned child and been done with it.
Much like James', Rune jaw is tightly clenched and the grinding of her teeth is audible above the low hum of the heater.
The car leaps into fucking gear, ridiculously responsive to Rune's (unusually) aggressive driving, and soon the Beemer is three, four, five blocks away from the hospital. Soon the Beemer is pulling onto the parkway, speeding north at a furious pace. She slows to a safer pace only when the radar detector beeps frantically, alerting, and they settle into cruising speed: 70 miles per hour.
Road signs flare in the headlights, but Rune avoids every exit. New York: 50 miles.
(james)
there's something that happens when you're at the bottom
when you're kicked, shoved, pushed, harrassed, insulted...
it's a trick that you learn
a safety net you build for yourself
when things get pushed to that point
when you've had to do the things the Gnawer hasyou learn to turn yourself off
and while he holds the little girl close, and safe
a living seatbelt for this wild, wild ride
the Ahroun shuts completely down
he doesn't see the roads they pass
he doesn't hear her thank yous
he doesn't feel the tentative kiss
he doesn't even realize the road they're on is taking him home
.... nothing.(decker)
The door opens on him the way it has a dozen (only?) times before: hands in his pockets, head held at its unconsciously arrogant angle. At her idea of a greeting, which rivaled his own charmers, the edge of his mouth hooks up."Come in first?" He raises his eyebrows, point with a glance at the inside of the condo. After she lets him in, he pushes his shoes off, watches her shut and lock the door, and then leans back against the wall. Speaks.
"Bastian was watchin' me 'n my pack. Took l'il pictures like some sniper paparazzi," he stumbles a bit over the word, "'n glued one on that rat. 'S why I didn't git in the car. Went on the other side 'n followed him a ways. Rune 'n James found some little orphan girl, seems to have got bit by a leech. Probably still down at the hospital."
Finishing his nutshell sum-up of the night's hectic events, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug as though to prove it was done. His grey gaze flicks over her, and he nods up. "You?"
(rune)
New York: 25 miles.The Beemer slides from the parkway just beyond this sign, pulling into a rest area (Sbarro! Burger King! Last gas before NYC!), when the impact occurs - " - the fuck? - " Under other circumstances, she might bother to try to watch her language around a child, but this night has put far too great a strain on the Glasswalker's frayed nerves. The car rolls to a stop in the first parking place beyond the curving exit ramp. Rune flings the door open and stalks out, heels clattering visciously on the pavement.
The first place she looks? The front bumper. If her car is fucked up, she's going to be very pissed off. Fortunate for Dire, he did not leave a dent in the bumper, nor even a scratch on the finish. It's been a long. fucking. night.
(dimmy)
...for everything there is a season...Dimmy clutches to James at the impact and when the car slows to a stop she releases her grip. She leans back in his lap and takes two of his dreads, one in each hand, and stares into his face. She cocks his head to the side and stares deeply into his eyes. Expression drops from her features, leaving it a blank canvas of child features with no emotional backing
(imog)
Come in, first?A faint gesture of her hand, smoothly eloquent in its simplicity. He enters, and the door shuts behind him, the deadbolt clicking shut as she turns to face him, leaning against the cool surface of the door. Short story. She hadn't expected much more. He knows she went to work this morning. Seven in the morning when the pager had gone off. Two hours of sleep. Three in the morning now. That she shows little signs of her sleeplessness is either testimony to her constitution or her acting skills. "Other than when y'saw me? Met up with one o' yer tribesmates. Twitchy bloke." One of her own, too. "Saw Mr. O'Leary one more time."
A faint tilt of her head, watching him from her reclined position against the door, "So it's been decided that th'vampires exist?" Leech... vampire... connections are easy, particularly when you have a penchance for word games.
(dire)
*A grunt as he slams back to earth and rolls though the grass on the shoulder. Another grunt as he looks down at his broken leg. A bit of a snar as the bone snaps back into place on it's own and a grunt as he stands to look over at the motherfucker that hit him* Grrith Fnontth! * he shakes his head and remembers to cuss in english* FUCK!(dimym)
...and a time to every purpose under the sun...She leans in close and whispers something to James and then is out of the car in almost a flash and pelts out of site behind the buildings. Searching for her, you will find, is futile after the first ten minutes doing so.
(("She's better off where she is, Jukebox. I can't fix the pain. That is all yours. But I wish you had been my real daddy. Mr. Kitty said you were nice. He was right." ))
(rune)
The motherfucker that hit him is a tall woman made taller by three inch heels, groomed to within an inch of her life. Black hair spills across her pale features set in such a mask of utter fury that it would - perhaps - leave even Decker taken above. The streetlamps spill over the red shimmer of a camisole visible beneath her short black suede coat. There's a cell phone clenched in her hand, and she's staring back at him like he's the motherfucker who walked in front of her fucking car.Yeah. Bad night.
Bad. Fucking. Night.
(decker)
Seven am is so bleary a memory he isn't quite sure if he dreamt it up. In the rose-grey morning shadows of her bedroom, he seemed to remember her pager going off and the clank of her hand hitting the phone out of instinct. Then she rolled out of bed. He raised himself on his elbows. Go back to sleep, she'd said, and he rolled over and did exactly that. Then it was two pm and the light was coming from the right direction: west.Twelve, seventeen, twenty hours later: she didn't mention a nap. Either she'd neglected to note it or, more likely, neglected to take one. A snort as she mentions the twitchy one, "Dire," and then his eyes flicker to hers. "Yeah?"
He waits for her to elaborate on Mr. O'Leary, apparently.
For the vampire comment, another shrug. "Rune seems sure of it." In most situations, Decker seemed to rank himself under Rune. It's probably wise. He's stronger but she's wiser, and in the end that made all the difference.
(james)
automatically, a hand extends to catch the weight being thrown forward on impact
wrapped palm pressing against the leather dash
oddly..... disturbingly.... calm, he just shifts his weight back
settling once more into the seat
still staring out the window
Rune can take care of herselfthe only thing that gets him to turn is the tug on dreadlocks
eyes normally so warm, such a rich umber are as glazed and blank as the child's
listening to the tiny whisper brushing against his ear
(and something..... breaks)
when she bolts?
he doesn't even move to follow her
he doesn't even close the doornot my problem
not my child
she died two years agoelbows resting on his knees
head resting in his hands
dark eyes slowly closing(james fade out, comatose rest of night)
(dimmy)
And Dimmy's teddy lies by James' feet in the Beemer, left behind and forgotten, staring at the crestfallen Gnawer with beady black souless eyes.Fade to black for Dimmy and Bear...
(rune)
"See that black stuff?" she points the cell phone at the rest area's exit ramp. "It's called a road."See that machine?" and turns the cell phone toward the Beemer. "It's called a car."
"Cars. Drive. On. The. Road. Do I need to call a fucking ambulance or what?" Her eyes snap to the fleeing child, and then back toward James in the passenger's seat before settling back on Dire. She'll deal with her problems one at a time, and she waits - the picture of impatience - for an answer to her query.
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.11.02.02. - taxi cab confessions [imogen][cont'd]
(james)
well.... leather and canvas and stuffing
but it's the same thing
and he has to hold a lot back
but that's where finesse and skill come in
especially when he's using the sticksand he's quietly mulling over something in his mind for half of those blocks
"Imogen?"
another sidelong glance
raggedy man to the professional doctor
now that the streets are emptying of the local interest
and the SUV is just up that a way
he's feeling it out
tentative"How much...... do you know about things that aren't us."
(imogen)
In general, most people rarely use her first name. Decker does. In her human world, it's doctor. Most of his pack, she suspects, doesn't know or care to know her given name. Dire used it, and it bothered her on some deep level. As if by the Garou knowing her name, she was losing a part of it all over again.So as he speaks her name, her eyes flicker toward, silently, before contemplating the possibilities, her shoulders shrugging, "A little? I've overheard stories, but m-- the Fianna are always telling stories; it's impossible to tell what is true and what is folklore. I know a bit 'bout what ..." her hand moves in an eloquent gesture, encompassing that she does not know what word to use, "the wyrm... can throw at us. And that there might be other things beside." Another shrug, the SUV chirping as she disarms the alarm, the interior light flicking on as the locks click open. She starts to enter the driver's side, "Why?"
(james)
he was never told to refer to her as anything different
that's how they met, that's what he'll use until he's corrected
and maybe it's because he's often so low on the Garou totem pole itself, that he doesn't see her as some fineboned bitch fit for breeding and nothing more, he sees her as something of an equal, an intelligent being, that most likely knows more than he does
Franeknweilers be praised...
... he appreciates that, too."Well... it's about the other things besides...."
another worry of teeth over his lower lip
climbing into the passenger side
arranging the sling between his thighs
door solidly closing
reaching for the belt"..... I think I saw one...... or more... of them last night."
dark eyes lift to hers
I just want to hear I'm not crazy before I tell the others about what I saw.
he's heard they existed
he knows the Rat Finks supposedly are in cahoots
but to see one?
up close?
far too personal?if she knows him at all, she can see, deep down.... it scared him
the legends are real, Jamey-boy(imogen)
She half stops, the key half slid into the ignition, and turns to face him as he speaks. He lifts eyes to her, and it's unnatural that she meets his with her own, looking at him for a long moment. Silent, but for a faint thud as long fingers of her left hand tap against the steering wheel.Silence.
Silence. Silence.She reaches finally, for the seatbelt, drawing it across her slender form, breaking the eye contact, "What did you see?" she asks, fitting the key the rest of the way into the ignition. For the most part, the unruly red hair has been pulled away at the base of her neck, but being it's usual disagreeable self, curls and corkscrews have obscured her face; these are brushed back from her face with an impatient hand, tucking them behind her ears. "I'm not the best person to tell this," she adds.
(james)
what's funny
some people just can't sit in silence
some people just can't allow another a perfectly clear view into their eyes which just so happen to reveal about everything
some people just can't bear it all, without remorse, or regret, to someone that could conceivably still be considered a "stranger"
some people..... eh?he's not one of them
it's like earth and sky
indescribable blue
deep, dark sienna
makes you wonder just what everything is that's between them over the center console
he doesn't look away until she doessighing a bit to harmonize with the click of the seatbelt
though it ends in a wry chuckle"I know.... and I hope I'm not imposing by doing so."
hey, she's Decker's girl... not his
but just maybe.... maybe.... because of what she does in her job
she has a right to know what else is out there
"Does the name Graf Orlock ring a bell?"(imo)
A shrug of her shoulders as he comments on imposing, "I'm just not sure what I can do t'help." she says simply, as the engine starts, reaching down to push the shift into gear.Graf Orlock... A blink, a sideways glance at him, before turning away to check over her shoulder, and starting to pull out from the side of the road, flicking on the SUVs lights, the sun already set, though it's not even seven thirty. "... Count Dracula...?" after a moment of memory searching. "You saw a vampire?"
(james)
there's a.... small smile to that sideways glance
yes, he understands it sounds crazy
but of course, he's not supposed to exist eitherchin dropping into a nod before those eyes cast themslves out the window
(out! out with ye! run away..... off with ye now!)
sighing slowly"Well.... I saw a bone coffin, opened it up, and this guy straight out of Nosferatu was laying in there, looking like he was about to blow he was so surprised, with a huge wooden stake sticking out of his chest.... then Horatio..."
a pause
".... he's a spider. But Horatio crawled onto what was left of his chest and signaled for me to take the cookie tin type box his guy was holding onto. So I did. But that's beside the point..... what I should be focusing on here is that there was this guy that made Mr. Creepy look like an angel laying.... staked.... in a bone coffin.... somewhere in a deep, dark anteroom of the New Jersey sewer system. I've..... only heard rumors they existed.... but I don't know what else to call that."
there's a bit of a blink
he didn't mean to gush through the past three lights
(imo)
Vampires and werewolves and goblins oh my!She's quiet as he speaks, driving through the lights and avoiding thoughtless jaywalkers. She pulls to a stop at a red light, her left hand tapping out a soft tattoo against the steering wheel. The radio plays softly, barely audible the music drifting at the edge of hearing. Her teeth scrape against her lower lip before speaking, turning her head to look at the Gnawer, "What was in the box?"
(james)
this time his head shakes
with a bit of a frown"I don't know. I haven't opened it yet. I was going to bring it up to the pack when I could. They just haven't been around."
another glance
beautiful redhead
dreary Jersey City streets
and he can't seem to make up his mind whom to look at
Wimbleton has been more decisivecourse, not like he's been all that available himself
but that's the sadness that haunts his eyes, not the confusion he's sharing with her"All I know about it is Bastion warned me not to open it without him there - both he and Romani were very interested in it."
(imo)
"Shit, those guys give me the fuckin' creeps," she declares, uncharacteristically vocal opinion. Though, admittedly Bastian had showed up at her motel room. And followed her. She pauses for a moment, her fingers tapping against the steering wheel again, driving through the intersection as the light changes.Beautiful, with pale skin, vibrant red hair. Pure breed that sings through her veins. She is perhaps the worst choice of any kinfolk to try and hide beneath the radar of the Garou Nation. Her eyes on the road, she speaks to him, raising one hand to raise a finger at each point she ticks off. "Two guys who appear to know about you," it's not us. "and your 'condition' insist on going for the ride." Point one. "Into the sewers, where someone's in a coffin." Point two. "Not only is he in a coffin, but he has a stake through his heart," point three. "And a spider tells you to take a tin box," Point three. "Which creepy guy number one tells you not to open unless he's there." Point four. Four fingers raised, "That's about it, right?" She glances sideways at him, stopping at a stop sign, and turning right.
Whether he answers or not, "I'll tell you what. Whether they're vampires or not, if they exist or not, I guarantee you, those blokes aren't human." She doesn't trust them, either, her tone says. A sudden crook of a half smile, a twitch of the mouth, ironic in mirth, "In my inexperienced opinion, anyway."
(james)
dreads tied back in the bandana drag against the seat in the slow nod
chin jerking in sharp acquiescence to each point"Other than the part about Horatio being Bastion's "little friend" and crawling through an endless tunnel only small enough to fit through all shaggy which had me in a tight squeeze before I could get out of sight enough to shift then... then.... kneeling in a pool of Gaia knows what while I picked a lock in order to get through to the room the coffin guy was in, with Horatio the Spider Who Can Carry Away Small Pigs And Children sitting. on. my. head. Yes. That about sums my evening up. Certainly explains why I'm so clean today."
a hand runs over his jaw, cheek, brow, slipping to pull the gray bandana off
fabric patches of his sleeve rustling against the leather covering the shaped, impact-resistant door
fingers scratching through dreads that still smell like Rune's shampoo
he can't help the soft smile to the mirthful irony in her words"That's about the conclusion I came to, Doctor, in my lack of experience what-so-ever."
the grin grows a bit
tentatively playful
perhaps even attempting a joke with the eye-peeling one"I'm just glad to hear it from someone else....."
partially because he has no idea just how much trouble he's going to be in after this
from his pack
or from those other beings(imo)
And lord almighty, she has a sense of humour. A smirk touches her lips, not quite a smile, because mostly she doesn't do that all that often. "All in all, this experience should teach you not to go wandering around in sewers with dead bodies in them. S'my job." The smile is little more than a twitch, but yes, it is there.Another red light, and the SUV's brakes creak as she pulls it to a short stop to meet it and not break the law. A few heart beats of silence. "Do you trust Bastian and his dear friend?"
(james)
well, she better not smile too much, else her ice shell shall crack
but he sees it, just that little bit that's there
it gets that familiar grin back on his face again"Duly noted, Madame Doctor, I think there will be no further instances of my crawling around in rusty sewage pipes with only a man-eating spider for a guide."
he said nothing about whether or not he'd go back with his pack
there is a body of a vampire down there, just laying, waiting
that is a wealth of knowledge.... potentiallybut the brakes on that train of thought screech to a halt along with the brakes on the SUV
deep breath seemingly giving his mind the energy to weedle that little question out"I don't trust Romani at all. That's why I planted evidence to make it look like he stole the box."
James? You flat out held a conversation with the spider and corpse.
"I......"
brows lifting at this sudden realization
"........ I don't know what to think about Bastian."
(imo)
She pauses, eyes down swept, watching a passerby walk near the car. Watch them walk away. After a moment, she finally speaks, eyes turning back to the red light before them."I don't trust either o'em. Something isn't right," she says without giving substance to her suspicions.
(james)
"What isn't?"that's right, ladies and gentlemen
that would be a Garou valueing her opinion for the second time tonight
(though if she thanks him for anything all bets are off as he'll be too perplexed for anything)
deep earthen brown lifts to seek the dark horizon blue gaze
(imo)
She wouldn't thank him for it (she has a pride that tells her she should not thank someone for being treated as an equal... even if that pride is not enough to expect to be treated as one) so the somewhat bizarre out-of-character(?) conversation continues. It's something of a character trait that while she won't volunteer, if asked she answers honestly."He knows about you." Not us. "Obviously. And he, for some bizarre reason, wants to help." the light turns, and the car starts forward again, "But... If he was on your side, why would he play the games? Why be so secretive and ... give these requirements? I mean, fuck, this has to help him somehow. And you don't even know if it'll help you."
A slight shrug of her shoulders as she rounds a corner. "Doesn't make sense, is all. I know things aren't always obvious, but it should be more forward than that..."
(james)
there's..... it can only be a wry chuckle
a soft, sad, ironically painful poetic chuckle"I know a part of why he's so willingly helping me is that he couldn't.... or wouldn't.... go where I did. That part of the relationship I can understand. It's an equal give and take, each doing a part of the means to justify the ends. But the question is what are those ends...."
how much of it are your packmates going to take out of your hide
".... I don't know if it will help me, which is why I need to talk to Decker and the others. If he is what I think he is, he has as much reason to hide it as I do."
not we, I.
fingers scratch through the far too glamourously for his taste scented dreadlocks
sighing
what am I gonna do?"I dunno who I'm helping more by finding this out....... but I can't let this fall to the wayside. Not when it's destroying the little ones....."
(imo)
Little ones? A quirk of an eyebrow as she glances sideways at him a vague look of query. "... the rats?"The SUV pulls up to the motel, with it's studio nearby. "Are the ends goin' to justify the means?"
(james)
there's a blink at the query"Oh.... yea. Sorry."
a bit of a smile
suddenly real distracted, isn't he
and another breath to stimulate that deep thought
give her those real meaningful answers
or something like that"It will be to me. It will be to my tribe. It will be to what I believe in. The others? I don't know. Which is why I have to be very careful how much I risk them."
a bit of a smile
and the Ahroun reaches for the door to let himself out onto the street"Thanks for the ride, Imogen."
(imogen)
"See y'around." He leaves the SUV, and the SUV pulls away. She was already late on where she needed to be.[cont'd]
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.11.02.02. - out for a walk [imogen-dire-lexi][jersey city]
(james)
so you take one Gnawer
damn well fed up with the crap he was put through the wringer with last night
not to mention the buildup over the past weekLazarus, Missy, Mr. Creepy, Mr. Romani.... Horatio... the rotting leech
sometimes
you just have to take a walk
a long walk
so that's what he's taking
that.... walkstrides devouring concrete in a way that crosses cities in a night
the primitive urbanized beneath the steel and concrete towers
he's at home here
no matter how strange it is(imogen)
Her mouth tightens slightly as she reaches up with one hand removing the badge of her office, and deliberately wrapping the string around the binding. As she places the badge into her pocket, she looks away for a moment, glancing down the street, before back again, But then you'd know that, Imogen, he says. "I don't know about tha'. But, if that is what y'wanna think," a dismissive roll of her shoulders, the fabric of the rain slicker creaking and whispering softly as the folds rub together.(dire)
You must deal with death alot. Does it ever weigh on you?
*He tilts his head back the other way. And then whips his eyes around to watch a jogger. The hunter in him almost giving chase before the logic of his garou mind stops him. Sniff sniff ad the eyes go back to her*(james)
the jogger mostly ignored as it moves around a corner, past him and around yet another corner
he's actually ignoring quite a lot of things
fairly wrapped up in his thoughtsstrange indeed
but the flashing lights and caution tape around this next corner sort've gets his attention
huh. 'nother crime scene. wonder if Imo.....
well, I'll be.
and the tall Gnawer shifts to angle across the street(imo)
Her head turns to follow the path of the jogger, watching until the slightly over weight gentleman disappears around a corner. "You deal death a lot," she reples, not quite a retort, but a banter. Twisting his words back on him, "Does it ever weigh on you?"(dire)
Not at all. * he smiles softly* One does what one has to do. Then one does the next thing one has to do. * he scraches a forarm and looks around himself again and cautiously up at a street light eyeing it suspishiously before looking back to her* You are of the blood.. whos?(imo)
Where there's death, it seems that more often, she'll be there. there must be other medical examiners in the city, but it's her face that the police have become the most familiar with. New blood takes the most tedious jobs. Perhaps its the fact she's female that makes it much worse for her than most.She hesitates at his question. While the red haired woman is difficult to read to begin with, especially for his feral mind, but after all, it must be a question that she knows the answer to. The hesitation is enough, however, as it gives a chance for her to catch sight of James as he crosses the street. The answer is foregone in favour of a tilt of dark eyes as she watches the ratty Gnawer angle across the street toward them.
(dire)
*his eyes slide around and seem to track Imo's over to James and he blinks slowly*(james)
all for naught, he still wears the easy smile
dreadlocks tucked back beneath a bandana
tattered trenchcoat washed and scrubbed and all but bleached to get the smell of sewage out
even his clothes seem strangely...... cleanyou are never. ever. doing that again, James.
grin widening a bit
"Evenin' Imogen..... and.... Dire, right?"
(imo)
Dark eyes flicker to the gnawer as he speaks, "How are ye?" she asks in a tone of not actually asking a question, so much as offering a greeting, as indescribable blue eyes drop down over his clean clothes and squeaky clean apparel. "Y'had that much fun with dear friend," something about the way her voice lilts implies sarcasm, "Bastian, didje?"(dire)
*He sniffs James a little from where hs stands, bringing both paws... HANDS.. they call them hands, up to wipe his nose and then drops the right one and theleft one gently scraches the tattoo over his left brow, that is in the shape of the Get glyph.
Today he's in a black WARCRAFT III teeshrt with a beautiful Night elf on the back, black fatigue pants and combat boots. Over one shoulder there is an old over full alice pack. He nods* Don't think I caught your name the other night?(james)
there's soft laughter
glancing down
he knows she's never seen him this clean
he's rather amused by it, too (now, anyways)"Hooo yea, tons of fun. We had a delightful little romp in the muck."
the spirits. must still. be laughing.
and he still can't smell anything other than that rusting tunnel
turning to the Get with those dark, dark eyes
without the layers of mud and street grime on his trench, it's amazing to notice the patchworking woven into it
especially the sheer amount of glyphs
that big one. right there? that would be Bone Gnawer"You didn't. James."
one hand bandaged in rags like a boxer's extending to shake
"How's your leg?"
(dire)
*he nods slowly and shakes the hand. One silvery blond brow rising.* It's fine. Was just a scrach. Healed in 3 days o so. How's your Alpha's head? * he seems partialy amused*(imo)
A faint snort, at least marginally amused, "Better you than me," she mutters, having had her share of unpleasant wadings. She has taken a half step away from the conversation, as her hands lightly pat her jean pockets, trying to recall where her lastest package of cigarettes were kept.Her eyes flicker toward Dire, running down his leg. Finding no source of injury she looks away again, at some spot down the street.
(lexi)
Another night in the stupid city. Another night she hasnt found Daniel, another night she is not home.
Great...just splendid, the tall blond amazon-type girl certainly doesnt seem all that thrilled to be here...another night.
Jeans cover long legs, a black t-shirt with the words
*who me?* on the front in bright red. Another night, the girl is stuck here...She walks up the street, and spots a familiar face. Almost instantly she recalls the *good cop bad cop* game they played with the dunken bum, and it makes her lips turn into a smirk...heading that direction. Towards Imogen...and others(james)
a brow almost lifts
Decker? Alpha?
oh that's rich"His head is fine, I'll let him know you asked."
the look on Erik's face should also be priceless
(dire)
*He nods with a grin* I didn't think there was much there ta hurt. * he sniffs and agan wipes his nose. Frosty blue eyes flickerig around to take in Lexi's approach. The dark black tattoo in the get glyph over his left eye standing out on his skin. He looks back to Imo as she seems to scrach fleas.*(imo)
A small crumpled package of cigarettes are found, and she taps one out, striding away from the conversing garou. Speaking of humans and the poisons they put into their bodies......Flare...
as the lighter spouts a small flame, placing the flame to the tip. Inhale. A glance at Lexi as she approaches, raising a half hand at the kinfolk in greeting. Exhale, grey smoke caught by the faintest of breezes, sending it away from the two Garou. She'd moved for a reason.
(dire)
*he blinks a bit perplexed by her actions and tilts his head watching her. He looks back to James* You smell funny. What muck were you wading though?(lexi)
Slippin into the 'group' but closer to where Imogen stands she pulls out a cancer stick of her own, lighting it up and putting the blue bic lighter back in her pocket..."sup" she smirks over at Imogen and then stays quiet(dire)
*He watches as the other female does the same and blinks slowly and reaches up to scrach his tatto in contemplation*
(james)
chuckles"You know.... I've found several seem to share that opinion about Decker."
he hasn't still cleared up the lines between who's Alpha and who's not
rather enjoying the play on words going on
he's not lying by any means
and if Dire thinks enough of Decker to regard him as Alpha
the Gnawer isn't about to argue
lends strength to his packmate, and his true Alpha, should Erik's path ever cross Dires
(and with his luck, he's sure it will)a bit of a smile for Imogen's consideration
even if he wouldn't have been able to smell the smoke anyway"Remember the creepy guy I was supposed to meet? He decided we needed to take a romp in the sewers."
apparently he hasn't scrubbed enough.
(dire)
*He listens and looks back to james and gestures to the ladies smoking and raises his brows, even his hair seems to elevate a half inch in the unspoken question.He'd assumed Decker was the Alpha because he'd beent he one talking mostly and had attacked. Not an inslut to James, or rather not a purposeful one. He'd just seemed subserviant that evening. Those that arn't born human give more creddance to actions than words at times.
He nods to the creepy guy thing.* You get him? * he looks around himself and snarls a little at a basserby that got a touch too close. Sending the man scurrying for a few steps before looking back to James*
(imogen)
She's apparently being paying attention to the conversation, even half way. Because as the connection made between Decker's head, and what's in it, and several people sharing the same opinion results in an amused smirk, a faint sound of a near chuckle in her throat. The cigarette is slipped between her fingers, inhaling slowly as she nods her head acknowledging Lexi.A few buildings down, a crime scene is taped off with yellow caution tape, and a police car in front of it. Her dark eyes flicker toward it, as a man walks out, wearing a suit several decades too old. A pause as Imogen watches him, step out, speak with someone and disappear back inside again. Her free hand reaches down pulling a pager clipped to her waist, peering at the LED for a moment before replacing it.
(lexi)
She glances to the 2 guys talking, then back to Imogen as she checks her pager.
Bored...again
funny how this city did that to ya. She pulls more smoke from the cig and exhales with a big cloud....and a sigh..
Bored...(james)
there's that grin again"Smoking. It's a pleasure habit."
Dire's perplextion, or need for an explanation, doesn't seem to phase him one bit
it's all taken in stride
just like that Alpha remark
he's on the lower end of the pack's totem pole, allright
so takes no offense to the perceived subservience
while Urrah and born on two legs, his education is strong
the Frankenweilers made sure he understood it by instinct, and by the books"Sort've. Our business isn't finished yet, so I can't be too decisive with my actions."
not to mention
he has no clue what he's up against
so wasn't about to start a rumble on his own
and with that box.... it still seems like Mr. Creepy will be useful(dire)
*He grunts and nods looking at the women still a bit baffeled.*Looks painful.
*he snorts a bit and looks around and back to James* You need help? indecisiveness can be costly.
(imo)
Smoking. A pleasure habit. Musty smoke is blown past her lips, glancing at the boys as they speak, smirking faintly, as she taps ash toward the ground. A sideways glance at the obviously bored Fenrir kinfolk.Fenrir are coming out through the woodwork, lately. "Find yer boy yet?"
(lexi)
She shakes her head.."nope...doesnt look too good" she shrugs..."he could very well be dead" she shrugs.."or worse fallen" she sighs.."not much i could do about it anyways...but im still looking"
She glances to the boys again and then to Imogen..."I dont give up too quickly though, guess thats a good thing" she smirks a bit..."whos that?" she nods her head at the new guy(imo)
She nods slightly, making a half mental note to begin her own checking, through her own routes. The legal world would most certainly have heard of Danny, had he died; or been any trouble.A jerk of her head toward Dire, slipping the cigarette back between her lips, speaking around the filter, "One of your tribemates. Says 'is name's Dire."
(james)
there's a bit of a nod"Never picked up the habit, myself. And I need to go over some stuff with the boys first, but once we have a plan, we'll count you in."
there's a bit of a wry smirk
he knows all about indecision
though the fallen remark sorta gets his entire attention
pointedly looking over at Imogen and the new girl(dire)
*he perks at the fallen comment and his head turns to Lexi. At her inquiry he nods to her* Dire.
* The new guy is in combat boots, black fatigue pants, a black warcraftIII shirt with a beautiful night elf on the back. A overstuffd alice pack on his shoulder. He's tall and that sort of wiry musseled kind of guy. Platinum blond hair, a normal face exvept for the Get glyph over the left brow.*(lexi*
Ahhh she nods her head in the direction of Dire..."names Lexi" she murmers(dire)
*He nods and takes a step twords her and bends at the hips sniffin her hair and then straightening up a bit exiting her space* Dire Warning. * he nods* Your of the blood? * Yep he listens.*(imo)
The Garou's attention suddenly on them both, her head turns, looking at the Gnawer rather than the Fenrir, "She's lookin' for her cousin," she says evenly in Isle tones, not bothering to elabourate further.(dire)
*He nods to James. The Gnawers were always good for Information. A decent tribe to have at your flank, even if they smell funny from time to time. The get have always needed spear carriers and such.* Alot of that sort of thing going around.(james)
oh great
another meeting of like minds
wonder if this is going to go over as well as the meeting of Dire and Deckerthe tall Gnawer doesn't do much more than watch, now
he's used to being set aside
a dark glance to Imogen
wanting to question something,but he won't interrupt(imo)
Her dark eyes narrow silently as the Fenrir invades Lexi's space, glancing sideways at James. The questioning glance is caught, and tossed back, but likewise, she won't interrupt. Equally, stepping half out of the conversation, and becoming a bystander.(james)
while Dire has been accepted, he isn't Pack
and Lexi is an absolute strangerit's amazing how easily a tall, dreadlocked, patchwork coat wearing man can ease out of your attention
melting a little further back from the conversation
letting Imogen fade with him
waiting until they're, well, several feet awayhe's still paying attention to the two tribesmaes
just seeming to be giving them their space"How's things been?"
real quiet like
he didn't spend countless nights in the motel room with her just to forget what it was that was out there that he was guarding her from on those said nights
she may be able to peel paint with a look
but she's still in his Circle(dire)
*he blinks at Lexi and tilts his head at her silene. Turning he's noted that the Gnawer and the other kin have pulled away a bit. Perhaps they are mates. They seemed to know each other and are speaking all quiet like. he can hear them but he's got a bit of a head ake from all the noise in this damn place.*(imo)
Her hands are shoved into her pocket as she likewise steps from the conversation, attention still spared toward it, but she has no part in it. Much of her interaction with the Garou world is like that. Sitting in a motel room, while two Garou discuss the plans of war. Sitting in the motel room, while one Modi tells an Ahroun where he is going, and that the kinfolk is not to know. And she sits on the bed and smokes.Able to peel paint with a look, and with a mouth to twist words around into your face, she isn't a wall flower. But like James, she easily steps away until they're several feet away. Her attention shifts sharply as he asks after her well being, mildly startled. "Quiet," a faint twitch of a smile lurking in the corner of one mouth. "The hell if I can tell if I'm where I should be."
(dire)
*his eyes dart over to the sewer grate and his brows knit and he growls softly bristeling*(james)
he can't help the slight grin at her sudden focus directly on him
didn't expect that one, didja
and maybe he'll just never explain why he is concerned
but either way he nods
slow. easy. that's cool."Yea.... join the club."
well
he KNOWS he shuldn't have been where he was last night
(dire)
*He watches the sewer grate intently now. Turning to face it he blinks as cars drive inbetween he and it and shakes hishead* Damn goblins....(imo)
Dire watches the sewer grate intently. Imogen's attention flicks to him eyes narrowing slightly as he starts to talk about goblins.A half breath of amusement, a faint exhalation that, could, perhaps, in another person, been a chuckle. Knowing where you shouldn't be, is different than knowing where you should be. She knows perfectly that she shouldn't be where she was. "Who's president?" she inquires absently, watching the feral act rather ... feral.... in the middle of a city.
(dire
*He blinks and looks over at Imo his brows rising* Don't know. Don't really care either. WHy? he sending them? I wouldn't put it past the government. * he glares at the next huma that walks by as if it might be their fault he's seeing small foot talk green goblins with pointy ears that bite*(james)
once more
we are visited by either confusion, perplextion, or something somewhere inbetween
an almost chuckle?
from her?
oh..... this should be goodgoblins, eh?
"Not sure yet, elections aren't until next week."
if he lives that long
but he never really thinks about whether or not he'll die tomorrow
it's today that counts(imogen)
Dire answers a question meant for James, asked in a brief showing of the less barbed end of her wit. What's more, he doesn't answer the question sanely.The cigarette is burned to the filter and she tosses it to the ground, the cherry scattering, to be extinguished beneath the grinding heel of her boot. ".... sending who...?" she asks after a moment.
(dire)
*he tilts his head and steps over to them. Evidently he missed something while watching the goblin peeking out of the sewer. He shuts up and listens now*(james)
his head tilts
dreads shifting in their bandana cage"Dire.... who's being sent. The goblins?"
(imo)
When she had heard the feral speak of goblins, she'd dismissed it as half heard. Misunderstood.Everyone knew there was no such thing as goblins. (Everyone knew there was no such thing as werewolves.)
As James speaks of the goblins now, though, an eyebrow arches, as she apparently did not mishear after all. And waits for Dire to answer the question, her weight shifting faintly from one foot to another.
(dire)
I don't know... I thought that's what you said? * he scraches his head* They are sneaky little fuckers I'll tell you what. They crawl around... and most times only I can see um right? Well they sneak up.. and if you arn't careful they'll steal shit.. or bite... The other night in the barrens they were in the trees... Hunting this littl shippified coggie kin or something. I hear them snickering all the time in the shadows... little fuckers.. I'll goosh those sorry bastards given half a chance too.(james)
yes
incredulity abounds
goblins. right.
but it's a moment of thought while browsing the library of his mind
then refocusing on Dire"What did you not give them credit for?"
(dire)
Oh I give them credit for al kinds of shit... it's others that think I'm crazy that piss um off. * he uses the heels of his hands to wipe his eyes hard* Sadistic little shitlickers... You gotta keep an eye on um.(imogen)
Keep an eye on goblins you couldn't see.Goblins.
Hands steal into her jean pockets as she listens to the conversation, having stepped outside of it for now.
(james)
"Well.... normally...."it is established fact that nothing is normal around him anymore
nothing.
need he even review last night's turns of events(crawling through a tiny tunnel in a sewer!! in lupus!! with a huge. fucking. spider!! clinging to his head.... and we're not even going into the leftovers of Dracula!! that looked entirely too surprised to see him just popping the lid right of that coffin!!)
"..... they attack like that when you haven't given them credit for something they did for you, rather than against you. Or maybe that was gremlins."
the tall Gnawer stops
sucking to chew on bottom lip in thought"I don't think you're crazy, Dire, you just need help."
(dire)
*He growls just a touch. He's heard that one before.* Short Stuff said that was brownies. These are just mean sadistic little shits that delight in tormiting me because I'm one of the few that can SEE them. * he nods and snorts. Looks up at the sky.* Sel... I should go.(imo)
She rocks her weight back onto her heels as James speaks, dark eyes downswept, staring at Dire through coppery lashes. Her features are easily unreadable. There's no way to tell if she believes in the goblins, or if she thinks he's slowly losing his mind. She watches, the conversation washing over and around her.
(jame)
Short Stuff?
Oh.... must be Nova.
there's a bit of a nod to that, though"I can dig it.
it's obvious he didn't mean the help line as an insult
"How can we reach you if we need you?"
(dire)
I'm in the woods. Chewie and Short stuff and I are thinking of packin' up. Short is still limping a bit but just give a howl. * he nods and turns to the buss stop. squints and reads the sign for times and looks around. His hand lashing out to grab the arm of a business man passing my he looks at the mans watch and nods. The business man all but has a stroke and scurries away from what he assumes is a demented mugger. The buss comes a few seconds later and Dire hops on.*(imogen)
"... one day, the guy's gonna put a gun to his head..." she murmers to herself as Dire freaks out a business man, her right hand absently rubbing her left arm watching until the bus departs, glancing sideways the Gnawer. "I'm going. Need a lift somewhere?" A sideways glance at the Gnawer. If she's doing it to be polite, it's hard to say. If she's doing it because she's a kinfolk and he's a Garou, it would not be surprising.
(james)
Chewie must be the blond that looked all too familiar
hmmm..
wonder what their names will end up being
but howls work, he knows of sounds that carry even farther
so all's goodwell, the gun remark especially gets a chuckle
a sidelong glance revealing a bit of surprise on his part, now
"Know a studio nearby that doesn't mind strangers?"
last place he knew of was by the old m_tel
and that's a bit of a walk still
(imogen)
He surprised her. She surprised him. Like him, she isn't likely to say why she bothers. An eyebrow lifts slightly at the question, features clouding for a moment in thought, "By the motel, I think. I don't know anything closer."A hand reaching into her pocket, a jangle of keys as she slips a finger through the ring, pulling them from the pocket as she glances at him, half turning to face him, "If y'don't know anything closer, and that's where you want t'go..." the sentence is completed in meaning. She'll drive him there.
(james)
dreads shift over his shoulders in a nod"That's the only one I know of, so far. I haven't found anything near here yet... they don't mind me using the bags long as I don't break them."
a quick dig of bandaged hands into his pocket
pulling out crumpled bills
flattening them to count
five.... seven... eight.... ten
he's got enough to hang there for awhileglancing back up with a soft smile
"I'd appreciate it."
already following her lead
(imo)
"Yeah, they seemed pretty flexible," she notes absently. Though it must be hard for a Garou not to break the bags. Bred to kill, and yet told not to break plastic?Her head nods slightly, acknowledging his off hand thanks, provided without saying the words. "I'm just a few blocks this way," she says, nodding in a direction as she starts to walk.
[cont'd]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMNovember 01, 2002.11.01.02. - sewer rats [bastion-romani] *njb[cont'd from previous scene]
(con't from 10/27 james/decker/erik scene)
(cnp from file)
to Carlos Romani, Sebastian Damien Miller: (james)
something crackles a strange energy as he walks through the alleymouth and follows
sends chills up one's spine, doesn't itbelow, eh?
and a brow lifts
this better be more than simply taking a look in the sewers
he could have figured that out without their pleasent company
course... he's heard stories about things that lurk in city sewers that are far more.... interesting.... than the ratshe's not bickering about who goes first
he just goes
(into the mouth of....?)Carlos Romani Mon 01:49AM EST He isn't that far behind Sebastian. He picks the manhole cover up with something akin to a grunt. He waits until they are all down below before he follows. He replaces the manhole cover once he has descended.
Decker Rohl Mon 01:48AM EST And, once again bringing up the rear, Decker descends the ladder into the manhole.
(seb)
It's dark down here, even with the fading service lights along the walls in rusting, slime covered brackets. Sebastian either doesn't care or doesn't notice. It's hard to tell, especially in this light. He seems to blend in with the murkiness of the whole situation. First the most part he stays to the edge of the water runway, but a few meters down he crosses over the rank water. Looking down each way of the tunnel there are rat eyes in the distance. Not close. Definately some 20 meters of so back. But they are there.And so are several small eyes, glowing like tiny red orbs.
(carlos)
He trudges down the slime infested tunnel, the opposite direction to what Sebastian takes. The sounds of chittering rats can be heard echoing in the passageway and a gathering of shining black and red eyes can be seen swarming at the ends of the tunnel.(james)
the scents down here don't seem to bother him
(better than that pine-sol, easier on the sinuses anyway)
his bootsteps a faint mimicry of Sebastian's
wrapped hands sliding into his pocketsremembering what was said about no harming or violence
there's one thing a Gnawer is good at
blending in
looking small
keeping out of the way
and that's just what he doeshe's here to follow, and to be shown
so that's what he's going to do
follow, and observenone of this bothering stuff
none of this violence stuff
just..... observedark eyes catch the little red glitters in the tunnel darkness
what have you gotten yourself into, Jamey-boy
without Decker at his back anymore
even beneath the tattered trench - he feels unavoidably cold(seb)
Sebastian, for the most part, doesn't seem to notice the clinging, wet offal and rancid water soaking through his jeans and boots as he walks through the sewer channel to the other pseudo-walk way.He lifts one hand in a gesture to silence all sound and movement coming from them - the intruders. He cocks his head to one side, in an very animalistic fashion, and appears to be listening for something... something that can't be seen.
Yes, James, what have you gotten yourself into.
(carlos)
He seems to reappear from the darkness, like a shadow deatching itself from the walls. He sidles up to Sebastian, speaking softly."Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Bastian, except for that disturbing presense."
(james)
while Sebastian steps into the water to cross
he's thinking of a better way
while he's a gutterball stray mutt to the bone, it doesn't mean he'll intentionally get himself dirty
a few steps back before the Ahroun skips to jump the channel
coattails spreading landing gear in cupped wind before second hand Cochran's scuffslide to a stopand that's when the hand goes up
while the tails swirl around his ankles
the man does little more than breath
dreads swaying as he listens, tooeven if he doesn't know what he's listening for
(never disregard an opportunity to learn, young cub)
glancing, curiously, as Carlos materializes form the darkness(seb)
"I am under that impression to, Mr. Romani."It doesn't sound like a rebuke, merely a reminder to the Italian Mafioso. A faint line knits his brows as he pauses again, seemingly to listen, then shakes his head faintly from side to side.
"It is nothing we can do anything about at this time, I suggest we ignore it for now."
(carlos)
"Whatever you say, Mr. Bastian."He leans down in front of a wide pipe jutting out from the tunnel's stone wall and peers down the dark length. He turns around with a suggestive shrug of the shoulders.
"It seems clear."
(james)
now
there's a look that has been fairly common on the Ahroun's features, latelyconfusion
perplextion
sheer, utter, and total lack of understanding what is going onpick one
he's got it again
just watching, listening, and waiting(seb)
He turns to James and gestures to the pipe."What you seek is down there."
Sewer water trickles out of the pipe, the sound of the water splashing into the running water of the sewer channel sounding so much louder now in the silence. Obviously, looking at Carlos, the Mafioso wouldn't even be able to squeeze into that hole - unless he joined Weight Watchers and lost a goodly amount of his... paunch. Maybe he'd be able to wedge himself in if his arms were detachable. Sebastian, himself, could quite possibly fit. He was of a lithe build. However, if he's known something was down there before, it is obviously he wasn't going to be the one crawling down that length of piping... which left... James.
(james)
"You've got to be kidding me."crouched before the pipe, he looks between the both of them
one well-fed Mafioso
one lithe Mr. Creepy
and one broad shouldered well built taller than the both of them Ahrounconfusion has been replaced with incredulity
that's gonna be a tight fit(seb)
He merely laces his fingers together, hands by his waist, and inclines his head to James with a very faint smile at the corner of his lips."If you would prefer, Mr. Romani can turn around and give you a moment's privacy."
(carlos)
He raises an eyebrow and considers the comment. Privcay? He shrugs and turns away."'Scuse me, ladies." His accent goes thickly Italian.
(james)
"What, you think you'd get your own private show, Bastion?"there's a bit of a chuckle
somewhere deep down he's angry at the set up
the rest of him finds this entertaining
highly entertaining
already shrugging off his trench"Give me something of yours you'd want back. You too, Romani."
(carlos)
He rummages through his pockets and then holds up the keys to the '53 Buick parked upside, without turning around."It's my baby."
(seb)
"Do you truly believe I haven't seen this particular show before, dear Jukebox?"He also appears to be faintly - very faintly - amused. However, from this look of things he has a lot less to potentially lose than James does.
"You could not possible concieve the something of mine that I want back. But a token, perhaps..."
He extends an arm with his hand beside James' shoulder, but not actually touching him.
"Do try not to hurt Horatio."
And a large spider - larger than James' entire hand span, crawls out from the sleeve of Sebastian's long coat and scuttles onto James' shoulder where it perches, tensely alert and poised to possibly strike.
(james)
oh.... hand your keys to a Bone Gnawer, good move, mate
it brings a bit of a chuckle
but boy does that chuckle stop when the enormous venezuelean DEATH spider decides to cuddle up under his dreads (oh. my. god.)
he was made fun of, by his former packmates, for having a spider on top of his head
this? is fucking ridiculousneedless to say the witty comment about collateral and coming back out alive just sorta.... fades....
Horatio.
right."Common then, little buddy."
..... just a three hour tour, right?
keys sliding into a pocket of his BDUs
the trench handed to Bastion for safe keeping
and the Gnawer goes into the tunnel
homid
he's not going to shift infront of them no matter what they say
(oh yea.... tight fit, suck it in, Jamey-boy)
it isn't until he's commando-slither-crawled yards down the tunnel (and out of immediate sight) before bone twists and reshapes down
and it's still a tight fit
but at least he can sort've crawl now and not be quite as paranoid about squishing Horatio against the top of the pipe(ST)
The length of the pipe only extends for about 50 meters before it curves sharply upwards, from where the water is dripping down. The inside of the pipe is a combination of rust and slime. The smell, quite frankly, is putrid and no doubt will cling to the inside of his nostrils for a long time to come.(james)
what he would give for a good draft right about now
he thought the pine-sol stuff out in the Barrens clung
this will have him unable to smell anything else for -days-browpoints lift as Horation decides it's more comfortable on top of his head
the little hairs on all eight legs tickling the sides of his ears
What, better vantage point from up there, kiddo?
the shudder is mooooostly resisted
rough pads on the shaggy, shepardy-wolf slipping somewhat through the slimed rust
but he does the best he can
going up!(ST)
The pipe, as it turns upwards, is only about half a meter high before it curves again back into a straight line of travel... going... god knows where.(carlos)
He turns back around to face Sebastian after James has squeezed into the piping. He leans down and looks down the pipe length again."Five to one he makes it back and doesn't get his ass stuck."
How the fuck did he get in there, anyway?
The whole politeness sham dropped.
(james)
with Horatio comfortably on his head, he's able to brace back against the ceiling of the tunnel to get a little more purchase, though by all means relieved when it straightens out again
so far from the main shaft
even with a night predator's vision.... he can't see diddly
going by feel and sound alone
smell is pretty much canceled outWhat the hell did you get yourself into, Jamey-boy, huh? Remember what happened to Dallas when he went crawling through the airvents on the ship? The Alien got him. You know what's gonna happen to you? Exactly. If the big freakin' deer eating tarantula doesn't inject 500 gallons of venom directly into your brain - the Alien is going to get you. You probably deserve it, too...... stupid cub.
(ST)
The straightened length of piping, a half meter above where the main shaft he entered through, continues for another good 50 meters before taking a sharp right turn and continuing on... still. Although there is a faint echoing sound of water dripping... perhaps it is where the water that trickles past his fur is originating from.(seb)
Sebastian raises an eyebrow at Carlos and takes a look down the pipe opening as well, but by this point James is well out of view. He straightens up again, fingers still laced together."I have faith in the child."
(james)
instinctively, he wants to swivel those velvet ears forward to catch the dripping sound
but that might disturb Horatio
and we wouldn't want to do that now would we
not with those two inch long FANGS just above your eyebrows
the crouching, slinking, crawling walk is making his haunches hurt
but he keeps going(ST)
At the end of the tunnel length that turned sharply to the right there is a T-Section. Choices, choices. Which way does he go now?(carlos)
"This concerned parent doesn't trust 'the child' as far as he can throw him... Mr. Bastian"Sarcasm drips from his words like molasses.
"Fifty-Fifty chance your spider bites him."
"Three to one he eats your spider."
Fill the air with noise, it's better than silence... even if it doesn't get rid of the smell.
(james)
his head tilts
looking first one way
listening.... smelling...... wondering if perhaps this is what female intuation would be used for
then the other way
listening..... smelling what he can..... he's quite aware of the rusting rotting sliming putrid concoction that has coated the insides of his entire olfactory system, now he's looking for something different, something beyond the smell of the tunnel itself
listening for something beyond what's already there
do we swim up river like the spawning salmon
or let ourselves drift down the orinoco flow.....
one brow lifts beneath a single leg of the spiderWhat say ye, Horatio....
(seb)
Sebastian remains silent among the barrage of bet offers, merely raising an eyebrow at the last one.Mr. Creepy just got creepier.
"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Mr. Romani."
(ST)
The sound of dripping down the tunnel branching to the left sounds almost hollow, as if there was a cavernous area near the end. Down the right tunnel, there is merely the sound of water continuing to trickle it path down the putrid piping.Maybe Carlos could place bets on how long it has been since this place has been tended to.
(carlos)
His mouth opened. Then closed. Opened. Closed. Like he was going to say something, but nothing came out.But I really like sarcasm...
"I'm going to check the perimeter again."
(james)
the pinprick ripple of tiny (ha!) feet readjusting and sinking deeper into his fur and against! his! skin!
is not the answer he was looking for
but a cavernous echo is more promising than more tunnel-work
he's a Hood not a Rat Fink
at least he'll be able to stretch even if he's wrongto the left we go
(carlos)
His mouth opened. Then closed. Opened. Closed. Like he was going to say something, but nothing came out.But I really like sarcasm...
"I'm going to check the perimeter again."
(seb)
"You do that, Mr. Romani."A deathly soft tone of voice as he stares, eyes boring into the mafioso until the other man walks away.
(ST)
At the end of the tunnel brancing to the left is a shaft of flickering light pouring through a man sized grate. Also pouring through more rapidly at this point is thicker gushes of putrid, slime riddled water...And was it his imagination or was that a remarkably large turd that just floated past?
(carlos)
He walks down the tunnel in silence.This whole situation is so screwed. Uber-Creepy can probably tear my arms and legs off, but he can't hold a conversation worth shit.
(james)
that's. just. wrong
he ignores what's floating past him
he's feeling dirty even for a Gnawer
though doubtfully anyone will contest his right to a long, hot, steaming shower when he gets back
if he gets backhe takes a moment to arch and stretch his back and legs before moving up to the grate
rearing up to place paws on the wall
if wolves can give withering looks, that would be one right there to feel his belly soak with the rushing water (and whatever's contained therein)
peering throughone lupus Gnawer with a huge spider on his head
this oughta look reeaaal good
(ST)
Past the grate the pipe continues on, but there is a large hole in ceiling of it, where the light streams through. The air is stale, but not much could be worse than what he is currently snuffling around in.And if the spirits could see... they would indeed be chortling their little spirit buttocks off.
(james)
hm.
a glance to the lock
the grate
the lock
rusty
but worth a shotthe Ahroun settles back onto his haunches
making sure he's in the center of the private little chamber of floating horrors
and shifts up
back to that tight fit again, it seems
he can't damn well do this without hands, and he's not about to bust the lock because that would be considered harm, so he's digging through the pockets of BDUs to pull out a keyring, while balancing Horatio on his head, while trying to not shift in the wrong direction to lose balance and go for a complete swim in whatever in holy hell is surrounding him
(would it really make a difference anymore, James?)
spirit candy, eh? good enough name
well he's using it, thinking about that little ol' lock, and rummaging through the keyscommon..... daddy needs a new pair of shoes.......
seriously..... his will never recover from this insult
BINGO!
he's found the key, and it takes some force, but the lock pops and the gate swings open
now, to manage peeking up through that hole without falling back into this swimming pool(carlos)
Eventually he wanders back down the tunnels to Sebastian."So... I heard rumors that New Jersey is missing."
Better to be talking to Mr. Creepy than alone with his own thoughts.
(seb)
"That appears to be the case, yes."He continues to stand by the entrance of the sewer pipe, leaning against the wall like a dark desolate statue of a fallen angel.
(carlos)
Leans down and looks down the dark length of the pipe again. He points down towards the dark."Maybe he's down there."
A pause.
"I give it a hundred to one chance."
(seb)
"It is a possibility."He nods once, watching the mafioso gesturing down the length of pipe that James has been crawling through for some time now.
(carlos)
"I don't hear any screams, yet."Looks vaguely disappointed.
(ST)
From the angle he cranes his neck he can just catch the smell stale air of an area long unused. Dust and dampness. The light continues to flicker randomly, making it difficult to make out exactly what is beyond, but for all intents and purposes... it looks like a room.(seb)
"That is a distinct positive to this endeavor."He cocks his head to the side, listening also, but holds no faith that he would be able to hear anything... other than the death wails of the dying, should it come to that.
(james)
a room, how delightful, a roomthis had better be worth it
or he might as well just stay down here
the Gnawer wriggles his way to, and through, the rusted holereally should've dedicated another shirt, James, that beater was useless the moment you shifted and that rusted metal is sharp
he can feel it skimming over the ashed scars on his back
he can feel the warm trickle of blood welling to snake slowly through the slime covering his skinthis is healthy.
glad you're not some mere mortal, aren't you, Jamey-boy
course, if you were... you woudln't be here, would you....but all comments are kept to himself
quietly slipping into the..... room?(carlos)
"This literally stinks of New Jersey's M.O."He always one to be paranoid, but the idea of New Jersey being near was sending his Aw-Shit-O-Meter off the scale.
"His games alays have had a nasty bent towards us."
(seb)
"His sense of humor is something less than conventional, I agree."He looks over his shoulder, down the length of tunnel stretching beyond him.
"But that doesn't explain the disturbing presence, lest New Jersey has taken it upon himself to eat his way further up the food chain, so the speak."
(ST)
The room, for that was what it was, appeared to be an old, disused maintenance storage area. The pipe from which he had crawled was suspended by bracketing a few feet from the ground and continued through the far wall. Set in a wall is... well, wouldn't you figure... a door. In the direct center of the wall, set up upon a podium of sorts, is a closed coffin made of... well, one would need to peer closer to really tell. But it was off-white and looked faintly porous.(carlos)
I've got him talking. Excellent."I haven't heard of anyone disappearing under suspicious circumstances lately."
(seb)
"Other than New Jersey, I'm assuming you mean."He turns back very slowly to regard the mafioso carefully, before giving a bare shrug of his shoulders.
"My only concern lies in North Jersey, Mr. Romani. I look no further than the immediate threat to my territory. If you say that none have disappeared within Atlantic City, then so be it."
(james)
dark eyes slowly look around
pipe, brackets, dust, coffin, door, cracked concrete, pipe...... coffin?
a brow most certainly lifts, almost laughing
no....
he's caught between a child's curiosity of finding the horror movie may be true
and the adult realization the horror movie just may be true and one really should go back from whence they came(ST)
Other than the sound of rushing water (and god knows what else) through the pipes all around him, there is silence. Just James, Horatio and the coffin... (insert tacky horror music here)(james)
okay
he's still caught
now, what he wanted to find was supposed to be at the end of the tunnel
he has found a coffin
does he necessary need to find out what's in the coffin?
this is the question at handbecause...
a. there's a door, and there may be the answer beyond that, this being a tacky Halloween prop turned distraction
b. we all know what sleeps in coffins, safe to assume that's what it is, and we go home now
c. opening the coffin could mean instant, painful, bloody death, because we all know what sleeps in coffinsand they don't exist
they're just stories told to make us respect the Rat Finks and keep cubs in line
right?
...... right.....?damn this curiosity
damn being a Hood
damn this decision, which we already know is wrong and stupid, that is taking wet boots closer to the COF.FIN.
Hello? James? Did you swallow some of that water back there?(ST)
Upon closer inspection the coffin seems, curiously, to be made out of ... bone. Not one length of bone, but many pieces from many different types of animals, to boot. It also appears to have no immediate locking mechanism of any sort. No bobby traps. It is just there. A strange place for it to be but there nonetheless.Nothing comes jumping out from the shadows when he moves closer. No axe-weilding maniac comes charging through the doors. Nothing explodes.
Horatio does, however, detach itself from his dreadlocks and scurry down what is left of his clothing, across the floor and up on top of the coffin. It appears to be looking, exploring, testing.
It then stops and turns to look (you think) at James and taps a single leg against the bone, as if waiting somewhat impatiently.
(james)
he tries not to come out of his skin feeling Horatio suddenly scurry down his chest and over to the coffin
brow lifting a little again"Oh.... now you've decided to play with the rest of us."
James? You're talking to a spider.
a part of him is glad there are no witnesses
though an Ahroun, he learned humility long ago
but this is still utterly ridiculous
nobody would believe him anyway
well....."I hope you understand I'm your ticket out of here, Horatio, some of that back there is too deep for you to crawl through, and I don't think spiders swim."
at least not huge, hulking, archeopteryx eating spiders
fingers gently (tentatively) touch the bone
running over the many little surfaces
actually fairly..... fascinated.... at the craftsmanship
insert red flag and alarms going off.... here..... that someone would craft something like this, and just how would one going about crafting it, hm???
though he's not about to just rip the top off and yell surprise! to whatever's in there just yet(ST)
In a brief moment of senility, James might actually think that the spider is looking at him with a type of 'so, what are you waiting for?' type look. Save that spiders don't have facial features, per say, and that would be attributing way too much human emotion to a bug, right?He arches his front legs, looking as if he was poised to strike, but just maintains the poise... his stillness eerily similar to Sebastians... in that creepy kinda way.
(james)
insert a lengthy silence hereMr. Creepy
traversing sewers
hidden storeroom
one. bone. coffin.
why wouldn't Horatio be communicating with him?
if he wasn't, that would almost seem..... normal.normal was forgotten back at the motel, somewhere.
fingers scratch back through dreads to pull the damp (ew) strands out of the way
wondering if he should knock first
and isn't there something in the horror movie survival guide that expressly warns against doing something like this?muscle bunches and he opens it anyway
(seb)
"He is taking his time, isn't he?"In a very human gesture he looks at his blank wrist, as if he were wearing a watch and was watching the passage of time.
(ST)
The bone is cool to touch and, oddly enough, James' fingers don't collect dust as he touches the coffin.The lid is surprisingly heavy, but as suspected, it wasn't locked...
But what is inside would no doubt make the fun of crawling thrugh the sewers seem like a day in Disneyland.
(ST)
Eyes, blank and devoid of any sentience, stare up at James, locked into a face contorted into a canvas of shock and, well, surprise. The face, itself, looks only vaguely human. If some people have been hit by the ugly stick, this guy had been beaten with the whole tree. Pustual boils and slimy ulcerated flesh cover the majority of the mans(?) face, disappearing under fetid remains of a 1960's suit. His arms are clenched to his side with his hands adjusted (apparently) so that the hands, coated with the supuration from various crusty abscesses, cling to a small metal box (which looks like it originally was a cookie tin).Besides the grotesque nature of the body in the coffin, which eerily seems to be staring accurately at where James is standing (trick of the light?), the only thing out of place (okay, besides the box) is the fact that a broken off shaft of wood is implanted in the bodies chest.
(james)
he just stares
just. simply. stares.correction
he backs. the fuck. away.
dark eyes locked on the black pools that might be eyes
heart about to jump up out of his chest
he's just as shocked to see the body as it appears to be to see..... whatever.
(you can't tell me you expected to find nothing within?)that's not real
(ST)
Horatio was smart enough to move out of the way while the lid was pried open and unlike James, it is apparently unphased by the... juicy contents of the coffin. It scurries over the body, although apparently picks its target spots carefully considering a few places seem a little more... pliable... squishy... than others.It clambers onto the tin and taps at it with long, hairy legs and apparently is waiting for James to do something other than look like a stunned fish out of water.
(seb)
Sebastian leans down again and peers into the darkness of the piping and sighs softly."I don't particularly wish to explain this to his people if he has managed to get himself stuck."
(seb)
"Was anyone able to assertain where these pipes may come from?"He looks up at Carlos, while examining the opening of the pipe and staring into the darkness. Eerily, his eyes glow red like hot coals.
He looks up, caught of guard, as if he hadn't been paying attention.
"Colin was known to have an auxiliary haven in this vicinity, but we don't have specifics and the rats, obviously, don't like it down here."
(ST)
Horatio waits patiently (or so it seems) on top of the tin clutched between putrid-flesh riddled hands of the descicated corpse.(seb)
"Perhaps we should endeavor to explore that venue of possibility, in case out friend has managed to get himself into something of a... predicament?"Time may be on their hands, patience may be a virtue, but there is going to be a limit - for everyone - how long they are going to stand around in one place in the middle of a sewer tunnel.
Looks thoughtful for a moment. He nods."I'll send a scout."
He then wanders off down the tunnel towards a swarm of beady eyes and the sound of chittering can be heard.
He returns a few minutes later.
"There is no need to send a scout, from what I can figure out just on the outskirts of the deadzone there's been a recent closing off of a tunnel or door. Although, what is recent for them is beyond me."
(james)
it's a few long minutes of silence
then the tapping storms through his senses like a tiny little machine gunoh. yeh.
and while the body may not seem to be in the exact position to reach up and grab him
his approach states he damn well believes it may
stake. heart. vampire. dead. right?
right-o.
even though, when his hands reach for the box
(this is a seriously bad idea, James)
he looks almost apologetic"I'm sorry man. I don't have a choice."
well.....
the reach pauses
and he digs into his BDUs again, and pull out the matchbox and Carlos' keys
the first match is wet
the second match is wet
the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth match are wet
lucky number seven
when it flares, he holds the key against the smooth inner lid of the coffin, soot creating an outline of the key.... fingers wiped through the rusted slime on his pants to scrawl '53 Buick has it beside the negative key, and only then does he reach to retrieve the box and spider, carefully, from the rotting grip"Look, if you get mad for someone taking this box?" a bandaged hand points to the scrawled message "You look these guys up. Don't kill the messenger, hm?"
talking to the spider
now talking to the staked corpse
you're doing real good, Jamey-boy
he wastes NO time in wiggling back into the pipes(seb)
They are about to depart from the scene, when there is the faint echo of someone worming their way through the interir of the pipes. A very faint sound, but it is there nonetheless. Sebastian cocks his head to one side and listening, holding up a hand for Carlos to wait, incase the mafioso took it in his head to just up and leave.(james)
okay
wiggle, close gate, lock gate, shift, BAIL
he just...... he doesn't even think about what remnant slime is on the box when he picks it up with his...... oh god.... mouth...... to ease progress through the tunnels
Horatio clinging very tightly to his scalp
he's using the slippery tunnel floor and gravity to his advantage
making that right hook to get back into the correct tunnel
and he only slows down when he can smell the other two (barely)
the shift popping once more
and it makes the progress those last handful of yards .agonizingly. slow
finally wiggling his way back to the tunnel with Mr. Creepy and the well fed Guidopale, bleeding, shirtless, and filthy
but in one piece
(seb)
Sebastian looks rather impressed by James' reemergence and steps back from the pipe opening to give the taller man room to extricate himself from the slimy opening."Congratulations, Jukebox. I see you have found something in return for your truobles."
He follows Sebastian's suit and steps well away from James.
"So, whaddiya find in there?"
The whole polished, polite facade has gone out the window.
(james)
he looks like he could just hug them he's so happy to be out of that tunnel
and he almost does
out of spite.a brow lifts at Carlos
and this sudden change of behavior"I agreed to share what I found out with Bastion, not. you."
he holds a hand out for his trench
plus it gives Horatio a bridge to walk back to his..... master......
but he still has good grip on that tin(seb)
Sebastian holds out James' trenchcoat and retrieves his beloved Horatio in turn. He glances at Carlos and cocks an eyebrow in what looks like a silent warning of sorts.Great, I just stuck my proverbial foot in my mouth and now Mr. Creepy is cranky.
He nods his head in a polite apology, regaining his composure.
"My pardon, Mr. Bastian. Mr. Jukebox."
"So, dear Jukebox, what was at the end of the tunnel, if there was indeed an end."
He returns his full, darke-eyed attention at James, apparently ignoring Carlos and snubbing his apology in the process.
Carlos dons his quite civility again like armor
(james)
"Horatio was quiet helpful, Bastion. He pointed out for me to open the coffin and look inside. Quite a tasty little fellow was leftover in there. Had this strange thing sticking out of his chest."idly spoken while shrugging the trench back on
when he gets back?
he's stepping into the shower fully clothed
boots and all"He was really surprised to see me."
(seb)
"A coffin? How curious."A lengthy silent pause that allows the sound of running water and the skittering of claws against rock to echo around them.
"Really? Surprised? How strange, indeed."
Carlos just stands there, appearingblissfully unaware of the implications of Jukebox's comments.
Then he looks purposefully at the tin boxSebastian looks at the tin and gestures from James to it.
"If you would like to do the honors, Mr. Jukebox, as you were the one to retrieve the item?"
(james)
there's a thoughtful nod"He was very surprised. Speechless even."
there's a bit of a smile
that's what he found
he's not committed to saying anything about what he did
smoothing out the lines of the tattered trench in idle time
then dark eyes drop to the tin"Oh.. yea... I found this tin, too."
holds it up, whatever vestiges of light happen to be hiding down here bouncing off the tarnished structure in a fashionable twist and turn
see? pretty."Dunno what's in it yet, though. When I find out? I'll come callin'. Goodnight, gentlemen."
you can bet he remembers his way out of the tunnels
he's heading to that shower(seb)
"Jukebox...."This is the first time that James' has probably heard the first traces of annoyance and it is intimidating, even spoken as softly as it was.
(james)
the tall Ganwer turns
filthy, tired, spooked, and sore
a brow lifting in the frame of dreadlocks"Yes, Bastion?"
(carlos)
Carlos steps away from Sebastian. Quite a fair distance actually. He's heard that tone of voice before. The results are never pretty.(seb)
"I do not suggest you open that outside of our presence. New Jersey has been known to have many hidden dangers."James has been a Garou for some years. He knows the tone of voice; the implied warning without being a threat. The implied caution without stateing the obvious. The voice of an elder dominant male.
In those words are depths of many things seen and experiences, many years transversed, at odds with the youth of his face and build.
(carlos)
Carlos has stepped back into the shadows, almost blending in. His hand under his jacket out of reflex.(james)
the Gnawer looks at the other man
ragged, filthy, dripping
holding that warning gaze
chin moving in a thoughtful nod"Fair enough."
glancing down at the box
New Jersey, eh?
then back up to Bastion.... and Carlos cowering in the shadows
a bit of a smirk crosses his lips, just barely, just faintly
he understands well what could come of that tone, but he's not about to hide from it"I will heed the advice. But I'm not going to open a strange box, with two men I hardly know, down in a place where I'm obviously at a disadvantage and outnumbered. I think I've had enough adventure for your benefit for one night, and I would rather not overstay our welcome in these tunnels. Time was of the essence, gentlemen, and I think we've spent enough time down here."
(seb)
"When you in the mood to proceed with our deal..." a distinct reminder of what was agreed upon... "I will find you."And there is something in his tone that says that no matter where James' crawls up to hide, he will indeed find him... one way or another.
He inclines his head politely, a note of farewell to the young Gnawer and turns - coat flaring out around his legs in that almost cliche gothic image - and walks down the tunnel to James and gestures for the mafioso to accomany him.
"Coming, Mr. Bastian."
He removes his hand from under his coat and walks, side by side, down the tunnel with Mr. Creepy.
And the two of them just seem to disappear into the shadows, fading out of sight the further they move away...
(james)
oh, he knows, he remembers
that was why he didn't open the box
(self-preservation played a large part of it, too, of course)
he has to talk some things over with his packmates, first"Goodnight Bastion..... Romani."
for all he knows this could be a puzzle that opens the gateway to hell
and he's not about to solve it without telling them to run, firstPosted by james at 12:00 AM