February 25, 2003.02.25.03. - mysteries and machines [tristan][noje]
(tristan)
Amazingly, he’s in his own apartment tonight, as Diego was working and wanted to get some things together before their shopping trip tomorrow, so our favorite prettyboykin is stretched out on his own couch, hand resting on bare belly, fingers curling absently against skin above denim, the other hand tucked under head against pillow against arm of the couch. Eyes and partial attention is directed toward the flickering of the TV on the cartoon channel. Lashes have lowered, and mere he’s contemplating pulling the bed out - or going up to pry Diego from his jewelry making, forcing him to eat something and dragging him off to bed again… of course, the latter would involve movement and he’s quite comfy right here for the moment. Empty beer bottles litter the coffee table (4 or 5) ashtray has been put to good use, and now he lazily drifts in that hazy almost sleep where you don’t quite dream, but aren’t surprised to find yourself dashing off to solve a Scoobie Doo mystery in the mystery van either…(james)
the Mystery Machine is at it again
turquoise and green and orange zooming down the lane
meddling kids rushing in to save the day
one mask pulled off to reveal the perpetrator
scooby snacks for allapparently, the Ahroun seemed to pick up on this
cause he's quietly knocking on the door
(tv's on, someone must be home)
three-quarters a pizza in the box balancing on one arm
(why eat alone when he was so nearby?)
an eighteen pack of Rolling Rock under the other
(they needed to talk, and beer is safe enough)
and he waits, patientlywondering if he should actually hope the door will open
(even if he has a way in to at least leave the food if he's wrong and the apartment is empty)(tristan)
The knock at the door (jinkies!) pulls lashes up from where they’d fallen completely against cheeks and it’s a moment or two (ragghy? Yeah scoob? Rumrunsratruhroor.. You get it scoob.. ruh-uh!) and he’s blinking a moment before.. “coming!” falls in that sleepy hoarse ‘I wasn’t sleeping’ denial kinda way. Muscles crunch and lean, tall form is pulled to sit, bare feet hitting the floor and a scrub of palms against face and he’s awake again and headed to the door.
Bolt turns and voice teases. “Forget you’re key ag…” trailing off as door opens and he realizes what that tingle at the base of his spine and words fall instead into a soft chuckle - almost embarrassed even. (nah. Not quite.) “Hey James… common in..” Door is pulled open farther and free hand scratches through hair and pulls it back from his face before falling to tuck into pocket of his jeans… eyes light up seeing the pizza box.. “ohhhhhh foooooooooooooood…. And beer… you’re a god, man… a god.”
(james)
"Nah, have my key." Tris... never gave him one, but he keeps getting in the security gate without a problem, doesn't he "Just thought I'd be polite and knock."grinned so easily
especially at that not quite embarrassment
just because that's more than any others would get from the unabashed kin
there's a bright shine in those eyes as he hands the pizza box over
heading for the fridge to deposit the beer
just... happy... to be so well recieved"Felt you might be hungry, was just down the block drumming so thought I'd impose a meal on you."
few seconds later he's returning
four beers in hand: two on table, two opened
flopping into the couch to damn well make himself at home
brow lifting a little in teasing afterthought"You don't mind, do ya?"
there's enough there to feed three
just as leery about "interrupting" as the Kin is(tristan)
Ya know, never did give him a key - but he’d meant too so it wouldn’t really matter, but then again? Gnawers adapt. It’s what they do. So he just flashes a boyish grin and grabs that pizza box and heads toward the couch. He’d told James before he was always welcome, he wouldn’t welsh on that no matter how upset he may be. He’s family after all. And the reason he decided to settle down to begin with.
Mind? Hell, he’s already gotten a piece of cheesy goodness and taken a bite before James flops on the couch, and there’s that grin again around second mouthful.. “nottaall. Diego forgot to feed me today.” Ok, not exactly true as he tends to make sure Diego stops working and eats - but the chuckle is there. “make y’self at home.” As fingers grab for opened beer and washes down mouthful with a content grin.
(jame)
his head shakes, chuckling
taking a swig of half that beer even before reaching for the pizza
(what has Eagle's pack done to you boy?!)
it may conclude that he ate a quarter of it even before leaving the pizza joint
so it's quite as ravenous as the kin
but they're Gnawers, they adapt
and they're also bottomless pits
he's inhaling a full slice before coming up to breath"Gotta teach that boy priorities."
gently chided
from the guy who went for beer before pizza
(PIZZA!!)
he really likes the little Garou
not to mention how happy the Walker makes his Kin
(odd, that.... 'nother Walker/Gnawer pair-up... must be something in Jersey water)"How is he, anyway?"
last time he saw Diego
well, things weren't exactly at their least tense
and he didn't even think to ask on the phone the other night
so the question seems easily falling into place, rather than planted
cause it's that tension that solidified his reasoning to come over here(tristan)
He can’t help the answering chuckle, really, already reaching for a second piece (Diego’s slow eating habits sure haven’t worn off on him in the past month or so..) Washing the first down with more beer, setting it between his legs for easy reach as he leans back and concentrates on that hanging bit of cheese and toppings that seems determined to escape, his grin positively wicked (ah - the dawg we all know and love) “Ain’t complaining about his priorities at all…” A brow arches, that bite taken and eaten and there’s a twist of tension somewhere in the kin too, at the question. He knows how things were the last he left - and he ain’t none too happy about it either.
There’s a moment or two (swig and bite or four) before he finally answers the question. “bit pissed, a lot scared, deciding whether we are going make a stand or run if it comes down to it.” Yeah. There’s that “we” word again… goes right along with those three little words that have the pretty boy kin scared outa his normally rougueishly playful mind.
(james)
a brow lifts, glancing over
eyeing the Kin up and down
oh. so. slyly.
(he can be wicked too)"Think you're losing weight, Tristan, need to replace those calories you're burning off."
and he noticed that "we" word
see, he can get away with that, cause he's pack with his lover
it's always "we" when things go down
and even though Gnawer kinfolk are often considered part of a pack
he's not quiet sure that Tris and Diego have done that
so it must be that little three word phrase
cause he's seen how they look at each other
he remembers how the Kin reacted that night the truth came out, too
so maybe there's some fondness in the tease
everybody needs somebody, and all that"You know I"ll stand behind you if you stay.... probaby the pack, too, if I give them my reasoning. And..." there's a slightly wry chuckle here "... since I've brought you chiminage and placed myself on your couch.... what was it you were wanting to say about that?"
strange how the little gesture ended up
he brought food and beer for Family and smoothing feathers
he placed himself within the other's turf to give the Kin... the KIN.... right of say
setting himself up for a proper tongue-lashing, if it's coming
(and he's sure it is)
so very strange, the behavior of this Ahroun
he knows he did something to offend
and while so many others would make any Kin suck it up and deal
he's here trying to work it out
he may not necessarily admit if he was right or wrong
but he's willing to listen, at the very leastFamily is more important than pride
(tristan)
He finishes the second piece, the first beer, and grins, grabbing a third and second respectively as he nods with soft laughter. “whoda thunk a lil guy like that could have so. Much. Energy..” He wiggles his brows and laughs.. positively wicked, indeed.
Everyone needs someone. It’s been a long time since he has felt like this and then it was pushed off as teenage first crush hormones and most ignored it. But now? He’s older, maybe not wiser, but older, and he’s bloody well scared out. Of. His. Mind. Can’t say it enough. Its evident in that softer smile and shake of head every time that we word is used.
He sobers then, leaning forward to rest elbows on knees - third piece of pizza going down a little slower.. and there’s another bite as he listens, and just, contemplates how to put this - and if blowing up would even do any good. Screaming may make him feel better - but this is family. And family? Is more important then frustration. Of course - if you can’t yell at your family who can you yell at?
There’s a deep breath, and a couple swallows of beer, and gaze locked on the crust in his hand. Honest is the best policy, right? Voice low and tight -fully expecting to get screamed in return, actually.
“In short. You should have come to me. You fucking blindsided me, and in public for christsake, let alone in front of Diego. Your boy Decker had some fucking problem that didn’t allow me to finish my conversation with Rune - which she then shared with you, and you brought it up without talking to me first. I had my reasons - reasons that have since been explained and the talk with Rune completed. I may be Kin, but simple respect should have kept you from balling me in front of him like that. I had my reasons for goin to her, and doing it how I did - for all she knew until you took matters into your own hands - it coulda been anyone in the 30 apartments in this damn complex. I didn’t want to go through you to her, because of your promise. But I didn’t promise not to find out where that fucker was and where he’s headed next. I’ve got contacts, but not walker contacts. Rune does. Any fuckin head start we can get - whether to stand our ground or run is needed. But none of that really matters - what fuckin pissed me off was the fact you balled me in public like that. I wouldn’t have done it to you - wouldn’t have done it to anyone. Was fucking low. And I know damn well how lucky I am Diego saw my reasoning afterwards.”
not so short after all…. And the pain in that last statement says the conversation that followed was not light and playful. Nor were the ones for several days afterwards.(james)
in short
in.... short?
as the kin continues, he can't help but wonder what the long version is
but as he indicated, he listens
to the very. last. word.
he listens silently without interrupting
then when Tristan stops
he takes a moment to digest
(and finish off that beer)"I think.... then.... you can see my reasoning for being upset that you went behind my back to Rune - no matter my promise. Though I understand, now, why you did."
the Kin rambles and rants and borders on yelling
and the Ahroun? stays perfectly calm
his voice is low and easy
most would throat a kin for saying the things Tristan did
but he doesn't, doesn't even look like his hackles are coming up
his head tilts, dreads sliding over shoulders
turning to look, fully, at the other man"I know you wouldn't do that to someone - and I know that I shouldn't either. I can't explain to you why, what for, or any of my reasoning behind reacting - overreacting - the way that I did. I can blame it on Rage but I don't know if that's good enough. I should have gone to you first, and I'm sorry I didn't."
Gaia's great full moon Warrior
.... apologizing.
he doesn't ask to be forgiven
he just wants it known he regrets the actions chosen
(the Garou lives, always so full of regret)"I'll say it to Diego, too."
(tristan)
He can see the reasoning, he knows he would be upset - he didn’t expect Rune to run off and tattle first thing in the morning and have it all blown up before he could finish his conversation. Decker and his goddamn dowry - pay it in big blow up dolls and be done with it… but back to this, and the slight nod.
He doesn’t look up, not quite, not yet. Others would throat their kin for daring to spout as much as he did… but James doesn’t, and wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to know. Tension bleeds from his shoulders, slowly, and hand slides through corkscrew curls, tightening briefly, before falling again, pizza crust finished - because he is Gnawer after all - beer grabbed again as he leans back into the couch once more. “I know. And I would have gone to you had you not made that promise. When I headed for Runes I wasn’t sure what I was going to ask, or what I’d do with the information. To be honest, I’d already calculated how much it would cost to get me to Miami to kill the fucker so we didn’t have to worry about it anymore.” There’s a sight smirk, he knows how foolhardy that would have been.
Finally those dark eyes lift, and meet the Warriors, and for once he doesn’t hide the emotion under playful banter and flirting gaze - there’s naked pain, fear, fury, and love (oohhhh its that four letter freaky word) all tangled up into one confused and frightened kin. “I could have lost him that night. I’m not ready for that. And.. thanks. That means a lot.” The apology does, and goes a very long way toward relaxing the gnawer…
(james)
she didn't tattle, she had just mentioned it
but it's passed, now, and doesn't matter
and an elbow sneaks out to gently nudge the Kin"If we're gonna protect him.... we need to work together."
and his voice softens
he can smell the man's tension and fear
even before those eyes lift again to sink into deep umber
admissions here, that he had made infront of Tristan, before
knowing that four letter word that just isn't said
"I know you're not ready to lose him Not yet. Not ever."how vulnerable that four letter word makes them
how viciously murderous the backlash can be
simply for giving everthing - body, heart, soul
he's not ready to lose Rune
(he's lost before, can he survive it again?)
but that is the Garou way
nothing lasts forever, especially when both are Warriors
(perhaps now he understand what it is the Kinfolk feel for those they love)
it can be seen in the resignation in his eyes
say it now, cause you may never have the chance again
the Ahroun knows that better than he wants to"I'm doing everything I can to keep you from losing him, because I'll fight for what I believe in."
love? honor? justice? Family?
(tristan)
He nods with something of a lopsided grin, barely there but at least it appeared, however briefly. “Been a lot time since there’s been a ‘together’… I still forget.” Voice soft, and sigh softer still. Been a long time since a lot of things, and he just tips that beer back, and drinks deeply, finishing it off and setting the bottle on the coffee table in front of them… nothing lasts forever…
The second time the smile appears, it’s a little fuller then before, a little longer, and so appreciated… he nods, again.. “I know. And I’m sorry I didn’t come to you before hand. Rune knows most, but not all now. She’s agreed to let me know if the pack heads this way - but that’s all. More then I expected, to be honest. She doesn’t like that I’m “coddling” him, but I told her it was none of her fuckin business” grin widens a bit - the walker is drop dead (fuck.me.red) gorgeous - and scares him to death, something he admits freely. “But all I wanted was to buy us that time to make some decisions. Diego knows too - knew before I finished talking to Rune, and said it was alright, a bit grudgingly, but knew I was headed back to buy us that time. And since she knows - it’s the reason for the little shopping trip I’d mentioned. Doing an introduction the official way now, I guess.”
Truth, honor, beauty and love - all things to fight for, and family falls in there somewhere too.
(james)
he can't help the laughter
just imagining Tristan telling Rune to veritably fuck off
not something he would say, honestly
but then again the Kin doesn't have dynamics of pack and rank to follow
at least in the same way James must
the Garou-Kin relationship is far different
and the way Garou and Kin look at things is different
and then the light goes on!
.... aaaah.... Christmas in February"Makes sense, now. Couldn't figure out why the hell you were asking the other night. But it would be appreciated"
course, not much he would have rationalized at the time
Tristan was lucky to get as much as he did during the call
but it also goes to show what becomes ingrained
to him, there is nothing more important than pack"I'd expect he'd fight alongside us." he could not think of running, he will not. back. down., not from Spirals, not from Decker, not even from Erik when the time is right - so most definitely not from a pack of strange, abusive Garou who are nothing more than tainted monsters in his book "I'll teach him to brawl, if he wants."
even if they make the choice to run
that will always come in handy"Do you have a plan, for when the time comes?"
(tristan)
“You didn’t sound much capable of figuring out where the phone was the other night, man. Musta been goooooooood.” Teased, and even a nudge of his friend.. family. He does grin unrepentantly - Rune yelled at him a bit, so he yelled back… he’s not one to keep quite though most days its just his normal banter…. Like this.. “Gotta say in boxers and a tshirt she looked good enough to eat…” oh yes, there’s the wicked grin again, flinching playfully from expected (and deserved) swipe.
He nods. He won’t back down either… and hopefully, by the time comes, Diego will have decided to fight as well. “Hell - teach me to brawl, still have nightmares about that big red glove..” mock shudder, before he sobers again. “No plan yet… getting Diego safely through introductions is first order, after that I’m kinda playing it by ear. I don’t want to push him in either direction… fight or flight, but am hoping that he will gain the packs support as well. Acceptance of his gifts and being allowed to stay here with Eagles blessing will go a long way to boosting his moral I think.. I hope. He’s been running so long he’s forgotten how to stand…”
(james)
"It was." that grin just. spreads. smug. "She was."not just anyone he can do this alleged "guy talk" thing with
so he takes advantage of it, of relaxing
even if he also takes advantage of the ability to swipe
lazy and half-aimed, the back of his hand partially smacks into bicep"I'll teach you both, it's something you should know anyway, regardless if you stay or go, and with me there you won't hold back as if you were teaching each other."
now that things seem to have calmed down a bit
he has the time to make the offer
but there's a nod to the explanation so far
finally grabbing that last beer off the table
then settling back comfortably into the second-hand beat up couch"I may get shit for hiding it, but I"ll handle explaining that to Erik. Do that's right, and traditional, and it'll go a long way with the German. He's a no-nonsense kind of guy, so if you explain why you're needing the protection, he shouldn't disagree. Then whatever Erik says goes, no matter how Decker or anyone else may feel about it. Then we can think of what to do from there on." there's a glance over, breifly, to the Kin "Because if you decide to run, I won't. I'll buy you that time, with or without my pack backing me."
(tristan)
He laughs softly, nodding. Somehow - he thinks good doesn’t begin to describe the sleek Walker (and god help james if he finds out about the trapeze.. there will be no end to the teasing…) And he knows that there aren’t any others that James can tease about it with.. and only whimpers a little at lazy swipe.
There’s a chuckle, and he nods. “Damn straight… or something… I won’t hold back. I owe you one still. I’ll talk to Diego about it.. but expect me for lessons for sure.” They’re still figuring out what they’ll get for each of them, and then at the last, that gaze is met, held a moment, before he nods. “I know.. and that means more then you’ll probably ever know. And if it comes down to it - I’d prefer to stand with you. Just so you know, and all. I’ll fight to my last breath to protect him - though I’d sure prefer sharing it with him for many many years to come.” Or as many as they are allowed to be together. He knows the life of Kin, he knows what it is to have to remain home while the war is fought… having James, and now Diego, has gone a long way to making that bare-able again.
(james)
"Yes you do, and I'll heal a lot faster, so no worries on practicing it."because they both know when the time comes that things go down
it won't be a time for holding back
everything is now or never
nobody ever knows what tomorrow will bring"I know you would. You stepped into the ring with me, I know you've got guts, Tris. Just keep using your brains so you can share those breaths." the Ahroun waxing poetic? "'Cause while I"m fighting, and he's running, someone's gotta watch his back." there's that playful grin again, no matter how serious this conversation may be "Then you two can name your first kid after me, sing tales of my glory, or somesuchshit."
(tristan)
There’s a nod.. and seriousness prevails until that last comment and all out laughter breaks free… and with it flees the rest of the tension that may still have been between them. It all flows away and he relaxes back into that couch and that grin is nothing short of that silly little grin as he nods.. “that’d be quite the trick… though if Dire can get himself a pup - Diego and I can find a way to name something after you. A scruffy black lab or something…”(james)
there's a sideways glance
and that easy, easy grin
seems he's accepted and supporting their relationship, eh?
course, he doesn't have much room to speak
at least as far as the traditional Litany goes
letter by letter, they're better off than him
gesturing absently with the bottle
unable to stop the soft laughter"That would most definitely work. Maybe a cute little shepard... was always partial to those."
musing, absently
that would be because he looks like one in lupus
for some reason just really damned amused at that, too
cause it's just got that good feeling about it
Tris and Diego living a happy life, somewhere, for however breif it may be
enough to actually have a "family" of their own, if strays count
even the goddamned white picket fence
it may not be forever, but they've got the chance
that little bit of bliss before the War comes knockin' again
and he'll do his damndest to see it happen
.... just...... because it's something he will never havehe may have, once
but that's lost to him now
he's adapted and moved on
and wouldn't trade Rune for the world
(or... even Jenna)
though he knocks off the rest of the beer
rising to gather the bottles from the table
those are trashed, and he's returned with another cold one for Tris"Glad you were home."
a soft smile wrapping around those words
glad we shared a meal
glad we had this talk
glad we made amends"Don't forget to drag him down for some of that pizza before it gets too cold." winked, he knows what else will happen, and the pizza probably will be cold by the time they get to it "Night Tris."
Posted by james at 12:00 AMFebruary 23, 2003.02.23.03. - christmas? again? [tristan-diego][noje]
(james)
the phone rings
the phone rings
the phone. keeps. ringing.
sex or seven rings and almost at the point the Kinfolk gives up
(whatever happened to the answering machine?)
there's a fumble in the blind slap towards the bedside table
a half-blind fidget to find the right button
(.... talk)
and the phone is wedged between pillow and ear"'Lo?"
it's sleepy and ragged
apparently they made it past the first landing
though the tub is questionable(tristan)
The boy can’t help but laugh.. low and soft as the phone is finally answered and there’s a wink for Diego.. “morning, sunshine… gotta question for you if I’m not interrupting….” Though the sleepiness of that voice, and the not so late hour says that he’s not exactly interrupting anything but rest… and if there’s any tension in the kin, it’s not brought close enough to the surface to register in voice. It’ll be kept buried deep - this is about Diego. (Though so was the other. Leave the meddling to him, dammit.)(james)
there's a soft laugh in return
long and low and husky and outright. fuckered.
his voice doesn't register much louder, either
fairly obvious there's someone sleeping next to him"If you were interrupting I wouldn't have answered the phone" sluggish, but amused "S'up?"
(tristan)
He laughs softly, and leans back, though fingers still remain wrapped in diego’s comfortably - out in public even… “Good point… kept expecting the machine to pick up. Deigo’s question really, but I agreed to relay. Going on a little shopping spree and need to know who else is pack - Rune Decker Dire you.. and Erik right? Those are all know of…” though that fuckered voice makes him wonder if he can manage that simple an answer…. Let alone the next question. Oh yes - he’s amused… terribly so.(james)
oh, he's quite sure the kin is amused
he can hear it, he can mentally see it, too
half wondering if the kin and Walker timed this
simply for their amusement
allright James, not that hard
you can do this mostly asleep
start from the top"Erik, Rune, Decker, Livingston, Luc, me and Dire."
the shopping spree comment hasn't quite computed, yet
(tristan)
A slight nod - and here we go.. can James manage -this- one mostly asleep… “Erik, Livingston, and Luc.. the others I’ve met but those three, gimme a quick hint of what they are like - or would like?” Shopping spree is hard to accomplish when there’s some one doesn’t know at all.. and Diego wants to make sure no one is missed…(james)
there's a pause
and he actually looks at the phone
seriously looks at the phone
the kin can hear the distant chuckle before it's returned to his ear"What they'd like?" oh, too amused. "Livingston's Bob Marley shaman, Walker... Luc's average German girl crazy teen... Erik..... your guess is as good as mine for what to get him. A good weapon probably wouldn't hurt if you have the right resources. Did somebody decide we needed an instant replay on Christmas and didn't tell me?"
(tristan)
He’s taking notes by this time, pen grabbed from passing waitress and paper napkin held with the elbow of the arm that holds phone to ear until Diego takes mercy on him and holds it in place. He can’t help the smile hearing rich amusement and there’s a slight nod… There’s a thousand ways he could answer that, truly. Well, now that you’ve forced my hand before I could arrange things myself, or just yeah, thanks to you asshole… or, yannow. Yes. Just yes. Instead he grins and chuckles… keeping that shit to himself, he is… “Not exactly - but close. It’s one of those making amend things… and we’ll find the resources. I appreciate the help, James.”(james)
"Amends?"the question gets out probably before he realizes it
not exactly paying the most attention to his manners in the half-dead half-exhausted half-fuckered half-dreaming state
(that's... a lot of halves... James)
but somewhere in dulled mind he knows now probably isn't the best time to discuss it"Anytime, Tris."
literally.
look. at. the. time.(tristan)
“Yeah.” That’s the only answer he’d most likely get even in a fully alive, wide-awake, not so recently fuckered state too. But it’s followed by a smile and a glance at the time, and almost sheepish grin. “Well - usually this would be the awake but not busy time… sorry it was so late, really. Get some rest.. sounds like she done exhausted you..” Teased, playfully. “Night, James.”(james)
apparently, he and the kin need to have a talk
because even if Tristan's doing well to hide it
the Ahroun knows his kin, and there's something hidden
but he's too comfortable and too warm and too tired and it's too late to deal with it
though something of a soft smile colors his words at the tease
cause oh yeh, she did"No worries Tris..... you know you can call at anytime. Night."
that's when the phone pulls away
a partially blind fumble to find the right button again
several numbers dailed before talk shuts off the connection
the phone doesn't even make it back to the nightstand
he's curled back around the warm body next to him
sleeping the Warrior's sleep
lights out in 30 seconds or less or your pizza is free(tristan)
Apparently. Maybe, maybe not. Right now? There’s really no telling as he’s quite involved in trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing with Diego.. (those three damn words) and what it means and why he’s trying and all that stuff… of course, James may have insights given his own situation, but that, too, is neither here nor there. There’s a smile, and the phone is clicked off and handed back to Diego… “We got our shopping list… now it’s just to find the perfect items to give. No problem, right?” And he’s got enough money too. Rune paid for the first 3 months, and he’s stashed a four… since he’s two more months to get that fourth again, he’s got cash to spare. “We’ll be ok.” He swore, after all.Posted by james at 12:00 AM.02.23.03. - IthiCA is GOrges [rune][noje]
(james)
one could only stay in the condo for so long
right mind would dictacte that he remain indoors out of the worsening weather
(supposed to be more snow heading in)
obviously, he has entered his left mind and gotten lost somewhere therein
because he's heading out of the Quicki-Mart
right back into the windleft arm has been occupied by the box recieved from Nina
right arm now slings half back over his shoulder
the little netting bags that Rune uses filled with various items
when one is bored and searching for a reason to take a walk
a.... lucrative... reason, other than sheer insanity
random groceries is the key!
there will always be something that the pack needs
or at least something he can conjure up to pick up
.... just because.(seems you're doing that an awful lot lately, Jamey-boy)
the walk home is far less eventful than the walk to the Mart
no half-frenzied lines of mask-wanters
no random clutzy kin
nothing really, but one Bone Gnawer, the wind and the rain
the occasional flickering sodium streetlight
the laden, weeping clouds above that block out the stars
and let's not forget about that rain. lots. and lots. of rain.
so by the time he's taken the shortcut through a yard or three and crossed the complex parking lot
he's now one drenched Gnawer
(guttermutt turned drowned sewer rat)
dreads weighted down by the soak so that even the wind can't play through them anymore
trench clinging slick and dark to the long lines of his lanky frame
boots sloshing through puddles as socks are probably the only dry thing on him
but he doesn't seem to mind it, reallythere's something about being outside when it rains
lungs filling with the scents of the land washed clean
just for a few hours, the comfortable and familiar scent of pollution drug away
filled with that crisply wet ozone smell from the dropping barometric pressure
you can never really take the smell of the city away, never completely
but there seems to have been some sort of balance between scab and wyld created during the storm
something he has, quite literally, soaked up in the stroll through winter's waterpark once known as Hibernia
that's about when the key hits the door of the condo
a pause to wring out as much clothing as he can
creating his own little Ahroun pond on the front porch
then the door clumphs softly closed behind him
and he's paused again - this time to actually remove a majority of the soaked clothing(rune)
It's warm inside. It always is. Rune keeps it seventy-two-fucking-degrees, and not a whit lower. There's a bit of chill in the foyer from his entrance, mingling with the bit of chill that lingers from her return, a half-hour ago. The foyer wasn't ever anyone's priority when it came to heating.Loud music ricochets through the first floor, spilling out of the half-hidden speakers of the surround-sound Bose system. It's all... noise and feedback, mostly, with the melodic line carried through the center of the storm of sound alternately by bass or electric guitar, and a pair of voices - male (droning) and female (close to ethereal) singing every line: yeah, we'll find you and take you home, tonight. The sound itself is reminiscent of the Jesus and Mary Chain - if, of course, they'd added a female singer to the mix.
The music's so loud that he probably can't hear the comparatively subdued sound of the PS:2, as bad guy after bad guy is obliterated by a judiciously aimed grenade launcher. Sure, the rocket launcher may be the more powerful of the weapons, but there's something about the grenade launcher that appeals to her. It's immediacy, perhaps, or the lack of recoil, or...
...what's that? The couch sighs its release from her weight as she rises, bare legs sliding over smooth leather in a fine display. Too bad there are no witnesses. As usual, she's dressed down at home. Either she's not planning to go out again, or she went out in such weather in silk boxers and a t-shirt ("Ithaca is Gorges." Who the hell knows where she got it.) and since she's not one to expose herself to the elements, it must be the former.
Her steps are soft on the plush carpet, a muffled hum of movement overwhelmed by the avalanche of sound even when the volume is suddenly halved. Hand splayed across the doorjam for support, she swings around through the open arch and peers into the foyer - quietly, as if she could actually surprise him - and lifts a sardonic brow at the state of his clothes.
"Raining, hmmm? I know what you need," she murmurs, when he looks up and finds her eyes, reaching out her hand, palm up, for the net shopping bag.
(james)
"Bit, yeh."one hand is pressed against the wall
the other is reaching down towards one boot for unlacing ceremonies
his body is something of a Z curve balancing inbetween
a strange little glyph created by muscle and skeleton and..... water
and now he's looking up, one brow lifted a little
a little grin finding its way across his mouth
a little shine glimmering in deep umber eyes
seems like it's all about the little things, with themboot returns to the floor, and he's hooking up the net shopping bag
bottles clanking against each other, a plastic crinkle here and there
balance precariously held in the long stretch that hands it over
and once that's relinquished, he's back to removing boot"And what's that?"
then the other boot
and the three shirts that are dripping onto the foyer floor
those are balled up for his passage through the living room
straight into the washer for those
weight of them hitting the side with a wet splatter
luckily the camo's don't hold enough water to actually drip
so he can probably deal with staying in those a little while longer
elbows leaning on the breakfast counter while he's watching her"Hm?"
slow appreciation in those eyes
silk boxers? t-shirt? he really can't ask for more
the gooseflesh chill slowly leaves his skin beneath the heater's warmth
capillary flush finally returning to contrast the dark scars running across his back(rune)
She remains there, one hand curled around the door jam, one hip propped casually against the frame, the other dropped casually along the length of flank, hip and thigh, shopping bag swirling curlicues from its suspended weight, orbit interrupted every tenth of a second by the muscled curve of her bare thigh. She remains there, watching him - wet hair falling forward across her cheek, curling up at the ends as it begins to dry, some responsive half-smile tucked cheshire-like across her red, red mouth - as he divests himself of his boots and bends to sweep the soaked shirts from the floor.And she stays there as he sweeps past and through the living room, flattening herself against the doorframe to allow him entry, but not quite enough that he can pass without touching. In this case, the graze of her crooked knee across the damp camos and a faint bump from the shopping bag dangling from her hand against his thigh.
Her turn to follow him through the living room, rounding to the kitchen (beneath her breath, a low wolf-whistle, so quiet it can barely be discerned above even the half-powered stereo.) Should he turn around, he'll find no betraying knowledge of it on her face, though the brief beam of a pseudo-innocent smile coupled with a pair of rising what? who? ...me? brows are enough to establish her guilt.
the cops are on our tail but that's alright
the cops are on our tail but that's alright
we won't pull over and that's it
...fuck you. fuck you.When he returns from his brief trip to the laundry room, she is putting away his bounty and singing along to the music under her breath. Since most of the melodic line is a sort of semi-spoken drone, she can manage it. Otherwise, the whole exercise would be laughable.
"Hmmm?" Slamming the fridge door closed on the bottles, shifting the shopping bag up higher to riffle through the rustling snacks and toss them up, each by each, into the huge wok stored about the fridge, which has never held anything but doritos and cheese-its and other such things.
"Oh, yeah" - understanding, the slow, organic growth of a well-tended smirk - "well. All that rain, and everything, you're bound to catch a cold." He'll never catch a cold. She'll never catch a cold. Their bodies destroy such invaders without so much as a sniffle, let alone a sneeze. "...so, you know. You need a hot toddy, and a warm bath." Amused, she tosses the empty shopping bag on the counter and leans back against the fridge, arms crossing in challenge. "oh, and after that, probably... should wrap you up in a blanket, put your feet in a tub of hot water, and feed you chicken noodle soup by the teaspoonful. You know: pampering."
(james)
she's stretching to toss the bags onto the wok atop the fridge
he's picking his jaw up off the breakfast counter
the rise and pull of thin tee across her waist and lower back
the way silk slithers across the swell of hips
the muscle that plays through her calves at the apex of each... toss...by now she's turned and is leaning back against the fridge
arms crossing her chest in challenge
snap out of it, James"A.... what? Toddy?"
blinking through breif confusion
he's still caught on the stretch and 'fuck you's
obviously having to rewind memory and bit and playback her words
that's when palms flatten on the gridlock tiles
muscles through forarms tensing as weight shifts up
there's a rotation around his shoulders, moving up to crawl and scoot until he's sitting on the opposite ledge
then forward momentum continues
one heel braced against the cabinets below
one hand clinging to the little ledge beneath his thighs
and one finger venturing across the great divide between them
hooking in the elastic waist of those boxers, and pulling, sloooooowly
(and you know the t-shirt hem was covering it, so he had to lift that first)
either she's going to come forward off that cool surface behind her shoulderblades
or he's going to get a helluva view to divulge whether or not she's wearing underwear(rune)
"A ... " the first word is playful, and little more than that - though it's hard to discern from just one syllable. Teasing, with her usual sardonic edge you mean you didn't know this already? sort of thing that has driven lesser men crazy (rich bitch. fucking snob. any of a number of similar epithets, though those are the usual roster) with that strange combination of resentment and envy that can so easily poison the heart. "...toddy."The teasing edge is gone, though, by the time she echoes the second word. Her voice has fallen a precipitous fifth, into the low register that reverberates more in the throat than the mouth or nose. The fall in pitch is mirrored by the downward sweep of her dark challenging dark eyes from his face to his... hand, two fingers tucked into her waistband, the thumb heavy against the lifted hem of her cotton tee. As her gaze fell - before, perhaps it fell (if he were not looking for the answer to one of life's persistent questions: what's she wearing, under that? do boxers count as underwear for girls?) he saw, too, the change - the slightest dilation of pupils as her eyes changed focus, darkening already dark eyes before lowering lashes swept her gaze down and away.
"You know - " inhale, brief and sharp and let him touch her and let him fucking look hmmm? exhale, slow and controlled and vibrant with the sudden change of tension in the room, " - a, uhm," inhale, sharp this time, sharper, as she follows his tugging urge (inhales his scent, inhales her own, sucks in the air as if it were laced with electricity, ozone, dangerous, crackling) and takes a precise half-step forward. "toddy. Hot lemon water and whiskey and - "
The explanation does not so much trail off as much as it is bitten off, sharply, so that she can take another breath of the crackling air. Though she doesn't look up, one dark brow rises as the elastic stretches further and further (arms still crossed, the challenge changed now, charged. The answer: no.) and a slow smirk crawls across her painted mouth.
Another half-step, then, no more. He'll have to drag her the rest of the way.
(james)
oh no, he didn't know
and for some reason right now it seems like he doesn't particularly care
he has quiet successfully distracted himself with the view provided down her... box....ers...
(.... oh my)
the little quirking grin seems to divulge he's quite happy with this discovery
even if he already knew the answer
even if there are a thousand things he knows about her
(and there are)
he still joys in finding the answers as if he had asked for the very first timethat's when his gaze crawls upwards
his body suspended bridge between the breakfast bar and the beautiful island which is the GlassWalker
deep inhalation categorizes and smears the crackling ozone that's dangerously ignited the air
not at all surprised it would seem he brought the impending storm indoors with him
there's lightning held in deep umber
an outright seditious glimmer crawling into his smile
two fingers becomes four
fist wrapping in the thick elastic band
oh so very clear he can challenge just as overtly as she
there are times, even to her, he won't. back. down.he didn't know what a toddy was
he knows precisely what he's doing to herthose tones
those insulting, snobbish, scathing tones
they would drive others to frenzy
they would poison, atrophy, and crush another's heart
and as they slide down that precious fifth
the symphony of chord and tone suddenly re-coloring their world
some vibrant flame within the wash of white tiles and brushed steel
they do nothing but invite the Gnawerhis fist pulls decisively down
dragging the waistband of her boxers with it
just an inch, or... three
then bicep bulges in contraction
and he drags. her. closer.there seems to be some opposing magnetic force between them
as she's drug irrepressably closer
he's straightening to lean back and sit comfortably on the counter
pulling her all the way up between his thighs
the chill of soaked BDUs pressed against her legs as his own wrap round in flesh and muscle cage
(he knows he'll pay for that one)
chin lifting - throat offered even after dominating drag - as sneering smile lifts to mirror challenging smirk"You pampered me last week.... what's with the sudden urge to do so again?"
playful and dark
a bare murmur across wicked red lips
he knows why she does it
she explained it in a hotel room long ago
but that doesn't stop his relentless discovery
some greedy archaeologist with his living, priceless treasure(rune)
"Hmmm - " how she manages to keep her tone half-musing, for all that her voice is still vibrating low in her throat rather than in the ampitheater of mouth and nose is anyone's guess. Still, musing - as if she were considering a new shade of nail polish, as if he had not dragged her - bodily dragged her - the last two steps toward him, as if she were not lifting her arms and settling them around his neck, unmindful of the chill still radiating from rainsoaked dreadlocks, as if her boxers were not hanging precariously low on her hips, elastic distended from the force he employed to get her there, as if those hips weren't moving, sliding and insidious, in some slow circle to test the limits of his (cold! " - hey! - ") caging legs - that veneer of careless disregard tossed over the lower thrum of awareness. "I'll have to think about that."He drags her, and then offers her his throat. He cages her, and she takes what he offers, and devours it. The spill of hot breath over the flesh of his throat, warmer now, but still redolent of the clean cold rain that washed away the exhaust fumes and the smogged miasma of the city night, replacing it with some memory of clean, clear summer (memory only, sense-memory, or perhaps genetic memory, some remnant that lingers in their savage souls, some echo across the centuries, for summer in the city is always worse than winter, except after a cleansing storm). She washes away that remnant summer and replaces it with another of her own: breath, heavy and humid, scorching hot. The slow scrap of teeth across his flesh, never quite snapping closed, for all the promise of such dominant play is vibrant in the flat crawl of dull, hard enamel up the long line of his throat until she finds his mouth, or he finds hers.
"I've thought about it." she maintains enough focus to respond, but only just, holds enough of herself back - in opposition, their usual game. She holds herself rigidly, muscles still tensed to ward off the shivers that want to run rampant through her body. "..and these" one hand untangling itself from the dreadlocks, crawling back across the muscled curve of his shoulder - nails scraping against his flesh - down across his chest and then around his flank, over the webbed network of scars (even now, lingering briefly on these furrowed imperfections in his flesh, the faintest touch, awareness, her hand warm except for the cool circle of gold around her thumb) and lower until she finds the waistband of his wet camos. " - must come off."
Her second hand soon follows the first, and the slide of fingers along the seam of flesh and fabric becomes something else entirely: a grip, tightening and lifting him from his perch, a trick he's used on her often enough. Her breath is exhaled in a soft grunt at the effort. He's heavier, and she lacks his strength. With effort, she can hold him like this, but she's not able to walk while supporting his weight, let alone make it up the stairs.
"I pamper you -- because -- I -- " her voice is strained from the effort, and already she's easing him to the ground. Considering how misshapen the elastic of her boxers has become - considering how precariously low they are on her hips - it's little wonder that they've started the long slip-slide over hips to muscled thigh. " - can."
She's breathing harder now, and faster, full-on breaths that lift and strain against the fabric of her cotten tee (IthiCA is GOrges) and her arms have wound their way around his neck once more. "As for the toddies and the chicken soup, I'm skipping those. Don't have any whiskey." Breath, closer now, spills across his mouth. "And I don't know what the fuck lemon water is, anyway."
She kisses him, then. Once. Suddenly savage. Fucking animal.
"...but the bath - " disengaging, breathless, the words recovered from the haze of want. As she regains her breath, her voice grows arch and wanton, a low growl of sound, sandpaper rough as she shakes herself free and turns to saunter away - toward the stairs and whatever lies beyond. "...that I can do."
It's a tossup as to whether they'll make it past the first landing.
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.02.23.03. - misfits and masks [nina][noje]
(nina matthews)
Yesterday off the coast of New Jersey an oil refinery exploded--
(...dream a little dream.)The grounds trembled [Learn.to.swim.learn.swim.learn.to.swim] the sky blackened and for a moment everyone remembered...
There's a line outside of the local hardware store, and the usually unexcitable natives of this depressed neighborhood wait almost nervously... In thier hands are butcher's tickets but in thier eyes is something else entirely a strange sort of hope.What the hell?!
(james)
everyone trembled
everyone remembered
everyone feared
the speculations rolled like the thunderous boom that washed across the lands
(what if, what about, could it have happened again, what are you going to do now.....)
paranoia fizzled electric through the storm riddled air
weighting and darkening the already cloudy skies
slashes of yellow and sickly green within the black above the pristine (endless) white
as if the impending weather wasn't enough to worry aboutwell, it didn't seem to worry him too much
and while any Garou in their right mind would be staying inside out of this weather
he's..... got things to do
one can only stay in a condo for so long
he was born on the streets and slept under the stars
only when the climate became a little too hostile (like, er, today) would shelter be sought
but no matter how the wind howls and tries to blow away the stars high above
it seems he has this undeniable urge to see themso we find: one Gnawer
strolling down the sidewalk on some errand pulled out of thin air so he had a conventional reason to go wandering out into the miserable blustery night, trench hugged high up around his shoulders, dreads attempting a futile escape from his scalp with each strong gust sending flurries of white up off the frozen ground, dark eyes behind those little sunglasses, because even though it's night and he's apparently one of those strong types? those flurries sting.(nina)
The line is almost oppressive [..lovely bodies in a line - a stitch it time...] as people jostle and stetch look at thier watch, and SOME actually sit on the floor. Coats curled about thier collective forms, papers blowing from wind-bruised fingers.A van turns the corner and pulls up the street, before it fully stops the passenger side of the cab door pops open emitting a (..barely..) coordinated blonde with more energy than common sense - it seems. "It's right'there, that buildin by'th post'box." A thick southern accent drawls froom the open doorwat the driver shouting at the girl to get back inside the cab even as he lurched to a halt...
Her grip shaken free, there is the brief look of shock that registers on her face before she lands (..feet first..) but her velocirty causing her to sink to her knees as well.
Ouch.
The heads from the line perk up at the arrival of the truck -- is this the shipment?
(james)
a brow lifts at the line up ahead
(What the...... oh. Right. That -other- War)
and he can't help but shake his head a little
some people and their priorities
there's a moment of thought consumed by the process of figuring out which way is the best way to get around the lingering line of desperate folk braving the weather to get supplies with the most minimal amount of contact or preaching or questions and to the QuickieMart down the way which has the pack's favorite be..."Shit. 'Scuse me."
he looks as surprised as most in the line
but he's not watching the truck
he's looking at the little southern gal that burst out of the cab only to nearly take him out in her velocity driven fall(nina)
He's assaulted it with it.The smell, the bones [...the blood - predator stirreth] of something unquatifiable and yet distinct. Irish-english.. -something- grey eyes blink at him started and she tried to scramble off his form but only tangling them further.
A real genius this one.
(..exactly.)"Oh s'cuse me." An elbow in his cheek, before she reserves direction. "Cripe, jeez ah'didn't mean--" ahip on his shoulders and the small ish form finally crawls under his arm and on the ground with a shaking sound.
...is she laughing?
"--ah'm sorry ah jus'got the WORST luck."(james)
there's a blink
(good Gaia she's a spidermonkey)
his balance veritably swayed with her slipsidecrawl to right herself
the strong breeze is not helping, either
he makes sure she's quite set before even attempting to move
because that could just start the whole process all over againbones, blood,
predator reacts the deepened thrum boiling so far hidden inside
a quick breath that grunts aggressive
then waxes poetic into an easy smile
dusting snow off of the pathwork quilt trench"No worries" seems that pseudolaughter is infectious "Sidewalk around here has a habit of reaching out to trip people. Y'allright?"
(nina)
Easy-going humor.He can see it on her features before she manages a reply - the driver cuttioing off her line of though with the [tick-tick-tap] motion of pen against clipboard. "Where do you want these Ms. Matthews." And she shrugs briefly a hand reaching up to rub the back of her neck, even as lips press together..
"Ahm sure th'owner would know better'n me." She drawls her nose wrinkling a bit as her eyes snake to the line with growing realization. "Jeezus--" Another glance snakes up to the over-tall image of the raggedy-man with an almost analytical cast. "All these people here for'th masks?"
(james)
the sides of his mouth drawn down into partial frown
the brows climb towards the tangled dreads in partial acclimation
the shoulders, then, roll through a muscular shrug"Dunno, just came up on the line myself. Masks?"
there's an idle curiosity captured in his expression
while he can't quite place the sundermal reaction that's tripfiring beneath his skin
he doesn't have those wicked mojo heebie jeebies to go running (...yet)
so it seems a parcel of casual conversation is the order of the moment
since they've already played Twister on the sidewalk, and all
might as well talk a little(nina)
Blonde lashes flick down against her cheek and as a box [ One of many..] is carried past she manages to swipe a smaller box from within. [Too much energy, and not the common sense god gave corn--her Daddy used to say.] But she manages the feat without any major mishaps to her own credit and breaking the seal with her thumb she tosses the box towards James.."--seems the wentwent to Triad--with the caveat that they'd give out a percentage of th'distribution at reduced rates in area wit'high risk.."
Rights?
(..the rights to what..?)The box in his hand stood [seal broken] waiting to be opened.
(tristan)
Of all the days to run out of *ahem* sugar, it would have to be today, the windy, little pellet slinging, hat snatching, blustery day. You almost expect to see a certain pooh bear chasing after a piglet on a thread - it’s that kind of windy day. Instead, you find a tall, pretty boy kin who’s long strides eat the walk between here and there, and there and here in quickened bundled up movements. Those jeans hide two pairs of long johns underneath, and there’s a warm sweater and two t-shirts under that long warm coat too. One hand adorned with fingerless gloves (lotta good those are doing too) and wrapped around the handle of his violin case. Sure - most people would have left it at home, but Tristan? Not most people.
He never leaves home without the violin, and its not just because of security - hell, he’s still getting used to the fact he has a home where he can leave it every now and again - but for protection as well (oh yes - all hail the mighty violin wielding pretty boy! Be afraid, be very afraid!) and with all that goes on here on the streets, every bit of help is warranted. There’s a grocery bag in one hand, filled with the things needed to fill out the pantries of two apartments. Sugar (heh.), of course, coffee, cocoa, eggs, bread, sandwich meat, cheese and fruit. The basics every growing boy(s) seems to run out of during the coldest days of the year.(james)
one box, tossed through the air
one blond, machinegunning what does not seem like English to him
he blinks
he catches
.... he smiles?"One more time... in English?"
it wasn't the accent
more like the caveat and percentage and Triad and huh?
(.... woooah there, Nelly. Triad?)
fingers pause on the opened top of the box (seal broken) as brows lift awaiting her hopefully slower answer(nina)
"Uhm triad is a pharmacutical agency--well sorta y'know?"She's just a lil' font of information isnt she and steal a few more boxes from the top she tosses them am at the line. With the words, "S'a nasty day go'wan, git'" but unfortunatly those tosses begin to start a small sort of feeding frenzy [ People who have nothing always want more..] that crowds around the girl nearly snatching the last two boxes away from her before some of the line reform while the lucky few go home.
Drops of sleet-rain- drizzle catch on hair and face even as she pulls her raincoat closer zipping it up.
"Since th'splosion n'all."
(james)
"Right.... right."..... sorta.
something of a sage nod could be inserted here
even if he still looks to be a bit confused
with the dreads and ratty clothes and raggedy coat
safe to assume he's not one that watches a lot of news or knows the stocks on wallstreet
he could very well be one of those nothingers that is always craving (fighting, pushing, shoving) more
and even if he's happy actually having nothing, playing innocent sometimes helps"So.... what kind of masks again?"
he seems to be wanting to covet the box he has, now
keep it from those leftover bystanders with hungry, prowling looks
it has nothing to do with the fact the last time he opened a strange box, he got sucked into Wonderland
really.no, seriously.
(nina)
A brow raises, and she gives him a look that might qualify the object of her observance as some sort of alien, or else some other thing of foreign orgin. And shrugging she gestures to [unopened] box in his hands."S'a personal air filter."
I mean, it SOUNDS innocuous. And the, "..it filters out toxins and such regula'stuff fer allergies'nsuch--and then it does MORE stuff too." there that small paper-thin shiver before the delivery man shoves a clipboard at her depanding her scatterbrained attention.
"Oh." And pulling the rubber-band-leashed pen from the board she signs her name.
(james)
"Hu..... oooooh."he even has presence of mind to look positively sheepish
makes sense now, doesn't it
fingers drum a staccato beat on the cardboard to signify that could be quite useful with the impending war of humans
(if nothing else, their fear stinks)
what he doesn't let clue in are those stories he heard
sure, gasmasks filter and protect those with allergies and whatever
but then there's the content that's in the filter itself that you're breathing
the poisons and hallucinagins and addictions and other countless particles of doom and destruction
or so sayeth the warnings of the great Guru Meathook
of course, he was also a Vietnam Vet so who knows how much truth was in his mystical ramblings
better safe than sorry, Jamey-boy(tristan)
There’s a minor feeding frenzy up ahead of some sort, caught only towards the tail end and quick decisions heads steps shift to carry tall frame across the street to the tune of a honked horn a ‘hey watch it buddy’ in the midst of jaywalking jaunt. Not a day to get caught up in any frenzy of any kind really, it would seem. Shoulders roll, slightly, easing the tension and yet another decision is quickly reached - coffee shop ahead fills the street with rain-diffused scents of fresh cinnamon rolls and with an appreciative sniff, lips curve into playful grin and the coffee shop has become his new destination…(nina)
The delivery man, [..in red thread the name 'HANK' is stitched on his Triad service 'Serving the customer one person at a time..' uniform.] persists flipping up the papers to another less common looking contract beneath.She's about to sign the second document as well in fact the upward slope of an 'N' is seen before she stops. Blinking at 'Hank' that cherublike face curls into faint annoyance, "Ah told Mista'Jenkins ah wasn't signing that until he finished with th'preclause.."
(james)
the newest contract isn't really any of his business
in fact, the entirety of those papers on the clipboard really isn't
but it's the annoyance in her voice that gets his attention
one dark brow slipping upwards
that would be a casual glance, there, tooeven if he can't place it.... she is Kin
that purebreed is unmistakable
(gobs and gobs and gobs and gobs of it)
there's a faint tapping noise way off in some umbral distance
notching up slowly and surely
(click. click. boom.)
it's a natural sway of events... isn't it?
Kin gets annoyed, Garou gets annoyed at thing annoying Kin, annoyance flattened
or something like thatnow if he could only place her Tribe.....
(tristan)
The door to the coffee shop is pulled open with a juggling of bags and violin and lean form slips into the shop, pulling that door closed and breathing deeply of the scents of caffeine and yeastyrisinghomemadebaking cinnamon rolls, smile pulling across features as he moves inside. On top of everything else? It’s waaaaarm. Out of the wind and pelting of rain that stings and any number of other things. An empty table chosen, and violin case is set on the seat followed by grocery bag, and then lean form stretches and unbuttons his coat. That too is tossed to the side, and it’s a brief jaunt to the counter that has him ordering two of those cinnamon rolls, one to go, and a coffee. Items gathered, he then folds tall frame to slide into the seat of the booth next to his things.(nina)
'Hank' shrugs taking a half step from the broody raggedy man Ms. Matthews is conversing with. [He hasn't had much interaction with the 'white collar schmucks' but Jenkins had come down from on high to tell him what he needed to do and no ditzy blonde was going to get him fired..] looking the smaller girl in the eye."Look Miss, I've got 15 more deliveries sceduled for tonight, and unless your planning on dragging yout little blonde--" pause keep it cool you got a scedule to keep. "--self with me in the cab till 5 am, though if you're WITH me it'll be more like 3 PM then wait. OTHERWISE you can sign it now--or I can jus' drop it back at distrubution." another barely restained breath. "EITHER WAY," stay calm buddy boy. "..you gotta make a decision."
(james)
this still really isn't his business
and he knows better than to get involved with what's not intitally his business
(lo and behold, lookey here, he's holding a box agian to top it all off)
but it's that irritation that's getting him
sure, the moon's shifting her face in the sky
she's no longer swollen and glaring down at him with all her rage-igniting might
but there's some primal things human nature simply can't overcome
and the raggedy-man fixes "Hank" with the utmost of that suddenly broody attention
(yeh, better keep it cool, boyo)(diego)
He had cheated on his trip to deliver the next load of pendants necklaces and earings to one of the stores on the island tht stocks them for him. you would think he would just fedex them or something but he has this thing about delivering in person. most of the stores finding it so hard to believe he is responsible for the work (but your so young, so small, your nothing but a child) growl and bite. he had returned to his appartment to find it empty.stepping out from his bedroom. a quick jaunt down stairs showed him that he was not there either. so now standing once more on the other side of that invisible wall.it doesnt seem as cold here. probably is but doesnt appear to be. amoung the skuttling forms of the information era the spirits of a concreate jungle he makes his way quickly to the streetcorner. his street corner. a small twisting of the area between here and there lets him peak acorss no not present. growls. prehaps he is out. or playing with the pack. whatever he is doing stomach grumbles. can find him soon get some food, the cuboards are bare afterall. retreating to an alleyway he once more checks the areas clear before sliding across.
cold slap in the face take your breath away. omg should be wearing more. 3 layers and my coat just aint enough. a beanie pulled over hair, tugged lower to cover his ears. scarf wrapped around face so he looks like some poorly dressed ninja. need warm food.
(nina)
She should call her attorney.
(..but its Sunday, and--ugh.)She exhales and finishes her name ["-ina Matthews"] on the second contract and none too soon, because a few seconds later and he might have wet himself avaoiding the freaky vibes the raggedy-man was giving off. And hopping in his truck you can almost see the tire marrks as he runs off...
Nina turns the reddish color of her cheeks not quite fading, "Ah'm sorry ah'don't even know you.." Strange moment. And she breaks the ice by holding out a hand. "Nina, an y'are?"
(james)
vibes
freaky mojo vibes in the air
(gunna rip yo' head off and piss in it vibes)
there's something of an animalistic snort as 'Hank' throws that truck into overdrive
(good riddance)and after a moment, the Ahroun gets a hold of himself
seems he's in such a pleasent mood it was bordering on overly aggressive
whoops.
whatever it is that responds (predator stirreth) primal to her blood
once again it's melting away into an easy grin
one that finds its way all the way into deep umber eyes
gloved hand finding it's way to shaking hers"James. Pleasure."
(nina)
Small hands [ ah'ain't no superhero..] shake his before sliding into her pocket. Large grey eyes blink at him and to the store where the line has dispersed a small neat [OUT OF STOCK ON MASKS] sign set out front. Gaze flickers to the box he's still holding witha faint smile."Enjoy it, James."
And the wind shifts bvriefly, the brush of rage [..like lars..] tingling against her skin, eye flicker up to the strangers, the click of realization in them. "Y- your a friend ah'Lars?"
(james)
Lars?
there's a moment of thought
it sort've overtakes the quiet smile at holding the last box
(did he plan it? just quietly standing by the wayside until the stampede forgot he had it?)
head tilting in canid curiosity and recognition"I know a Lars, mostly in passing.... so maybe?"
(diego)
like soo cold way to fucking cold. from the alleyway he steps, into the cold winds that whip along the streets feet still not used o walking on ice stagger threaten to slip, clutching at wall for balance, finally straightening once more. growl and grumble hate the cold and hate the snow...the ring of a bell and the waves of rage flowing from him. (not that thier big waves but close enough you would know what they are what they mean) poor boi who has to take his order for coffee and a chocolate muffin. poor boy being intimidated by diego he would laugh if he noticed.
(nina)
Her nose wrinkles and she might describe him, but thinks better of it. "Oh.." She shrugs lightly nodding. "Ya'jus seem like it ah'guess.." and tahts all the explanation she's ready and willing to give on that. The rain continues to cover them and she blinks upwards witha short laugh.."'Ave ah'been keepin'ya--ah'tend tah'run on at th'mouth." a faint flush even as she half steps toward the street trying to make out the signs.
(james)
"Somethin' in the wind, huh?"chuckled softly
almost knowingly
he figures he has a pretty good idea of what tipped her off
even if the moon was slimming down to nothing"Thanks for the mask Nina.... take care now."
he doesn't quite add the 'ya hear?' to the end of it
but that easy grin returns
even in the sudden addition of yet more rain to the wind
better get to the store and back before he becomes a living ice sculpture out here
and now that the line has cleared the sidewalk
seems that's going to be a much easier task than anticipated(tristan)
Not at the corner, not in either apartment, and the cupboards are bare. Elementary, dear Watson. He pulls the plate of gooey goodness slathered in butter and icing and hot and steaming fresh out of the oven yumminess toward him, fork peeling away flaky pastry, swiping up some extra butter and popping it into his mouth. For once? He doesn’t inhale.. he savors (ohgaiathat’sGOOOOOD) the bite and grins shows pure boyish delight of delicious treat.
Caught! The bells above the door jangle and in comes the abominable snow latino, and grin spreads to see that boy scared and he slides from his booth and silent steps sees him sliding up next to diego.. “So what’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this… Gotcha a cinnamon roll, was gonna grin it home…”
(diego)
He jumps, ok not quite jumps but almost jumps. A smile spreading across his face as those waves well they dissapear, better than any drug its pretty boi kins doing miricles for the temper. "u wernt at ome i got bored" he was there 5 minutes at the most before he started pining and begun his search. only to find you here getting coffee.(nina)
And the rainhood is readjusted over her head before she turns in the other direction, hunting for a payphone.(tristan)
He laughs and leans in to steal a kiss from those cold lips and lead Diego over to his table. “Well, I got bored and someone has to go out and buy some sugar every once in a while” That grin is positively unrepentant as he slides back to his seat and pushes the tago box toward Diego.. “You got here before the roll and coffee got cold though..” A whole five minutes, hm? “How’d your trip go?”Posted by james at 12:00 AMFebruary 21, 2003.02.21.03. - fingerfoods [imogen][noje]
(imogen)
She hasn't been home very long, with the weather like it is, the world like it is. She had been called out to Atlantic City again. The drive was made longer by the rain that melts snow, slicks streets and makes the world just that much less safe to drive in. It means slowing her speed to something resembling the speed limit.Still, she has always enjoyed the rain. This rain is not as familiar as some other downpours, this cold drizzle, but it is preferrable to the twenty inches of snow dropped on the world only a few days ago.
That might be the root of the reason she's outside. Not because she's smoking, though she is, at that, but because it was raining and she liked to watch the way the street lights refracted the rain drops, were mirrored in the slick parking lot pavement. Liked the whispering sound of wheels hissing against a road a few blocks away, a faraway car driving to far away places.
She leans against the balustrade, her elbows on the railing, cold seeping through the thin waterresistant fabric of her rainslicker. Her hair has been pulled back into a braid and the dampness from outside has actually kept it for the most part contained, tightly forced into the weave. Only a few strands fall before her eyes, as she fits the cigarette back into her lips, inhaling slowly. The ember flares as dull orange eats away at the paper and tabacco, poisons drawn slowly into her lungs as she watches the outside world. It's a few moments of quiet, half peace, perhaps. Either watching the way rain changes the world, or simply lost in her own thoughts, with the rain slicked streets just a place to rest her eyes.
(james)
it's the sound of the rain that woke him
by the coolness of the sheets next to him
she had been gone for hours
by the lack of lingering steam on the bathroom's mirrors
she had definitely been gone for hours
deft twist and control of the shower's faucet quickly fixed thathis showers aren't as long as hers
it's only a handful of minutes later that the door is opening again
thick fog of white steam following him back out into the room
even though the condo is warm enough for the Walker's SoCal blood
the layers are slowly pulled on
muscles loosened by the hot water loosening more in the ritualistic movements
the strolling steps that take him from bedroom to stairs to living room
soon enough the balcony doors slide openone wet Gnawer approaching the equally wet world
but as the rain washes the roads clean and melts the snow
he's already clean, scrubbed and fresh
how.... strange..... for a guttermutt
fingers reach and rake through waterlogged dreads
ruffling them up across sweatshirt covered shoulders
boots navigate their way around the gathering shallow puddles
and then his bicep lengthens in the press against the wall
zippo clacks open and closed
sighing breath adds nicotein fog to the mist of breath
and that's about when he catches scent of the Camel from one balcony over
and slooooooowly, he's leaning forward, peeking around the dividing walla brow lifts, and a little grin forms across his lips, chin jerking slightly up
that would be a silent 'lo(imogen)
Her head moves slowly, toward the sound of the door closing and she's watching him before he quite notices her, dark eyes steady. She does not bother dispensing a greeting, giving him time to light his cigarette, take that first nicotine laced hit. Give him time to notice her.He gives her an upward nod, which is common fodder for this pack. She has something similar, but it's something her own, that she probably had long before she'd met them. A lift of her chin, bare acknowledgement. It's not as obvious, it's a slight alteration of the tilt of her jawline. Barely visible. Sometimes that's all there is, that movement, other times there's questions, a comment, some prelude to converation.
Tonight, she exhales cigarette smoke into the wet and misting night, her breath coloured a blue grey before she speaks, tapping ash into the ashtray, resting on the railing beside her left hand.
"How's it been?"
(james)
she barely gives the acknowledgement
just that tiny, miniscule movement of her chin
which he has been able to to translate into an entire salutational repetoire
while it's well known that animals communicate in body language - humans and kin are just as capable of it
one of his cheeks creases a bit as lips quirk into a lopsided grin
a grin that's destroyed by the drop of chin and hollowing cheeks signaling inhale"Good." on something of a nod and the resultant exhale "Quiet." which, amongst this pack, and even her, speaks volumes as compared to the last few weeks, then a thumb hooks back over right shoulder "Thinking of whipping up some breakfast." at this time of night? "Have you eaten yet?"
he doesn't know how long she's been home
he doesn't really need to
knowing her schedule's as erratic as their own(imogen)
The quietness has been welcome for her, especially with the return to work. It means moments to slide back into a routine, find her rhythm once more, hit her stride as she continued to do as she has done. That Decker is gone over these last few days has only made that easier.Her expressions are often slight; sometimes so much so that there is nothing to gauge what the feeling behind it is, only that she has felt something. The Garou have an easier time reading such expressions as that. Their world is coloured by body language. It's no wonder that so many humans would think her cold.
A faint smirk curls her mouth, a slow upturning one corner of her mouth as she lifts her hand to replace the cigarette between her lips, the motion obscuring the movement of her mouth. As it falls away, her wrist turns, and a flicker of her hand causes the cuff of her jacket to fall away. A glance at her watch confirms her impression of the time, and the corner of her mouth tugs up further, "It's a weird fuckin' time for breakfast," she notes around the filter of her cigarette, as her hand falls away, brushing lightly against the curve of her jean clad thigh. "But, I haven't. What are you offering?" An eyebrow lifts, slightly as she turns to face him now, completing the turn that the diversion of her attention, the turn of her head had started. A few steps brings her to the edge of the balustrade closest to Rune's condo.
(james)
many humans think her cold
many Garou even think so
but the Gnawer, for some reason, knows better
he seems to know and understand those miniscule movements
he's found the language she speaks - and a comfort in that
not pushing her for more, and accepting all she gives
his own shoulders roll in a muscular shrug
offering a bit of that easy smile in response to the bare tug across hers"It's breaking my fast, isn't it?"
his free hand extends across the railing
an offering to steady her climb over the slick divide
it's not an insult, by any means
he also knows she's more than capable of doing it herself
no Kin to be mothered and coddled, Miss Imogen Slaughter
but he's not about to chance being blamed for her breaking her neck in random fall, either
not if he can help it"Well, unless the contents of the fridge have been altered since I last checked" and they may have well been "Eggs, sausage, peppers, onions.... anything else I can find to throw in."
(imogen)
The ember of her cigarette hisses as she extinguishes the butt on the slick wet sandstone of the railing, before tossing the butt into the divide between them, sending it tumbling into the half melted snow below.A hand grabs the supporting column of the balcony, finding herself leverage to get up, her other hand moving forward, for balancing, hovering a few inches above James's offered hand. It's there if she needs it, and it appears she'll be more than willing to take it, should it be necessary. She'd rather not break her neck, either, no more than he'd like to be faulted for it.
It's quite a few feet across to the other balcony, and as her booted foot hits the opposite railing, her hand catches his wrist, a point of balance as she completes the process to the other side. Once down on somewhat more solid ground, she glances at him, "Sounds like breakfast to me. D'you cook much?"
(james)
her hand lands against his wrist
and even in the sudden movement of balance lost
his arm doesn't move an inch beneath slight weight
strong fingers wrap lightly around her forarm
just enough to guide and support, providing that balance she seemingly needs
her question causes him to pause a moment
brow furrowing as something... rather amusing... seems to dawn on him"More often now than I used to."
he doesn't add he really means the past two years, since.... well.
there's a soft laugh as he, too, extinguishes his cigarette on one side
the other involved in a stretch to slide open the door"Made a full steak dinner the other night.... bread, veggies, whole nine yards. Another dirty habit I seem to be picking up."
(imogen)
"Well," she begins as both hands slide into the pockets of her jacket, waiting for him to go in before following. If he cannot see the half smirk that touches her mouth, he can surely hear the dryness in her voice, "this is a better habit than y'r most recent ones. At least y'can't get fat."(james)
he's not a stickler for ladies first
she waits for him to go in first, and he damn well does
she may not go six ways furry when the mood is right
but he treats her as an equal in anycase
even if he swings around to close and latch the door afterwards
the smooth slide of oiled tracks shutting out the sound of pattering rain outside"I thought so, too.... but don't tell anyone, else I'll turn into a short order cook for the pack."
he heard the dryness, allright
it's answered with one of his usual grins
weaving through the livingroom
beer first, two bottles clanking onto the breakfast bar
then he's rummaging to pull out what he can from the still-open fridge
eggs, sausage, peppers, butter, oooh, cheeeeeeese, too
the pan is set onto the stove, butter melting onto the warming face
he's found a plate and begins.... uh..... dicing? the peppers
by the look on his face, this is something of an experiment
he knows how it's supposed to go
but he hasn't done this a whole bunch of times for it to be routine(imogen)
She disposes of her jacket, her boots, putting them aside to be picked up later, before following him into the kitchen. "Your secret is safe with me."She finds a bottle opener as James rummages, in the third drawer from the top, and opens both beers as he cuts butter into the frying pan. He's begun to ... err... dice... the green peppers when she puts the open bottle, still hissing softly from the release of pressure beside him on the counter.
While he's occupied with the cutting board, she finds a cheese grater, a bowl. Firm strokes begins to shred the cheese into fine grated slices, and for a moment there's silence.
Dark blue eyes flicker toward James and his look of concentration, a faint sound in the back of her throat, suppressed amusement, "Don't cut off any fingers..." she warns him.
(james)
"What?" he sounds hurt "You don't like fingers in your breakfast?"that's when he actually stops
it wasn't the beer, it wasn't her beginning to help
it was the fact she didn't want fingers in her breakfast that offended him
he even goes so far to let the muscles in his jaw relax
lips parting gently in sheer, unadulterated.... shock.
"You go to work, and I stay at home all day simply waiting for you to get back, so I can surprise you with a lovely meal.... and you think you have some right to tell me not to put fingers in your breakfast as if it's some sort of mistake rather the excellence of gourmet effort that I have slaved over just. for. you. Well.... I see how you are, Dr. Slaughter." done with the dicing, pointing at her with a finger rather than the knife. "No fingers for you."by now the butter has melted
he's turned away from the counter
(with beer)
and cracks several eggs into the pan
the.... uh.... spatula? used to swish them around and break up the yolks
a little salt, a little pepper, a little garlic sprinkled on for taste
then he's dicing up the meat, throwing that and the peppers in
and as those begin to set, he's pulling down two plates
there's an appropriate stir and flip here and there
then soon enough he's scooping the concoction onto the plates
(neatly in half)
and setting those on the counter for her to cheese while he's rinsing off the pan(imogen)
She clucks her tongue with a soft tsk sound, as he waxes melodrama and points the knife in her direction. "Alright. No fingers." A shake of her head, the movement causing a few strands of hair to fall in front of her eyes, only to be pushed back with an automatic movement. "However shall I survive?"Cheese is liberally sprinkled, though sprinkled is the wrong word, it's too minor for the amount of cheese she provides both. She's seen the appreciation the gnawer gives to that particular dairy product, and doesn't skimp.
The plates are taken to the table, and the Bone Gnawer and the ex-Fianna kinfolk get to enjoy a particularly nutritious breakfast of a sausage/greenpepper/cheese omlet and beer. At four in the morning.
Conversation is sparse, as James shovels his food in his usual fashion, and Imogen really hasn't eaten since Friday afternoon, so she isn't particularly into conversation either, even if she would have been otherwise. Good food, warmth from the dreary cold outside, and silence.
Between the two of them, they wash the rest of the dishes and at the very least get it to the point of tidied, before Imogen's eyes flicker once more to her watch.
"And on that note, I should p'raps get myself off to sleep." Half turning to glance at the dreadlocked gnawer, a faint lift of her chin that substitutes her nod, a curl of her mouth that substitutes her smile, "Thanks for breakfast." Stepping around him, she begins toward the front door. "I'll see you around."
(james)
he inhales the food
it's a wonder he really bothers with seasoning and flavors
because it surely can't rest on his tongue long enough for him to taste
though it seems she's giving a valiant effort to keep up with him
four in the morning and they're both happily dining on breakfast concoction and beer
he doesn't need the conversation, particularly
enjoying the company, and the knowledge the food is appreciated
by the time she's heading to the door, he's offering another of those trademark grins"Anytime."
he means that and she knows it
four am, six am, five pm or midnight
she heads for the exit and he's heading towards the couch
weight sinking into the deep leather
long stretch of lean body to add the remote to the hand that's not holding the second beer
settling in to just relax and enjoy this quiet lull in their week"Night Imogen."
Posted by james at 12:00 AMFebruary 14, 2003.02.14.03. - valentine's [rune]Valentine’s Day.
[email]
Dinner was some steakhouse, the sort of place that
doesn’t have prices on the menu, because if you have
to ask you cannot afford it. Dinner was filet mignon
and crusty potatoes and asparagus out of season and
ca. vi. ar. and wine that flowed like water. She had
asked for a private room, and the maître d'hôtel was
prepared to screw them out of it in favor of some
second-hand table by the kitchen until he got a whiff
of their rage and saw how unsettled some of the other
patrons were and decided to seat them in the private
room as she had requested.She wore a dress - for him, a dress - black, this one,
some flimsy, clinging thing and silky black stockings
(garters. He saw the flash of the bands high on her
muscular thighs as she rose from the car) and another
pair of her favorite sort of strappy high heels. They
push the toes forward, emphasize the line of the leg,
and lift her, of course, almost to his height. Some
women cannot pull them off, or at least, can only
stand and totter. Others mince their way about in
such shoes, as if they had been hobbled. She
saunters, she prowls, she sways: serpentwolf. Animal.She had made reservations. Reservations, as in
plural, not merely the one. She made reservations,
and she told him to pack a bag for the night, but
would not tell him where they were going. After
dinner - after an after dinner smoke, as they made
their leisurely way back to the Z3 - as he slid into
the passenger’s seat, she told him to close his eyes
and handed him something satin.Not lingerie. A blindfold.
“Put it on,” she says, twenty minutes into the thirty
minute drive. Because she made reservations, and it’s
going to be a surprise. “We’re almost there. I want
it to be a surprise.”Ten minutes later, the Z3 is pulling into a parking
lot, somewhere. The engine dies, she sets the parking
break, and her door swings open and closed, then his.
She curves one arm around his waist and takes him by
the hand. The parking lot becomes a sidewalks, and
the sidewalk leads to the door, and the door leads
down some hallway, where their footsteps are muffled
by some plush, sound-absorbing carpet. There is, of
course, another door (the sound of a keycard, a small
beep), which she throws upon, through which she guides
him. The sound of running water - somewhere, nearby -
and her nails against the wall, flipping a switch.
Lights. Camera......all that, yeah. She’s laughing - some low coil of
sound - and presses a kiss beneath the hollow of his
jaw as her fingers dance to lift the blindfold from
his eyes, and suddenly it’s 1001 Arabian Nights, or
the modern equivalent thereof. Less tale-telling,
more sex, the usual. It’s one of those places, and
likely he thought they were an urban myth too. The
decor is luxurious, and just this side of tacky, or
perhaps it has crossed over, but does that really
matter?No, wait. It has definitely crossed over, and the
rather enormous heartshaped bed is that seems - at
first - to dominate the room is the least of it. What
- on earth - is that above it? (Looks like a trapeze,
James.) And the sound of running water? (That would be
from the small pool, of course, complete with
waterfall, just through those glass doors.) There’s
more, of course, there’s always more: a private little
patio surrounded by snow, with a steaming hottub, a
sauna beyond the pool, and - god, that really is a
trapeze - plenty of mirrors and, well, Rune, of
course, fingers crawling into his hair, turning him to
her, mouth sliding along his jaw like fire, because
she has a scorched earth policy when it comes to such
things.“We have it for the weekend.” Scorched, fucking
earth. “...that should give us enough time to play.”(james)
a dress
she wore some flimsy little clinging dress
she wore some strappy little high heels
she wore some hinting, peeking, tanting bands slid aaaallll the way high up
in the middle of February
in fifty feet of snow around her So-Cal blood
just. for. him.he had returned the favor as best he could
(We're going out tonight, James, at six.... sharp)
shaved and scrubbed clean - even under his fingernails
tips of some of the raggedier dreads trimmed to neaten up their disarray
the black jeans and some dark, dark blood-red/black button up he doesn't say where it came from
tank boots polished to some rich, lacquered shine(and yes, Wolf flaked and has to finish typing this post reply)
Posted by james at 12:00 AMFebruary 12, 2003.02.12.03. - aftermath [rune][condo - after conversation with erik]
(rune)
The Glass Walker watches their Alpha leave, silently. Dark eyes track his path through the living room, until he disappears around the corner into the foyer. She remains silent - and, now, still - until the retort of the door echoes back to them - open, shut - and waits as the feeling of pack recedes.They can both feel Erik leaving, down the steps (where they first fell) and across the small strip of frozen grass (because the sidewalk meanders in what is thought by the landscape architect to be a bit of pleasing whimsy, which someone as efficient as the Rotagar would ignore in favor of the most direct route) onto the icy blacktop. And more, and away.
Only then does she lift her most recently aquired bottle and drain it in three long gulps, barely pausing to breath. Traceries of lipstick remain on the mouth of the bottle, which she wipes off absently before tossing it into the recycling bin on her way to the fridge for another pair.
"That went - " Clink. Clank. Both bottles are placed on the breakfast bar, the sound ringing quietly in the still room. " - fuck." She does not (usually?) smoke in the condo, but she slips another smoke from its pack and lights up, long fingers curled in a lazy fashion around the filter. The ghost of a bemused but still faintly irritated little smirk lingers around the corners of her mouth. "I don't fucking know how that went."
(james)
it's when the Rotagar finally leaves that everything really sinks in
yes James, you just grabbed your Alpa
yes James, you survived itmellow as the Gnawer pack had been, years ago
and with so much shit they they got away with for the sake of camraderie and play
that's something Cooper would have laid him out onto the concrete for
and here he is pulling the same thing with a Fenrir
granted, a black-moon with a helluva sense of humor
but a Fenrir nonethelesswhen he reaches for the next bottle proffered
it rattles a bit against the tiles because he's shaking
it's from Rage, it's from fear, it's from adrenaline, it's from a lot of things
he wouldn't dare back down in the Get's face
but he's ready to go crawl beneath the coffee table now
cap twists off with a hiss of escaping carbonation
it's a strange harmony to the heavy sigh escaping him"Well." faint gesture towards the door, brows lifting a little "He left with a smile."
shoulders are bars of steel beneath the long sleeved shirt
it's a tension that winds and coils itself uncomfortably down his spine
quietly creeping up through his neck to pulse right at skull base
the attempt to wash it away with half that new beer at one shot is futile(rune)
Odd, this, that she is the calmer of the two. He is still shaking; she is still as a corpse, but for the minute, necessary movements of breathing and smoking. Her arm drifts, lifting cigarette to her red mouth, then falls back to rest against her hip in arthymic movements - whenever the mood strikes her, whenever she needs another spike of nicotine in her feral blood."Who knows what the fuck kind of smile it was." Slim shoulders rise and fall beneath the sleek fabric of her slinky turtleneck. Perhaps she is not the calmer of the two, after all, for tension is expression in the rigid lines of lean muscle stark and flexed beneath the fabric, invisible until she moves. "Least no heads were separated from shoulders."
Her mouth twists into a hard, flat line. Bitter humor - gallows humor - as rigid and frangible as sheeted glass.
"You gonna be okay?"
(james)
there's a moment of stillness
then the beer rattles down against the tiles
then one arm snatches out to steal her pack
(screw attempting to coordinate finding his)
one Carribbean Blue and Gold stick pilferedthere's a pause, in another moment of silence
brow lifting to finally look at the smoke he's chosen
(this will not do)
a moment of humorous rearranging as this time he looks into the pack
replacing the blue and shaking them around until he finds the strippa pink
.... just becauseher lighter used to set flame to the finely crafted end
a long inhale held, feeling the smoke roil around in his lungs
it's exhaled up and out through sinuses and nostrils
painting his senses with nicoteine and tar to blacken out what else he smells
that tinge of fear and adrenaline and a thousand other things seeping out from his own flesh"I.... dunno." it's thoughtful, slowly constructed "I do still have my head.... even if I'm about to piss myself realizing what I did. It just."
jaw skews in thought
lower lip sliding somewhat left in thought
indenting as flesh is sucked and nibbled between teeth
that silky smooth part just inside
dark gaze drops to study the smoke and beer in his hands"I just lost it hearing him say that."
(rune)
She tracks his movement with a lazy, half-lidded gaze, withdrawn and subdued, watching the flex and coil of muscles in his forearm as he puts down his beer and reaches to steal her cigarettes, watching, still, as he pulls out the Caribbean blue cancer stick, calloused fingers against the gold-papered filter, such a strange contrast. He puts it back, and she lifts a fine, arched brow in mirror to his own, the only expression that graces her features until he settles on strippa pink. Then, the corner of her mouth curls upward in a private little smirk - an odd little expression, almost a smile - and he can read the drift of amusement in her dark eyes.Her unsettled gaze remains on him, watching minute shift of muscles beneath flesh as he lights the cigarette and inhales, the relaxation - a physical change - in the exhale, and the slow movement of his mouth to form the words as he speaks.
"I know."
Quietly spoken. She says no more than that. She says only that, and it speaks such quiet volumes. She knows he lost it. She knows why he lost it. She knows - indeed - how much farther it could have gone. She knows the hollow space beneath the cage of his chest as well as she knows the weight of his body, the shape of his shoulder beneath her hands, the rough texture of his hair beneath her impossible soft (pampered, spoiled rotten) hands that have never known a day of honest work.
"I know, James."
(james)
even if he doesn't look up, he knows the twinge of amusement is there
that tiny little spark of amusement that glimmers in the depths of dark mahogany
and beneath her knowing hand, that shoulder still trembles
the constant rush and course of energy flooding through muscles
he can't help it, now, even as he chokes it all back and down
and of all the things to get his attention
the way she moves, speaks, touches him
it's a singular word that fnially gets him to look up
how strange, what startles him the most is the name he's heard since birth
for how rarely he is called it from somehis attention snaps to look up at her
(I know, James)
there is understanding in deep umber
because she knows how close he came to losing it completely
to let the rational thinking man be replaced by the hurting hating animal
the animal that only shows now in the canid tilt of head into her hand
his own releases the beer, reaching to draw and crawl about her hipsnot very often, does he demand
few and far between are the times he takes in need
but this is one of them
the grip tightens across iliac crest
slow contract of muscle to gather her closer
begging for just that single step that brings her next to him
then his head curls brow into the hollow of her shouldershe knows... how deeply respect and rank has ingrained itself into the Gnawer
and to break that, no matter how slightly, shakes him(rune)
Leather is soft beneath his hands, a second skin fitted to the generous curve of her hips, and silk is soft above them, the slippery fabric of her untucked turtleneck. The weave of the fabric is fine, and the threads are finer, and they catch against the rough texture of his knuckles as his hands move. There's a sound attached to that catch and release, and the condominium is quiet enough that both can hear it in the gathered stillness, little more than a soft rustle, so faint that it is drowned by even the quiet draw of their breath.So, too, his dreadlocks, spilling in a thick, viney curtain across her shoulder, down her back, over the curve of her breast, catch and shift against the fine-woven fabric whereever the weave is broken by minute imperfection, invisible to even the keen human eye. Here a thread ends, there another begins, in the loop and whorl silk threads woven to form the delicate fabric. The immediate sensation is the cool grace of silk, against his forehead, upon his cheek, but the silk is thin and he can feel her bodyheat radiating right through.
She steps into him, and lifts her arms. Once, they fall back to her sides - helpless - but then they rise again and settle around his hunched shoulders. What space remained between them after he drew her to him evaporates, as her body folds into the shape of his own. Her hand slides from his shoulders until her elbows - the curved muscles of her upper arms - settle there, and her hands crawl into the thick mane of his dreadlocks, plunging through the rough tangle to hold him to her, and hold him close.
This comfort she can offer him: the warmth of her body against his, the lullaby of breath as it fills her lungs, expands the cage of her ribs, as it leaves her body, the underlying bassbeat of heartbeat, this meager, meager music. Otherwise, she is helpless.
Helpless.
(james)
those dark umber eyes close
some flesh shell drawn protective over the earth's rich tones
feeling the silk against his cheek
how smooth it is, this barrier between their skin
through it, the heat radiates from her
pulsing in time with the healthy thump of heart
he can hear the faint sounds of blood pumping through veins
the slow draw of breaths that fill her chest
perhaps, even, the distant sound of his hands across her clothingthe cigarette is abandoned
some half-blind movement to settle it into the ashtray
and that's when he can fully turn towards her
where at first he drew her to his side
now? he's twisting on the stool as her arms drift across his shoulders
drawing impossibly tall and lean form between his legs and close
her fingers crawl into dreads, and his hands encircle her back
rough palms catching on the imperceptible imperfections in silk
dragging the fabric against her warm skin beneath
until his arms crisscross her back to tighten and lock that embraceshe feels helpless
but this is all he asks
these singular passing moments of silence
where through a strange osmosis he leeches the comfort she offers
it's drawn like the heat that radiates from her core
slowly filtering through the ache of unused muscles so ready for battle
what seem like countless nights they have lain together upstairs, in such a silence
so this should not be any different, any more fulfilling
but it is - for in this silence he finds the little he dares need
soaking all that she gives himminutes on the clock have strolled by
one, three.... perhaps five
that's when he finally draws away
the strong embrace loosening to gentle slide of hands down the slope of back
the lift of brow from her shoulder, to finally allow some breath of the condo's air to enter him
instead of what seemed like he was breathing directly through her
but even now, he doesn't look up
even if she is the only one he would ever show such weakness before
- he doesn't look up to those eyes(rune)
Minutes have on strolled by, molasses slow and lazy as a sunning snake. Little things already passing, already gone, endless little things, and no more than that, for all it seems a slow lifetime.She does not move until he lifts his brow from her shoulder, and takes a breath not drawn through her clothing, not suffused in the distinctive scent of her flesh, which he would know, which he could sense, even with the fog of carcinogenic smoke clouding his senses of smell and taste. Even now - fainter - the scent lingers in his mouth, flavoring every breath he takes, much as his scent wreathes through her senses, some animal knowledge, that, buried beneath the layers of civilization, the endless age of men, buried, but far from dead.
It is the same animal instinct that guides her movements now. Her chin falls as his rises, and when his eyes do not find and meet hers, her own close. Flesh against flesh: the brush of her cheek against his in light caress, the slow drift of gentle lips against his flesh. It is a different sort of hunger, this, but no less animal. The craving for warmth, the comfort of skin, the blind little movements of her mouth up the hard line of his cheekbone, over the throb of pulse at his temple. The rising movement is mirrored in the arch of her spine against his gliding hands, inviting the strange grace of his touch to linger on her body. To linger, and not to consume.
Only this is taken - these few quickened moments, this strange knowledge that shifts and glides between them, ephemeral, grasped but never quite known, this liminal comfort, this passing gentleness, and no more. And perhaps - though she would never admit it - perhaps she needs it too.
Posted by james at 12:00 AMFebruary 09, 2003.02.09.03. - down at julio's [diego-imogen-decker-tristan][north jersey]
(james)
there's a little dive down on 42nd street in Hibernia
you can smell it before you can even see it
just some little hole in the wall that nobody really notices
so that would be why there's only a few customers inside
and the outer patio area? there's only oneone raggedy man braving the cold evening weather
dreads layering up over shoulders to keep in the warmth
patchwork trenchcoat tucked all tight around him
the chairs are probably less than stable
and the table is in need of a good cleaning
there's a Camel sparked up in one hand
the other manages a fork over the piled high plate
quite the coy feline smile from where the steam drifts up from the foodJulio's serves the best fucking Mexican food for a ten mile radius
(diego)
and so of course he knows about it. Mrs rodriquez down the hall had told him about ir. of course her food was better and he was more than welcome to come over whenever he needed a meal, a nice young boi like him. is sure there would be a lot of neices and grand daughters present when he gets invited over.anyway if it was good enough for her to actually say it was good, then it must be the best in the city so after rugging up (how do you people stand the cold ) he looks like a moving ball of fluff he tramps his way along the paving and towards the resteraunt.
(james)
tortillas flash heated in oil
meat so tender it fell apart on your fork
cheeeeeeeeeeese in all it's melty gooey goodness
piled high with guacamole and salsa and sour cream and even. more. cheese.
by now, the Camel has been snubbed out in the tray
and he's digging into the pile of (what exactly is that) with flourish
outright inhaling the mountain of foodit's during one of those times he just has to come up for air
or just wash what he's chewing down with a slug of Corona
he looks up and around the street
brow lifting bit to see the semi-familiar ball of bundled warmth
still too far away to call out, though, so he waits(deigo)
hes been spotted as well. i mean you inhale a meal that quickly and people are going to notice, again he wonders if gnawrers actually chew. .. step falters for a moment floundering in the snow he almost falls as he comes to an aburpt stop on that icy surface. for a moment he stares just watching for now. torn between conflicting instincts. finally he steels himself an finnishes his walks towards the hole in the wall resteraunt. "juuu mind if i sit here?" shy nervous reluctant hoping. standing oposite james he is an empty doll just waiting for the answer.(james)
he notices that slip and steel
even if there's nothing that overtly betrays that
deep umber eyes climbing upwards to hear the small, soft voice
and his lips move into a warm, easy (read: welcoming) smile"Not at all." a thumb hooks back over his shoulder towards the resturaunt "I haven't paid my tab yet, if you're hungry or anything.... just tell Esperanza that you're with me."
(diego)
"gracias" he nods slightly his own face flickering into a sort of almost smile. so maybe you dont bite. he drifts inside to place an order. nodding that yes he is outside and thankyou could they please bring it out when its ready, yes he will take the cola now. and yes he will cover the bill for both their meals..glass in hand he moves back to the table pulling out that other (most rickety chair) he sits in it slowly almost leaping right out again (oh so cold) before settling back down. .
(james)
by the time the little Walker disappears and comes back out again
the Gnawer is using the last bits of tortilla to pile the remnants of his meal into a mini-mountain
the last two taquitos used to clean that up
dark eyes lift as he's stretching out
the chair tilted back to what must be more precarious than comfortable
it's amazing the chair hasn't broken yet
(maybe that's why he chose this table)"They give you any grief about it?"
he knows they wouldn't
but it's a conversation starter if anything(diego)
"que? why would they give me grief?" who would be giving him grief, he just looks lost. as he waits for his food. sipping at that coke, should of got something warm(imogen)
It's bloody cold, so the two outside draw her attention, even from a block away as she carefully slides a guitar case into the trunk of her black mercedes. Eyes narrow faintly as if the movement will ease the blur of distance peering at what might be a familiar form.Okay, yeah, it is a familiar form.
A gloved hand presses the trunk lid down, before she completes the turn that her gaze over her shoulder had begun. A casual glance both ways over the street before crossing toward the small hole, with all it's goodness and treasures hidden by dingy apparel, and other small business trappings.
As she reaches the fenced in area of the patio, she does not enter, but stops across from James's and Diego's table, her hand curling over the wrought iron fence that encloses the area. Her other hand pushes back strands of hair, escaped from her braid, tucking the recalcitrant locks behind her ear, as a smirk slips across her lips, a half greeting nod to both, though her words are tossed toward James (she knows him, this is easier), "You and Tristan seem obsessed with catching pneumonia outside," It's fucking cold, the wind has caused a faint flush to rise over pale white skin, like the delicate colouring of a poppy. "A family trait, per'aps?" Soft accent, lilting, creating a near song of her words.
(james)
the laughter is soft
not condescending, but amused"They shouldn't have, which is why I asked." smiled "So what's got you out in the cold?"
there's many a reason why he comes here
the food is cheap, and it's quickly made
not even ten minutes later Espi's shuffling outside
talking in some Spanglish the Gnawer only half understands
probably scolding about why they're choosing to sit outside rather than inside where it's warm
but she lays Diego's plate infront of him
and James trades her an empty bottle and plate for another Corona
(she knows him so well)
lighting up yet another Camel
smoke added to the moist fog of his breath in the air
the purse of lips sliding into a quirked grin as head tilts
dreads stumbling down over his shoulders due to gravity
winking at the chilled Kinfolk"Probably.... we have this habit of sleeping outside in weather colder than this. Wanna join us?"
lifting the beer to gesture towards the food
both an offer, pneumonia probably included, too(diego)
he just grins at the woman complimenting her in spanish on the food and appologising for making her come out into the cold to bring it to him. something about Mizzzz rodriquez being right this is the best place for food in the entire city. she contines to mutter altohugh its more along the lines of such a polite young man now.eyes watch imogen even as he takes the first bite of his meal (a slightly smaller version of the monstrosity james was eating and appears to be chicken). he might not be Gnawer but hes still a growing boi so he can eat it almost as quickly. "hola"
(imogen)
"Hola," she answers Diego absently, "¿Como stas?" more a momentary question, not actually expecting an answer from him, though mexican spanish must sound odd when wielded by a british tongue."Yes, but," as she takes a few steps to reach the gate, entering, and grabbing one of the chairs from a nearby table (it's not as if anyone else would want to come sit outside), "You're two of the only people I know that actually do it when you've got a choice f'r th'otherwise.
"I'll skip the food, though." Amusement flickers though not quite as telling, because she doesn't actually smile.
(james)
if she smiled he'd probably have a heart attack
and the lift of his brow shows it
leaning over to wipe a bit of snow off the table before where she sits
food or not she shouldn't have to rest her elbows in slush
his pack tossed out between them in offer
something of a nod towards the smaller Garou"Bah.... it's for the food. Even Diego would agree it's worth the chill."
(diego)
blinks in surprise hadnt expected her to speak spanish, "bueno" single word muttered around a forkfull of food. it seems hes relaxing a bit around james "it is definatly worth braving the cold for the food."(imogen)
A brief glance toward Diego as he speaks around a mouthful of food, a faint nod acknowledging the answer, before her eyes flicker toward James, "I'll take y'r word for it, then," as she removes her gloves, shoving them into the pocket of her jacket."s'not as if you're in that much danger o' cold, anyway."
(james)
he's got a belly full of incredible food
he's surrounded by pleasent company
he's got a beer, and a smoke
all sortsa relaaaaaxed
and hopefully it's spread out towards the smaller Garou
unless it's the full moon he figures not much gets to the Kin
at least... that she lets show anyway
it's as much of a mystery as her humor
a boot snakes out to drag yet another chair over
then his rickety one rights itself with a creak beneath weight
both feet propping themselves on the newest arrival of chairs
brow lifting to slip a glance back at Imogen"I'm fucking freezing woman."
just because he's not actually going to get pneumonia
doesn't mean he's not turning into a popsicle beneath those multple layers(imogen)
And the full moon does not bother her as much as it should. She reaches out to pick up the packet of cigarettes, tapping out one of the camels. They seem to share smokes freely, at least between the two Gnawers and the redhaired kin. Imogen lends hers, James lends his, Tristan lends his. It all works out in the end.Half to lighting the cigarette, she looks up at James, amusement flaring in dark blue eyes as an eyebrow arches. "You, James, get zero sympathy. There's a perfectly good restaurant right there." Cigarette, still unlit, leaving her mouth as she uses her left hand to point toward the actual restaurant, before glancing at Diego, shaking her head, "No, thanks. I'm good."
The cigarette is replaced between her lips as her hand reaches into her jacket pocket, likely probing for her lighter.
(decker)
So the cold snap has taken over the land again. Damn groundhog must've seen his shadow after all. Decker's following the homing beacon of James' satisfaction (fooooood.) from half a mile away, driving and then parking, parking and then walking the rest of the way out to Julio's.Snow's piled high atop the corrugated metal roof of the little hole. Decker eyes the metal roof, the shingle walls, and figures it's probably not much warmer inside unless they had space heaters going full blast. Air probably wasn't so fresh (er. fresh? try searing cold.) inside, either, so maybe James had it right after all.
Mounting the crooked steps up to the patio area, the Modi nods up at his packmate, gives Diego a curious-careless stare (gnawer kin right? scared-shitless one? practically the only type he ever meets.), and smirks quietly at the sight of Imogen looking for matches. Doesn't make any comment this time 'round, though.
"Ain't y'all saved nothin' fer me?" he asks, cool-quiet-southern low and rough at the edges as he pulls up another chair, assfreezingly cold after having sat out in this weather so long.
(tristan)
The nachos hit the spot last night, but it barely touched his appetite for some decent Mexican food, and its in that frame of mind that after saying goodbye to the last of tonight’s brave listeners, he packs up beloved instrument, and starts walking. James had mentioned a decent (read: cheap and still good) place to grab some grub down the way so he may as well check it out. Grab some for Diego too if its as good as James claims.
Bundled up as he was last night - he’s added an extra layer tonight, its bloody well cold out here. Not only are there the warmers in his violin case, but he’s got one in his coat pocket too in order to keep fingers limber as well, switching hands often. Quick ground eating strides round the corner and head toward Julios.(james)
there's probably a bare handful of things he would not share freely
cigarettes are not included in that handful
it's one of the many things he will share, or even give up his last of, without a second thought"The smoke bothers Esperanza even if she doesn't say anything about it." said so matter of factly "And besides, if I wanted your sympathy? I'd crawl up on my hands and knees... and still get nothing."
oh so blatantly teased
that's about when the Modi walks up
there's a nod up, and a careful watch of that stare
(Kin.... right)
and here he goes hooking his thumb over a shoulder again
back towards the little dive that, well, probably isn't much warmer"Yes, and your being here means I won't have to cart it home. It would be special number three in the stack of 'to go' boxes on the back counter."
(diego)
if hes bone gnawrer then hes got himself a sugar daddy cause hes dressed way to well. that coat has come from somwhere much more expensive than the local thrift shop. and the layers underneath it. he doesnt go fleeing for his life this time although eyes cut to james ever so quickly. before that blank porcalin mask falls into place. there is a slight nod for decker as he rises slowly heading into the resteraunt. the closes he will probably get to an achnoledgement although its almost a bow " i'll get it for you i needed another drink anway"(decker)
James gets a long stare that could mean anything. Most would mistake it for a i'm-about-to-pound-yer-ass-into-the-dirt-fer-no-apparent-reason stare. Fortunately, James is Decker's packmate, and at least somewhat used to the crackling ragefield he carries in his wake like a Concorde trails sonic booms. There's some measure of bemusement there."Think o' everythin', don'tcha?" he comments, getting up outta the chair again, only to sit his ass down when Diego goes instead. "Yeah, alright," tossed carelessly toward the 'kin' as he turns his attention back on James. "'Nother one o' yers runnin' around the city. Randal. Owns that videoshop down in AC? Bringin' 'im to see ya yesterday night but he got his ass lost."
Had nothing to do with Decker going 80 on the dark icy freeway. Nothing at all.
And Imogen: "Need a light?"
(imogen)
A sound in the back of her throat that is nearly a chuckle to James, smirking in his direction, "Well, good, I wouldn't want y'to waste y'r breath on somethin' like that."Decker's smirk receives an arched eyebrow in return as the fire-haired kinfolk watches the Fenrir draw up a place at the rapidly filling table. Conversation drifts about feeding Decker, and she did not bring her lighter with her today. The cigarette is pulled from her mouth, held lightly between loose fingers, as her attention sharpens once more on the Modi, tilting a slight nod in his direction, "It would seem so, yeah."
(tristan)
Ahhhhh, a deep inhale pulls scents out of frozen air… foooooooood… something near and dear to the pretty boy kin’s heart. The little dive in the wall with the gathering on the patio brings boyish grin (better ease up on that good natured take shit as it comes stuff - or he’s gonna take it out on pretty boys face) plays around lips.
Decker, James and Imogen - good company. Well. 2 out of three isn’t bad. He Heads up to the little patio area and pauses next to the table. “Room for another?” Grinned as he goes about switching hands - exchanging violin for warmer before the latter is tucked with his hand into coat pocket with only one pause - to make sure his hat is still over his ear and taming the curls.(diego)
he steps out from the resteraunt one of the 2 go boxes in his hands order number three 2 beers and a coke balanced on top.and to think he just wanted a nice quiet meal. good food and maybe a nice conversation with someone. instead he feels like hes been set up once more. he almost wants to growl. (although its definatly at deckers back and out of site) a flash of a smile for tristan, hey you. before that empty mask falls back into place. the food and one of the beers for decker the other for james and the coke for him. he claims his chair again moving it that bit closer to james (and that bit further away from decker)
(decker)
Right. So he leans back in his chair, front legs coming off the ground. He takes his time pushing his hands into one pocket after before finally feeling the telltale shape of the little cardboard box. One carton Ace strike-anywhere matches produced from his left thigh pocket. Less than a half-dozen left by the lightness and the way the matches rattle inside. Oughta buy new ones soon. The chair legs bang back down on patio deck and he sets elbows on the table, tapping the box on the table while he cocks a skeptical eyebrow at her."Suppose ya want me to light yer smoke too?"
If he notes Diego's annoyance, he doesn't show it. Like so many other things, it fell into his 'who the fuck cares?' category. Conven