April 30, 2003
.04.30.03. - giddyup [imogen-decker-carmen-dire]

[noje]


LOOK! DAMON POSTED FIRST!
And we didn't even have to ASK!

(decker)
That green belt in the back has to be good for something other than raising property value. Sometimes during the day they see people jogging through, lost in the energy-booster of mp3 players strapped to their arms. No one ever walks. No one ever just goes there to...unwind.

Which might be what he's doing tonight. Past midnight and the Modi lies flat, face-up on one of the wood and steel benches scattered alongside the path winding through the green belt. The pavement cool under his fingertips trailing off the bench. The scent of grass drifts up toward a sky gradually thickening with clouds rolling out of the west, out of the continent's mass. They tower high and menacing, and their bellies are black stained with orange from the city lights.

There will be thunder come morning. There is always thunder in his skull, where his rage pounds relentless. He can't remember what it felt like not to have it. Even before rage, he had always had a reason for anger.

A shooting star in the space between clouds: fading fast. His grey eyes snap to the afterglow, and then he shuts them. Seen from behind the back of the bench, he's almost invisible: just a single trailing arm. Seen from the front, he's stretched along the length of the bench, legs crossed at the ankle, ankles propped on the opposite armrest. Almost (never) at peace.

(imogen)
The weather has grown cloudy throughout the day, the blue skies of days previous giving away to grey cast heavens, the promise of rain. In fact, the air crackles with the promise of thunder (it won't be for days, but those more attuned to the weather, those with instincts sharper than a blade), heavier air, laden with moisture. Tomorrow it will rain, and tomorrow it will storm, but for this evening (it's later than evening now, in that grey area of night that is neither today nor yesterday), it's only the charged silence.

The mercedes hadn't been there for half the day, most of the evening, and even now, it still ticks softly, cooling in the parking lot as it's owner's feet scrape softly across the cement of the pathway.. It's warm enough to barely need the jacket she tugs slightly further over her shoulder, the motion ending as her hand slides upward toward her hair. Strands pushed away, taken from her eyes, pressed behind her ears. The sky is nearly starless, only a few breaks amidst the clouds allowing a hint of the night time sky to come through, light through the darkness; it could almost be poetic. Her eyes flicker up, dark and shadowed scanning the dull flatness of sky darkened by clouds as she moves, the sky heavy, feeling almost weighted (it's the air). Perhaps she sees the same flash of a shooting star (they do, after all, look at the same sky). Her hand slides from her hair to her pocket, searching for somewhere to put her hand, searching for a cigarette, searching for a lighter.

The green belt is nearly empty at this time, and really, a flamehaired woman like herself perhaps shouldn't walk such pathways at this time. She might have seen him, caught in her kitchen window, she might have caught sight of him while stepping out onto the back balcony to smoke.

It's just as likely that she was struck with the sudden restless need to move.

(james)
sometimes you don't have to see someone to know they're there
from far off, even across the rolling green belt of lush and manicured value
he knows where the Modi is
even though the moon's nothing but a black space in the sky, just thinking about peeking that glowing smile back to the world
he can feel that Rage - or maybe he can just feel the presence of pack
just as surely as the Fenrir can feel him approaching

long easy strides find their way across the grass
he doesn't particularly stick to any of the paths
as home as he is in the concrete scab of a city festering and glowing against the night
walking the sculpted sidewalks for miles and miles and miles
it's nice to feel that padded skwoosh beneath one's boots
the sink of thick grass molding beneath wornout soles towards the moist ground
it's warm, he doesn't need a jacket, dreads tangling themselves across the shoulders of a black t-shirt
it's fitted enough to follow the slopes and planes of muscle through his chest
gathering and wrinkling above the waist of black levi's just beginning to fade in the wash

by the time he reaches the Modi, one arm's extending in silent offer
no joint this time, just MiccyD's french fries
still steamily warm from the couple block (even if roundabout) hike

(dire)
Dire appears walking down the side walk carrying Carmen.. He'd gotten a call about a half hour ago. He was at Dani's. Carmen had gotten caught with a switch blade and a murderous look. Where she'd gotten it Carrie didn't know. Dire surmised she probly got it out of his coat at some point down the line. He didn't yell. Didn't scream. Didn't pitch a fit. He just came and gathered her up. Even let her keep hold of the blade. He didn't think it smart to try and take it away from her right now

(decker)
Convergence of the pack: like the universe collapsing in on itself in slow motion. Least it feels like way deep beneath his breastbone, over his solar plexus, where Eagle's mark left him forever bonded.

One...
...two and three.

Staring straight up, his perspective is odd. Their heads appear first, then shoulders, then upper bodies, then waist and thighs. Below the knees, he can see nothing of them. His grey eyes pass over James wordless. Then Dire and Carmen. The backs of his fingers lift from the pavement and he reaches out for a fry or two. The other hand is behind his head, cushioning.

No words; none needed. He doesn't make room for them to sit down, but for once it might not be an act of rudeness. He's comfortable where he is. They'll find ways to get comfortable, too. There's another bench across the way, a recycling/trash canister in wrought green iron beside it.

(and four.)

It's the sound of her footsteps he recognizes it. Or it's her scent, so faint that he should not be able to smell it in this form. Or it's the feel of her presence, simply that, nothing more. His head comes off his hand a slight distance, and he cranes around to catch a glimpse. A silent lifting of his mood, slight but noticeable: glad. Head back down. He eats his fries and is quiet.

(carmen)
Storm clouds roil in the 4 year olds (al.most.five!) eyes, and the wings of little legs are more vicious then nature, aimed carefully though to miss daddy. One arm hooked around his neck, the other tucked around baby ‘Manda, protectively, and her curls are tumbled in a mass of braids just like Eva’s, sliding over daddy’s shoulder from where her head lays tucked against such strength. She ain’t even said a word yet… still mad.

(imogen)
There must be something amusing about the sudden convergence of pack and kin on such an odd out of the way place. A bit of pruned and controlled flora amidst a concrete jungle. Decker senses the approaching of packmates in some sort of sixth sense that is perhaps something she could never understand.

She senses the Garou in something more immediate a throb of rage, a pulse of fury; discordant, disaffecting. Painful across her flesh. A quick glance at Carmen buried in her Dire's arms, and the tiniest kinfolk certainly has the aura of mad kid about her. One can just imagine the scowl, though her face is buried.

She'll need to make a note to stay away from those legs.

She doesn't bother sitting, as she glances toward the prone Modi, the McD's carrying Ahroun, and the child carrying Skald as her fingers find purchase on the lighter in the depths of her jacket pocket, drawing it out.

(james)
he doesn't look up
he wasn't even particularly looking at Decker, either
the offer of food automatic, just as it swings towards Dire and the child
(nod up)
Imogen, too
he SuperSized it for a reason

for once, with the Eagle pack, it's food passed around instead of a joint

by the time they've made it back to himself
he's found the curb that separates sidewalk from the deep grass
(he would have been surprised if the Modi did move - r.h.i.p. and all)
ankles crossing in partial indian style sit

(dire)
He smiles softly and murmers to Carmen

"I know you're upset... but think you could stop for a little while? There's James I know you've wanted to see him a while"

(decker)
A strange sort of juxtaposition, this.

Midnight gathering in the little patch of carefully manicured wilderness in the heart of the city. Wolves in the blood of each and every one here. Moonless cloudy night overhead. Food passing around silently; the quiet is filled with the sound of crickets, and with the subdermal, muted thrum of rage and bloodhunger.

A mile from here, there's a patch of ground where they can still smell blood if they tried.

After the fries pass through the second rotation, after Dire breaks the lingering silence of the spring night, the Modi flexes his frame into a stretch. Straightens up slowly, pulling his feet off the far armrest of the bench. One foot slides off to hit the ground. The other draws back a distance, and now there's room for one to sit at the far end. Two, perhaps, if the second were child-sized.

As for him, he leans back against the closer armrest. Swings one wrist over the back; the other arm hangs over the armrest, fingers trailing, not quite touching his packmate. The familiarity of nearness is there, though; the comfort of pack.

Lawnmower's been lazy. The grass is long enough to brush his hand. He doesn't particularly mind.

(carmen)
lil arms tighten around Dire for a long moment and then she nods a little, and takes a breath and forces one leg to stop its angry swing, though storm clouds still linger in dark eyes after a few minutes she summons an almost smile. “k daddy.. I try…” oooooh but then Misser james offers ‘donalds! And she only takes a couple fries and smiles a little brighter at’im.. “tank’oo misser James…” murmured around a fry that’s already made it’s way to her mouth..

(imogen)
You've got to take these people (but most of them aren't people; even those who do not turn into monsters on a regular basis barely qualify; their minds somehow wired differently, their blood of a different stock) at face value, their moods and their tones. Everything is nearly decided by the phase of the moon.

Full and pregnant, tension spills out the edges, mixing with marijuana smoke and coarse words. Half moon, and the mood is ambiguous. One way or the other, someone could rage. Or it could be nothing at all. The moon darkness can bring the strangest of times. Absolute silence, only Dire and Carmen breaking it with speech for now, fries passed around. The cold worn surface of the zippo slides between the fingers of one hand as she takes a few fries when offered. A smirk, and the fries lifted in a half salute, some sort of wordless thanks.

There are days when she recalls she's rarely eaten, and maybe this is one of those times as she swallows one of the cooling fries, the zippo carrying hand sliding into her pocket once more, perhaps looking for the partnering cigarettes.

(james)
"Anytime, Carmen."

smiled, nice and easy
(he means it, too)
a part of it's the lack of moon in the sky
there's a lot of Rage gathered, here
enough to wilt the blooming flowers in the planter yonder if the phase were just a little different
but right now the majority of it's mellowed out - it's a good thing, really
it just.... feels.... good
sure, there's a hunt on the horizon and blood on the distant breeze
but that's tomorrow and a mile from here
he never banks on either as a guanrantee, just focusing on now
and now? now is good. now is fries. now is pack
there's only a few fries left in the bottom of the little carton
and that's silently held out to the Modi without a second thought

he'd ask how the kid has been, out of politeness
but from the way the storms are still broiling in her eyes
well..... funny thing when a four year old seems to have more angst than the resident, present Garou
by the time Imogen's searching for the partner to her lighter
his other hand's holding out a pack of Camels, silently
(others need, a Hood provides)

(dire)
He smiles and sits as well. Setteling Carmen in his lap. He takes what evers offered. Looks at the fish sandwich and opens it up scraping off the chuncky Jiz as the Slakd so elloquently puts it and puts it back together with a grin to take a bite.
He smiles gently smoothing her hair and looking around "What'd you do with the knife?"
Just checking least she get fiesty again and deside to stab a booger breath

(carmen)
That gets a lil bit of a smile, and by the end of the fries in hand it’s even brighter, setting in daddy’s lap her legs even stop their killer swing and she waves a lil to decker “hiya deckah…. And Mis’Imagine…” ooooooh. Brief return of stormclouds… before admitting “puts it backs in yur jacket pocket daddy… but she was gonna toss baby’Manda in da GARBAGE.. just cuz we gots dirty playin outside and she gots mad cus I didn’t wanna take no bath yet! She’s stupid! I hate her! And I been tryin likes mis’Rune asked, I’ave! been GOOD too! eber since Easter.. and dats a LONG time… she taked my candy away for a while too but she didn’t get these.” And that grin turns smug. Miss’Imagine digs for her cig’rettes, and Misser James give her his, and she digs out her own pack from a pocket, a perfect lil imitation (well, to Her is perfect!) of Mis’Rune’s pinkpinkpink cig’rettes is pulled out and propped ‘tween fingers careful like. “miss’Rune gived em to me – she cant’s have em.”

(decker)
A shake of his head for the last few fries. Ate already. Anemic pancakes and whatnot. Not too hungry. Now the smokes were breaking out, but Decker holds off on that for a while, too.

There's a hunt on the horizon. Blood on the distant breeze. Thunder coming in the sky and rage waxing again with the moon. It's all right, it's all good with James, but Decker's made of more impatient stuff. Moreso than that, he's made of stuff that won't let him rest when certain matters are concerned.

A vague nod up at the kid saying hi from the other end of the bench. Decker's fingers close on a few blades of grass. He yanks them up without looking and lets them scatter, windblown, across the pavement. Another fistful, and a third, before his fingers dust themselves clean. He looks up. Holds his hand out to Imogen. It could be invitation or proposition, or -

"Bum a drag?" - just a simple request.

(imogen)
"'Lo, Carmen," absent answer, absent commentary as she glances down at the child.

Her hand wipes, free of fries now, across the thigh of her jeans, before reaching out to take the offered cigarettes from James. "Ta." Truncated british politeness. Cigarette tapped out, cigarette lit, as she glances down toward Carmen and her pink candy cigarette (monkey see, monkey do). A smirk half caught between amusement and a frown, as she lights up (she cannot, after all, say anything, offering the cigarette packet back to the Hood, complete with lighter, an arch of her brow in question.

Whether he needs the lighter or not, she takes a drag on the cigarette, smoke into lungs. Movement catches her eyes, briefly, Decker extending his hand. A simple request. She pulls the cigarette from her mouth before exhaling, a slow breath, arm extending to offer him the cigarette, held loosely between her fingers.

(james)
the fries refused, he offers them next to Carmen
(always did have a soft spot for kids)
and once they're taken, his hands are reaching for the re-offered pack
somewhere in this symphony of constant, silent movement there's a nod
you're welcome, thank you, hello, goodbye, s'up - the simple movement of head counts for everything in this pack
this time it's her zippo CLACKing open and fwoooshing cherry to life
snapped closed and handed back, the other hand repocketing the Camels

that's about when Carmen's prattling sinks in
(miss Rune give'd em to me)
and dark eyes bolt upwards
strippa pink candy cigarettes
he almost chokes on that first drag
quietly laughing

yeh, he's mellow, it's all copacetic - it's all a fuckin' act
(there's something killing kin on their territory and the detonator's about to blow)

(decker)
Camels go from James. to Imogen. to Decker.

Who takes a drag, grimaces, and hands it back. Hated those fuckin shits. Never seemed to remember that before he took a drag. After she takes it back, he swings his legs off the bench all together and sits straight for a moment before slouching down a few inches. Getting comfortable again.

"Fuck you doin' out here so late?" Hell, what were any of them doing out here so late?

(dire)
He nods to Carmen
"My pup wanted to kill the kin... So I'm taking her to cool down. Seemed prudent."

(decker)
A glance tossed at Dire. His lips twitch, but it's not a smile, not a smirk, and nothing close to either. "Maybe y'oughta teach yer pup not to kill kin sooner 'r later. 'Specially if she might Change someday."

(carmen)
James starts to choke and eyes go wide and she squirms down and moves to pat him on da back likes she hadta do to Miss’rune when she talked about macnbunnycheese… still dunno why, but it’s always made better as evidence by the laughter afterwards from Misser’james and she takes a seat next to him and offers her ‘smoke’ with a bright grin.. “wanna drag?” ooooooh that made dat stoopid kin mad when she offered it to her. Dunno WHY but dats the first time she tried to take’em away. “you likes my hair? Mis’Eva did it for me… now it kinda looks like yours only prettier..” reaches and tugs on a dred lightly, giggling

(dire)
He grunts and looks at carmen "Don't kill kin."

(imogen)
A brief smirk at the Fenrir's grimace as she takes the cigarette back, an eyebrow arching, slightly. She doesn't actually say it, but the implicit amusement is clear, if brief.

"Good lesson," she notes around the filter of her cigarette, though whether or not she means the actual idea behind the lesson (kinfolk perhaps do not like the idea of being killed) or the dubious method that Dire has employed, is anyone's guess.

(james)
"Thank you Carmen"

still laughing softly as she "saves" him from choking
then his head shakes, heavy mane of dreads wiggling a bit over the swell of shoulders beneath black cotton

"No thank you." accompanied by a lopsided grin "Because I couldn't offer you a drag of mine in return, and that would just be rude."

note he's holding his Camel in a way the smoke is caught by the errant night's breeze and blown away from the child
she's tugging on one of his dreads and he's reaching to flip a braid from right to left and straighten the "part"
there's only a skimming glance towards her, he doesn't really meet her eyes
(would she see the unhinged creature lurking behind them?)

"Lots prettier, honestly. Mine are kinda scraggly."

(decker)
"Some fuckin' lesson," snorts Decker, somewhere between disgusted and amused. His hands slide into his hip pockets, the sag of the pants leaning his palms somewhere atop his upper quads instead. He nods up to Imogen - "So hell you doin' out here?" - stubborn with his questions, when he had them.

(dire)
He watches them and shrugs at their crutique of his parenting skills. To his knowledge she's never done something he told her not to do. So she probly won't do this. She's a smart kid. Besides. Dire has taught here there is a long way between maim and kill.

(carmen)
“Yes daddy, promise.” Long way tween hurt and sleeps an not wakin ups… but she don’t thinks bout that cuz makes her think of momma and then she leaks a lil and she don’t wanna leak.. so!
She giggles and shakes her head and whispers “its really candy yannow… and you gived me fries so I still owes ya one. Maybe when we makes Macnbunny cheese for Mis’Rune you kin have some too, huh?” She beams as he approves her hair and even fixes a lil bit of it and if she sees any creatures inside it’s just what she’s gettin used to seein an all cuz daddy looks all… mean sometimes too but it’s nots her fault she learned dat a long times ago.. “I likes em… s’lots cooler too and Mis’Eva promised she’d helps me pierce my ears when I gots bigger too. I ain’ts seed you in forEVer… wanted ta talks to you last time but you was sleepin…”


(james)
if she sees something, maybe it's normal
maybe it's the animal that no matter how human they look will never go away
maybe it's something darker, something heartless and bloodthirsty for vengance that's been festering far longer than the days since blood spilled a mile away
something children shouldn't ever see, no matter their bloodlines or destiny
but it doesn't matter
in another blink it's pushed away again
he doesn't even make an expression to show what he thinks of the parenting lesson
he's not the parent, so who is he to argue?
all that's there is that soft, soft smile

"Macbunny cheese, huh? Sounds adventurous." then his head tilts "What'd you want to talk to me about?"

(imogen)
"I'm assuming," dryly, "the answer 'smoking' wouldn't be enough." Another drag on the cigarette, ember eating away at paper and inhaling nicotine laced tobacco with long practice.

Her attention drifts briefly toward Carmen as she speaks, a spout of childish questions and strains of sentences that link together somehow, in some vague way. "It seemed better than stayin' inside, in either case," a final completion of the vague answer to his question.

(dire)
He nods to the Macbunnycheese thing "It's good too."

(carmen)
She giggles and and nods.. “Is really good! Daddy teached me how to makes it da first night I we was in da cabin in da woods… an I catch bunnies all myself – or did when we was out dere cuz I know how t’snares real good..” giggles again “jus ask dat kin. Daddy taughts me dat too..” She bites a bit off of her ‘smoke’ and chews it a minute or two before she swallows n answers. “Well. I was real mads at you for a while, but thoughts that I should say I sorry since I not mad anymore. Daddy says its good t’say yur sorry when ya was mad for no reason an I hads a reason but I guess I was kinda wrong bout it and shouldn’t been mad ats you an’miss’Rune, not anyone really but I jus wanted ya ta know I wasn’t mad no more and I hopes you not mad at me neither…”

(decker)
Maybe it's the child prattling. A moment passes; he lets Imogen's answer hang in the air. Then he gets up. His weight leaving the bench echoes up and down the steel framework. He doesn't speak to his packmates; doesn't need to. They didn't need a hello, so it's natural, somehow, that they wouldn't need a goodbye.

Anyway they'll always be able to feel him. Know where he is if they reached out with their minds. Speak into his mind, if he leaves the channel open. And he does.

A few steps away without a word. A turn back. Nod toward Imogen, her and her flamekissed hair. Or rather, a nod directed toward her, but the tilt of his head indicates the path. "Walk a l'il?"

(james)
there's a nod, approving

"It's never bad to apologize when you think you should." one final drag before his own smoke is flicked away into an errant puddle from the sprinklers "What were you mad about?"

(dire)
He watches and grins at Carmens speach and what she's saying. He chuckels knowing this should be good

(imogen)
The child speaking fills the air with void noises, words that she isn't really listening to, because Carmen is speaking to James, and at the best of times she can't follow the thread of speech from a four year old (almost five!).

Smoke curls from her mouth as she exhales, and her head turns back toward Decker, his tilt of his head his question. A brief consideration, perhaps the time, perhaps the lack of the moon, or the child and two packmates. Perhaps the houseguest who is, presumeably sleeping right about now.

A faint tilt of a nod (she doesn't have that nod-up the rest of the pack has, she has her own gestures. The closest she gets is a lift of her chin in gesture, and that is not this), "Yeah." Simple agreement as she steps away toward the other bench and it's garbage receptacle. Cigarette ground against the rim before the stub falls from her fingers into the can.

(carmen)
She takes another bite of her ‘smoke’ afoer she answers, looking back at daddy t’make sure he sees she’s bein good still, and she ‘pologized likes she said she would.. an she resituates baby’manda in her lap and leans over a little, finger drawin in the dirt absently.. “well.” Chews the candy an swallows.. “see. I knew daddy dinna wants dat silly kin, n I didn wan’er, and he saids da pack did it.. an I gots really mad cuz I thoughts you n’miss Rune liked me more’n’dat… Deckah’s a meany booger breath anyway and so’s I didn’t care ifs he said so.. but I didn’likes dat you n miss’rune ‘cided something so’s important likes dat withouts me getting a say. I’s only 4 I know but I’s smart… n’no one asked me nuffin. N’shes so stupids and keeps tryin ta be my momma and ain’ts no one my momma and if’s I had ta have a new momma I’d wanner to be jus’likes Mis’Rune…” trails off a little into a shrug…

(james)
throughout her little prattling tirade
the Gnawer listens with full attention
a part of him wanting to fall back into the grass, feet kicking into the air, screaming with laughter at the thought of Rune being a 'mom'
there's also a part of him inside that just.... melts (and aches)
but it's all hidden away from the child just like the demons that are screaming behind deep umber

"What'd Dire tell you about why we did that."

(decker)
There's no response to her nod. No smile, no arm held out to slide around her shoulders. His hands stay in his pockets, where they'd been even while he stood. His response doesn't come in words or gestures, but in action.

He falls in beside her, flanking her easily and thoughtlessly. Moonless walk in a green belt at 3, almost 4 in the morning: god knows what this is supposed to mean, accomplish, be, prove.

The last of the stars are fading behind the clouds coming in. He raises his head and looks at them for a moment. He might be able to smell the impending storm if he were in his wolf form, but tonight he wears his wolf inside. The sounds of the pack drop away behind them. He makes no attempt to fill the void. Crickets and wind form the large part of the sounds of the night. Somewhere past a bend in the path, but still easily visible to the pack in the distance over the gently rolling, carefully tended green slopes of the belt, he slows his pace a notch and turns to look at her.

The hint of rage. The hint of what violence could be, if only...; the hint of a frown furrowing a line between his eyebrows; the straight unforgiving line of his mouth.

A moment passes. Then that line of this mouth relents a notch, though the line between his brow doesn't fade. Curves up at one edge. He (as much as he ever does; as much as he ever could) smiles at her. Slight and brief. Nothing more, nothing less. And he says nothing.

A moment later he looks back at the path he walks, and keeps walking.

(dire)
He looks over and tilts his head

(carmen)
Misser James gives her attention and she doesn’t look up quite at him much but the question gets a furrowed brow, fingers pausing in the little drag through dirt and grass before startin again and there’s another shrug.. “You guys gotsta fights da war. I knows dat. I knows I can’ts be here all da times and stuffs and ya was all skeered I’d be hurts or sumpin… but daddy takes good careame, and I likes stayin with miss’Danni, but can’ts stay wif her much no more and dis kin… I just don’t likes her. She said she was m’new mommy and she AINT NEVER gonna be dat. I been good doh, and ain’ts been comin over much even if I miss you n mis’Rune sumpin awful sometimes…”

(james)
"There's a lot of things around us that can hurt you, Carmen." he doesn't quite go into what they are "But you had every right to be angry, because you're right, we made the decision without letting you have any say in what was happening to your life."

there's a bit of a sigh
(how. much. he. hurts.)
gaze strafing over towards Dire, a moment
then it swings back to the little girl
(jaw moves to tighten, then forcibly relax)

"We didn't mean to make you angry, or hurt you.... and.... the last thing I ever want to do is split a family apart. But I'd rather have you in a safe place and pissed off at me than in a place you're happy and in danger for any reason. If something bad happened none of us would ever be able to see you again. I don't want to miss you in that way."

(carmen)
She hears the sigh, and she listens, and shoulders hunch into a shrug, then relax again and there’s a soft sigh in return. “I know things don’ts always work right.. n’if anythin’ happened to you or Mis’Rune I’d be awfully sad too… n I knows ya jus wan me t’be safe.. but I ain’ts pis….” Grins up at him “mad atcha no more anyway…” a tip of head and a long study with darker den dark eyes an she just leans against him, tuckin her head against his shoulder an sliding her arm though his, squeezin a lil “sumpin’s makin ya sad an I don’wants ya t’be sad. Kin I helps makes it better?”

(james)
his arm loops with hers without even a second thought
easily snugging the child closer
her lean getting a soft smile to drift across his features
then another sigh heaves

"I'm.... yeh, I'm sad. Some things that are happening now are making me think a lot about the past. That's all."

(carmen)
There’s a lil nod… and she looks up at him, before just snuggling close. “I gets sads sometimes like that too.. n’my daddy said s’ok to leak a lil when I do.. I miss momma sometimes real bad.. s’why I gets mad at Carrie so much. She keeps tryin t’get me t’call her momma and she just ain’t.” a pause in thought.. and then softly… “My momma was sad lots too… den I’d finds her an’ we’d have cocoa and watch old movies on da tv and fall sleep t’gether on da couch.. dose were da bestest times I thinks… an sometimes I thinks I mights forget her, and I ain’t ever wanna do that… and dat makes me sad… even ifs memberin her makes me kinda sads too… you memberin someone? maybes.. maybes I should makes ya some cocoa…. I makes good cocoa..”

(james)
he listens again, quietly
she may be a little kin (so they think) and he may be a big warrior Ahroun
but that doesn't mean diddly when it comes to respectfully listening
slowly nodding at the end

"Yeh, I'm remembering someone. Her name was Jenna, and she was very special to me."

that isn't everything, really
the death of the kin hits close to home, but there's more
(just that line about how she'd want Rune to be her mommy)
though, as with any Gnawer, he's easily placated with the promise of food
.... drink
maybe he just doesn't want to dwell anymore tonight

"Though I think." he's stretching to stand, strong hands suddenly moving her with him, swoooooping the little girl up off the ground to settle in ride on his shoulders "No matter what the reason, I would not pass up an offer for cocoa. I refuse to let you go home tonight without making me some."

there's a nod up and glance to the Skald (c'mon) and long legs already move towards Rune's condo

"You think Miss Rune would have stuff inside that you could use for it?"

(carmen)
There’s a slow nod, and a cuddle closer at that.. afore he stands and she looks up (and up and up and up – but nots as far as has ta look up ta daddy) and he reaches and swooooops her up and she Squeels with delight, clutchin baby’Manda close and settling her carefully while holdin on ta Misser James with a thrilled giggle, waving daddy to join em and nodding vigorously in a tumble of braids around dark eyes.. “I knows she does… cuz she gotted some fo’me afore da last time I visited.. it’s in da cubbard next to da stove with all da spices n stuff… and she even gotted marshmallows! Dey’s hidin in da back doh so’s Deckah don’ts find em..” giggled as leans down, foldin lil body in half and whispering “maybe yur Jenna’s helping takes care of my Momma… and dey won’ts want us t’be sads forever… so’s we’ll have cocoa and be happys for a lil while, kay?” a kiss MWAH’d somewhere in tangled dreds, and then she’s giggling “giddyup!” as they, n daddy too, head into the condo.

Posted by james at 12:00 AM
April 29, 2003
.04.29.03. - summer [jenny]

[noje]

(jenny)
Some hour before midnight when the shadows are everywhere, blue and long. When the air is almost at its coldest and steam rises from grates like the vapors from some witches brew or oracles incense smoke. The hour is that moment when the streets are at their darkest, not in terms of light, but in terms of action; the hour when some stretches are as silent as a graveyard deep below a city in sleep and other stretches are filled with nightlifers.

Behind a dumpster, pushed close to a hollowed concrete stoop, below the faint tracery of old graffitti on brick and stone, a smudge of palor stirrs. The alleyway cats watch the area with lazy, indolent eyes; they don't come close.

Zoom in. Pale hand, scratched and bruised with fingernails darkened by dirt.
Make me invisible, make me invisible.


(james)
shortcuts
it's amazing the shortcuts you find when you're off and bolting in fox frenzy
(we won't go into from what - we don't want to remember that)
worn and faded tank boots beat something of a steady cadence in the alleyway
shortcut from the Rolling Hills Condominum Park to the best little Thai place this side of the border
any border, in his opinion

soles that are slowly losing their tread pick their way through the puddles and grime
Alice pack slaps gently against lumbar spine with each step
it's basically empty, now, most of his Stuff! at Rune's condo
but right now he's in that 'don't leave home without it' mode
given all the crappery that's been happening on Eagle turf lately
never hurts to be prepared, as the boyscouts always say

his attention lingers on the alleycats
the way they slink back agaisnt a far wall because of something that.... isn't him
because they only grant him the briefest of glances
there's something else that has them all itchy

(jenny)
The hand follows through against a curved cheek (anthem of starved youth) then up into hair that was once a blonde but now hangs in too many wild tangles to tell. The eyes are generously set and dark in hue; for an instant they could be the color of the cloudless night sky.

Jenny does not notice the cats, while they stay back (a perverse respect, because cats still recognize...). Jenny doesn't notice much of anything at the moment. Jenny, this smudge of pale against ruined brick and flesh slendered down to bones and the grey-once-white dress, who touches her delerious cheek and licks cracked lips while standing perfectly still.

To her mind, James appears all of the suddenly; he coalesces out of thin air, honeyed cinnamon man with drummer man drumming boots like hooves, and its the sound of the boots which makes him appear, to her, which grabs her wide-eyed attention, which catches the breath in her throat like an animals fur catches on the barbed wire of a trap when it has been taken from it.

Pared down to the essentials.
...light glimmers on sewer water, black and slicked in oil rainbows.

(james)
he's watching the cats
the cats are watching something else
but he's watching the cats
.... odd
and then a breath catches - his head spins
dreadlocks that tumble down to the lowest tips of shoulderblades jump and spin with the movement

one hand already reaching back, fist wrapping around something that ends sharp and deadly

then a brow lifts over deep umber eyes
slow and steady crawl up towards the frame of light brown jungle vines that hang around his face
it's not that he hasn't seen filthy homeless people before
he used to be one of them
not much has changed except the regular presence of showers
but it's that he was expecting somethign a little more... RAR!.... than a girl cowering against a wall
course.... we all know where complacency gets us
(that hand remains wrapped around the handle of the blade)

".... 'lo there."

soft and easy, rich tones trickling out of an easy smile

(jenny)
Jenny stares at this man - interloper - and her nostrils flare for a second, trying to read the air. Then, unnatural stillness again; a loose-limbed kind of stillness that all consumes and threatens no action. Her shoulders lift fractionally when his mellow tones paint the air so easy; another instant, glance to glance, eye to eye, riddle me this, riddle me that, before lash to cheek, she closes her eyes.

Invisible.
Invisible.
Invisible.

Then starts to tremble from crown to toe - piece of paper in a whirlwind storm - from some invisible (too. empty. this world. too grey. too dark. too cold. too. empty. empty. empty.) struggle. Is that how she gets all the predators to leave her alone, probably pretty underneath the dirt and garbage, the feral (no, wild) curling of her fingers into fists,

her eyes open and he's still there looking at her.
She licks her lips.

(james)
interloper, raggedyman, ruffian, uncouth - he's been called worse
but his head sorta just.... tips... as she closes eyes and clenches firsts and, well, really looks like a little girl just imagining she's invisable
because if she can't see the monster, it can't see her
and if you pull the sheets up and over your head, you know that seal's gonna stop the downswing of the murderer's great axe
common now, didn't you know the value of 110 count cotton?
works better'n a bloody hammered iron sheild, it does
..... or something

her eyes are creeping back open
(he's still there)
his head's dipping a little bit, brows creeping upwards - in concert - in question

"You..... allright?"


he should really just move on
obey those heebie jeebies that have been with him since hearing about Aurora
goddamned Hood nature


(jenny)
Alright, numb the word formed by lips that taste of metal and rust without the song of throat to give it voice (like soul). Jenny's shoulder blades blade against the wall as she shifts her weight unlocking the freeze on muscles which only causes them to tremble more. Index finger curled up and pressed against the tip of her nose, a badge against her mouth. The universal sign of quiet.

Silence. Too weary to take his form in with more then a brief flutter of panic starting at her traitor's mortal heart. Silence, c'mon. James has seen insanity before; he's probably seeing it now.

Her fist clenches tightly again and swings down to press against her side, sharp, sudden. The movements are shadowed by grace, something like deer possess, but something also more: sweet, wide eyes swerve upward then back to James.

Jittery. Fearful. Seeing ghosts. Seeing monsters. Hearing them, anyway. Something sends her ( - colt spindly - ) skipping out of the shadows and around the dumpster, closer, keeping track - perepheral - of the darkness clawing underneath the concrete hole. There's a helpless leashed violence in the sweep of palm across her (luminous, when they shouldn't be; plain as plain can be) eyes.

"..where'sis?"
whisper.

(james)
he's seen insanity before
he's held it in his arms within the body of a small child
he's skipped and sashayed his way through fucking Wonderland
he's.... seeing it now
..... peachy

see Jamey-boy? shoulda kept walking
think of all that Thai food you're gonna be missing out on
cause you know this will become one of those allnighter things
and even though there's some biting sarcasm in his thoughts
the moon is black in the sky, and the Ahroun's blood stays at low tide
there's even a warmth in his eyes
watching this girl skitter around the shadows like a headshy filly

by the time she's around the dumpster, he's taken a step back
Alice pack settled down on the ground
his body sinking into a comfortable crouch beside it
elbows settle on knees, wrists dangle freely
oh yes, big dangerous Bone Gnawer warrior....

"Hibernia."

at least that's what he thinks she's asking

(jenny)
Even crouched, the gnawer seems bigger then this girl is, but one part of her mind is comforted by that: the lack of threat implicit in posture. The other part has taken the word and turns it over in her head. Connections want to be made, but the wire is broken; language wants to breach barriers but it can't without knowledge. Shy, Jenny shakes her head. I don't understand. (The way children don't understand it when their fathers beat their mothers bloody with a broken knife of glass.) I'm not quite making the connection. (The way things that vanish don't notice until they're gone that they've ceased to hold on to reality.) I'm not quite --

then a flicker [fall, stars] in her dark, animal gaze, another catch of her breath.
"-but it isn't green."
voice which just
wants to
fade.

(james)
while he may look human
while he may even be able to pull off this decent act of being human
the wolf will never disappear, never completely
and as much as he's speaking to her with words
he's composing vast poetry in motion
the universal language of body that goes so much farther than the words of mind
his shoulders slope downwards beneath the faded gray tee
bands of strong muscle through his arms stay lax and supple
his head tilts, just a little askance, lengthening and showing one side of his throat

he could go six ways furry from Sunday before she could even cross the alley towards him
but right now he's telling her everything but threat
an understanding in deep, warm, earthen umber to the tension within hers
somehow... relating to the way she just isn't sure

"No, not here."

(jenny)
So maybe it's the unspoken (speechless) body language. Maybe it's that her frail (dying) body is just too weak after all those months of running and these past weeks of urban squalor and hiding and she's just plain too exhausted to keep reacting intensely to old fears. Maybe it's just the fact that something about him says 'animal' before it says 'man'.

Whatever it is, a measure of calm soothes her brow. Head remains canted, tilted at that angle, while thought rifles through memory; while things go on behind the reflection of James twinned and thrown back in his face. Ahroun, right? Whatever that is.

"-is this your..." lost. Words won't come. As close to desperation as her kind can be. "...place?"

(james)
the eyes may be what looks and seeks and gathers the visual stimuli to climax in decision and information
but it's the rest of the senses that flesh out that skeletal creation
he can hear the weakness straining her voice beyond the desperation
he can smell the wear and tear that leaks away from her in (sickness, dying) hormones
he can taste the fear that continues to ebb and flow off the frailty
some riptide that could suddenly tear the shaking body to unrecognizable pieces should the wrong move be made, or weight shifting in the direction that it shouldn't, or a thousand other things that could send her running out into the near-midnight traffic

his head doesn't drop, but it moves forward to create a nod to her angle
there's just.... something about her
it goes beyond the wildness
something etherial lurking in the shadows cast by the spindly creature
how strange what they both notice yet cannot define into specific words
(I've.... felt this before....)

"A part, yes."

his hand moves slowly, wrist lifting up infront of his knee
arm stretching out towards the Alice pack
plastic crinkles as it's pulled free of a pocket
half-packet of jerky held out towards her on open palm
then it's tossed the meager distance, landing a foot or two away, so she can keep hers

(jenny)
[I dream of fire and hemlock]

Her gaze (not sharp; just dark. in another world a million glimmering seacreatures constantly surface and resurface. the shadows that fall across gaunt features are made unbearably) lovely doesn't waver until he throws the jerky and it hits the ground.

[I dream of the black creature and his dark rider.]

Then Jenny sinks to her knees - an act of pageantry, lyric and reminiscent of a creature half-forgotten - and touches the concrete with her bruised finger tips. Her eyebrows pull together and she lowers her head. Defensive. Protective. I will stab you.

[I never dream at all.]

Then she looks at what James threw. Back at him. Nope, doesn't have a clue what that is. There is, however, a moment of almost lucidity, like clouds shattered and left her mind clear, for a moment. The clarity brings back shy shroud, which tints her words a paler hue: "Do you want me to leave?" I was running anyway. All she remembers is running.

[I dream of hunters.]

(james)
"I'd rather you eat."

his chin lifts, gesturing towards the jerky
he hadn't made it to the Thai place yet, that's all he has
and he's giving it to this strange, wild girl without a second thought
grasping at that sudden moment of lucid pattern which allows concrete thought to stray within

"I'd rather you have someplace sheltered to stay the night."

he can see how the street is tearing her apart
he knows.... something.... is fracturing her mind
but Gaia knows if he can figure out what it is
(or if he'd even understand)
she's curling in on herself to protect the weakest parts
he's a hunter, but doesn't lunge, doesn't strike out to wipe this weakness out of his territory
he's just calm as can be

(jenny)
Jenny doesn't seem to know what to say to that, and her glance is shaded wary. (There isn't any such thing as shelter. Walls don't work. Locks don't...) A wariness which has no connection at all to cynicism or (human) self preservation.

Perhaps there are words somewhere (...sleeping in thorns...) which her tongue has no eloquence for; and all eloquence has to find an outlet through movement, the sudden sorrowing language of a glance, a frail shadow slimming across her face, a delicate movement which rolls muscles forward until she can lift the jery between her fingers and incline her head in thanks.

Gracious. Nothing like nobility--the predecessor of that idea.
"...what is it?"

(james)
shelter is a farce
locks don't hold
walls don't protect
reality doesn't mean a fucking thing anymore
but sometimes, you have to cling to what you can
and the faithful Hood offers all he can
(Banaman, you shouldn't be doing this, James)

though her question makes brows lift
(you can't be serious)
blinking once or twice as he recovers from her question
(well.....)

"Beef jerky..... food."

that's like.... staple
he can't even recall a time he didn't know what it was

(jenny)
Jenny, gentle as the fall of moon glow upon ivory, smiles. (...not sad. Sorrow. Smiles the quietest swan song.) There's a moment of awkwardness and that preternatural stillness while she looks at James' offering and one half of her wonders if it would be okay to give the gift back--or if it would break some kind of rule.

Quick glance over her shoulder, quick dart of liquid eyes back to tall lean gnawer. For an instant, the tangle of filth and (dreaming) girl is crouched at James' side. Swift. Silent. For an instant, dirty thumb presses against his cheek and tilts it to the side.

Then her entire body tenses. Goes rigid. Listens.
(Don't you hear it? Nobody hears it...)
Absolutely fucking terrified.
(...and that's why I am...)
Wearied to the bone.

A sudden sharp intake of breath and a sudden redistribution of weight which sends her bolting away before his instincts tell him to breathe once more.

The fleet flown girl.


(pm)
to James: moment of revelation her dirty thumb to his cheek, moment that strikes a new precious memory he never had but maybe he could have dreamed. a scent. smells are important. smells can be sexual. (not with jenny, purest of the pure.) smells mean more then people give them credit for, but he's garou. maybe he'll understand.

summer. golden summer. pale twilit midsummer nights.

the first summer, the summer that all summers after were based on; the first moon rise. the way the air smelled when the world woke to that concert.

brief impressions. little gifts.
surreal.

and the jerky is tucked between his knees.


(james)
it's a flicker of movement, just a blink from her achingly gentle smile to when she's by his side
he could sense an attack, paranoid from the wicked mojo plaguing Eagle territory, shift and meet her touch with the barbs of razor talons that turn her tangled filth into nothing more than a pretty stain on the alley floor, unnoticed and unknown by any other than the Ahroun Gnawer
yet all he does is breath

one. single. breath.

on it rides the blooming wings of summer
not just any summer that's graced the earth through countless millennia
but that very first one that kissed Gaia's flesh with rippling flaxen fields of wheat
the kind that glow so brilliantly warm it steals your breath away
the kind that gently fades into the warmth of twilight blushing before the dark of night
the kind of day you wished would never end because it will never be like this again
every day after will only be a shadow, a glimmer, something that strives to recreate but will never be the same
no matter how much it glows, or how pure the light shines down from the spanse of sky above
it's still only a dim reflection of that virgin day

there's a dirty smear on the curve of his cheek
darkening the shadow of post-midnight stubble
and by the time he exhales that breath - she's gone

there's nothing left but the stinging scent of terror and the memory of her gift

his head shakes, tangle dreads cascading down over his shoulders
muscle flexes and contracts to lift the Alice pack off the ground
long body unfolding and returning circulation to his legs
dark eyes sweep towards the shadows, wondering what it is that spooked her so badly
questioning, he is, and unsure if he'll ever know or understand if he does
but there's Thai to bring home to the pack

(fuckin' surreal)

Posted by james at 12:00 AM
April 28, 2003
.04.28.03. - look at me [rune]

[noje]

(rune)
The warehouse has been long-neglected. Could be, Erik's the only one who lives there, sometimes, and he certainly doesn't seem the type to require creature comforts. The pack and its assorted extras has chosen, instead, to hang around her place and fill it - constantly - with fucking noise.

Rune never minded noise before, but it was her noise, wasn't it? Not Luc's German death-metal noise, not Dire and Decker brawling in her fucking living room, shattering her goddamn table. With just Decker and James as constant tenants, it never seemed a crowded place. Both know how to make themselves absent, somehow, and are perfectly capable of giving her space.

The first day she opened the closet door and found Dire sleeping inside (no full moon, anymore, no fucking excuse) standing up in a sleeping bag in homid, she left the straight-away and headed to the warehouse. Every day since then, she has ignored the closet and headed to the warehouse, when duty didn't drag her elsewhere.

Last night, after the fight: the warehouse. Again, the warehouse, because she couldn't face the stuffy, crowded rooms, the incessant noise, the thrumming hum of her pack's generous rage, frustrated in their quest for the bastards who killed a kinfolk on their territory.

And so: the warehouse. In the several weeks, she has made significant progress. The first floor is still as it was: an abandoned wreck, shipping bay doors offering access to the floor, a make-shift garage. One corner has been swept up and fixed up, a pair of punching bags hung from the ceiling. There's a weight bench there, too, but no other exercise equipment, and only a battered CD-boom box for entertainment. A small scattering of CDs in multicolored jewel spills over beside them.

The second floor, however, has been transformed. Or, half the second floor has been transformed. The second floor offices remain empty - when she's done, they can turn them into rooms if they want to - but the main floor of the storage area is in the process of being redone into a dormitory-style residence. Carpet has been laid, and the brick walls have been scrubbed clean. The old plaster has been repaired and repainted, and track lighting installed on the high ceiling. On one side of the room, the beginnings of a makeshift kitchen. Some cheap cabinets, a microwave, a refridgerator, a kitchen sink on the floor waiting to be installed where the old janitor's sink was.

There's a television, a couch, a few easy chairs, a stereo, all scattered around near the kitchen. Across the wide, high-ceilinged room, a stack of mattresses and box springs, several bunk bed frames waiting to be put together.

Beer. That's the only thing in the fridge, and one of those beers is sitting on the makeshift worktable Rune set up: a sheet of sturdy plywood over a pair of sawhorses, supported by a pair of two by fours. The Glass Walker stands on a tall metal ladder that climbs high to the ceiling, dressed in worn old jeans and a tattered, sleeveless t-shirt. The only sign of last night's battle is the ugly bruise over her shoulder, crawling down her strong arm. Last night, that was a vicious, heavy wound - muscles torn, bone shattered, leaving the limb all but useless. This morning, all that is left is the deep, deep bruise. On the stereo: the Clash, of course. Rune's singing along, tunelessly, growling the words as much as singing them. "Every cheap hood makes a bargain with the wooorld, ends up makin' payments on a sofa or a girl..."

(james)
he knows she heard him come in
he knows she felt him come in - that crawling feeling of pack that suddenly worms its way into her being
he knows she could probably smell him coming, too, but that still doesn't prompt a greeting or a sound
silently letting the pizza box slide from his fingers to rest next to her abandoned beer on the sawhorse supported worktable
deep umber eyes climb the gleaming metal ladder, drifting across her ankles, calves, knees, thighs, liiiiiiingering a bit on the back pockets of those jeans, and then slowly the gaze floats higher
stopping on that bruise

he should have been there
it doesn't matter to him, deep down, that he was taking care of the things he was told to
while that call of duty is enough to make peace on the surface, there's still that gut twisting twinge of reaction buried deep down
he knows she can take care of herself - she could probably kick his ass
and that's one of the many reasons he didn't fight falling in love with her
but when you love someone, you worry
even when they heal at incredible speeds and withstand things that would obliterate the normal person
there's always that underlying wonder (fear) of the day they won't heal as fast as they need to or just aren't strong enough

he's never banked on tomorrow, ready to accept the day that suddenly won't come anymore - but that's him, not her

but that was yesterday, and today is here
so he lets that gaze climb just a little higher, following the sweeping line of jaw, up towards her ear occasionally shadowed by inky hair swaying with each movement, then back to those tunelessly singing lips
and he can't help but smile

"From every dingy basement on every dingy street, I hear every dragging handclap over every dragging beat, that's just the beat of time-the beat that must go on....... if you been trying for years-then we already heard your song."

nothing to send chills up her spine, but he's an Ahroun, not a Galliard


(rune)
The bruise marks her left arm. It's the arm she could afford to lose, should it come to that. It's the arm she could live without, fight without, if it came to that. Her left hand is braced upon the top of the ladder, maintaining balance at the top of that tall ladder. In her right hand, a power screwdriver, zipping the last of the screws in place on another bar of track lighting.

She kept working as she felt him enter, and kept working as the feeling, the certain sense of his presence tracked through the lower floor and up the stairs, as his scent imprinted itself on her senses, and the pizza, too. Only when he sings to her does she click the button and turn the screwdriver off, pausing long enough to dust her hands off on the seat of her jeans before turning half-around on her precarious perch. One hand clings to the metal, the second hand clutches her tools, and both feet hold their perch. Her torso is a sinuous twist of flesh, and she looks down at him with a three-quarter profile, dark hair falling forward across her face as she leans forward and down.

"Death or glory, becomes just another story." She's grinning through the words, attempting a more tuneful sort of sound that comes out only as rhythmic spoken word. "Hey stranger."

He may be swallowing guilt over not being there, but there's no reproach in her gaze. Likely, she doesn't realize the track of his thoughts as they pauise on her bruised shoulder. Likely, it wouldn't ever occur to the Glass Walker. Even playing Ms. Fix-It, Rune's made-up, all smoking eyes and crimson mouth, curled now in a smile that comes out only rarely, and only for him. She lifts her chin in the direction of the pizza box. "Bring me dinner?"

(james)
he's swallowing guilt, just a touch, with a bit of garnish and salt for taste
it's not enough to really mean anything to anyone other than him
but it's just the general principle of male ego and love, dammit
though that grin surrounding the words, then that smile that he knows is just for him - sure makes it go down a lot easier
and then that grin that simply shines back up at her, whatever train of thought he had is gone now

"Mmmmhmmm" chuckled as he moves over to brace the ladder for her to climb down, he's not reaching a hand up to help her - knowing she doesn't go for that, and definitely doesn't need it - but he will take the drill to make it easier "Meat lover's, stuffed crust, extra cheese sound acceptable?"

(rune)
"Sounds good enough to eat." In the words, a half-edge of something darker and playful, some smirking awareness of the cliché and every possible interpretation that finds echo in the easy curve of her spine as she climbs down, one foot after the other. Five feet from the bottom, she does hand him the drill, and then she takes the last several feet easily enough, with a backward jump from the second-to-last rung, booted feet thudding on the freshly carpeted floor.

It smells like sawdust in here, and cigarettes. It smells like carpet glue and freshly applied paint. And it smells like her, of course, after the hours and hours she's spent here fixing the damn place up.

"Didn't know I knew how to use power tools, did you?" She askes as she turns around, slinging her elbow up to rest on one of the lower rungs. One fine, dark brow darts upwards, as the familiar smirk crawls across her face. Chin rising, she indicates the whole of the place, still a work in progress and bare-bones compared to the condo. "Whatcha think?"

(james)
soon as the drill is in his hand, he steps back, giving her room to jump down off the second to last rung
wohoooooo Nelly he found all sorts of interpretations in her cliche phrase
(you dirty, dirty boy)
so moves off instead to shrug out of the patchwork trench and place both it and the drill on the worktable
free hands now open up the pizza box and grab a slice to place on couple of napkins
dark eyes lifting and roaming across the warehouse turned damn well decent place to live
bare bones compared to their usual digs, with only carpet and some paint, it's a far sight better than some of the places he's stayed in, that's for sure

"I think it's amazing."

and that's an honest remark, too
he's not just saying it because she made it
and anything she does is perfect and wonderful to him
he's actually rather impressed with the whole thing
especially as she's done it with little to no help as they've all been preoccupied with the frustration of hunting the things (Kooks!) that have been hunting Kin on their turf
by now he's turned back towards her, and the ladder
long strides closing the short distance between
placing the pizza in one of her hands - palm still imprinted with the drill's grip - and her beer in the other
there's a tilt of his head, sending dreadlocks sprawling across scarred skin over his shoulder revealed by the black wifebeater
leeaaaaaning in real close, to just murmur, croon, and quite possibly: chortle

"Babe I found some of your toys, remember?" winked "Well aware you can use power tools."

note he filled her hands with precious food and beer.... first
note how the Gnawer moves quickly back across to the worktable to take refuge behind the pizza
(he's gonna pay for that'n)

(rune)
"Bastard." Snapped close to the vulnerable curve of his ear, the single word ricochets, a little silver bullet of sound following by a flaring snort. Tipping her sleek head back (dark locks spills away from the sharp planes of her arrogant features), she takes a long drink of her beer, coming up for air half-way through. Thirsty work, this. "I meant the real fucking kind."

The Walker fixes the Gnawer with an arrogant little look: risen chin, set jaw, half-hooded dark eyes narrowed, the color of the irises lost to mere shadow. (I'll get you back. Later. You can't run from me.) "If you're trying to make me fucking blush, it's not going to work. I don't blush," narrow-eyed as she is, the sharp upslant of one dark brow can be nothing more than raw challenge, though the look is fickle and disappears as quickly as it came.

Rune takes a bite from her pizza, pulling the wedge back and swallowing the long threads of cheese that stretch and stretch from away from the slice. Chews. Swallows, and takes another draught from the beer and lifts her pizza-filled hand in toast toward the echoing warehouse. "Thought I'd fix it up before I kick 'em out. Fucking tired of finding Dire in my goddamned closet."

(james)
at some point during her retort, and his gleaming looks over ash-marked shoulder, he made it to the fridge
relieving it of two more beers, one's opened, and the other set on the worktable for her for later
(he'll just walk back again to get his own)

"Yes you do." open mouth of the bottle tipped towards her, challenge accepted "I've seen it."

or at least... flush... but it's the same thing to him
though all this really seems to be doing is digging his own hole much deeper. fast.
his own slice finally plucked from the large pie and disappearing just as quickly in four inhaling bites
(does he chew?)
he takes a little more time with the next slice
this one may disappear in six because he's talking after bite two

"Noticed that." he could sense her irritation, the underlying tension which was slowly festering and growing while nothing was yet said, doubling with the appearence of Eva, but he didn't say anything, especially as he was sleeping in Imogen's couch every other night and doing his best to stay out of the way and still be useful "Been wondering how long it would take you to physically move him to a tent outside on the lawn....."

(james)
"Oh I do not." Her outrage is settled somewhere between the real and the oh-so-deilberately mocking. The scales must be tipped toward the latter since the remark is accompanied by a wide, salacious grin that splits her mouth wide, curls upward into the sharp curve of her cheek bones. He crosses the wide, echoing room to rummage through the fridge for another beer, and she, for her part, just leans back with one elbow against upon one of the cool rungs of the tall metal ladder, watching him.

And she makes sure he knows she's fucking watching him.

When he turns back, dark eyes are cast low and crawling slowly upward, a scorchingly deliberate study, utterly arrogant in its thoroughness. It begins at his feet and crawls up his muscled legs, lingers on his torso, the strong line of his arm to the jointure of shoulder. Her gaze sprawls hot across his mouth, dark eyes opaque but smoldering, like a seem of coal burning deep below the crust of the earth, before finally flickering up to meet his eyes. "You, on the other hand..."

Her voice melts away to a low thrum of smirking laughter. Self-assurance - raw, bodily self-assurance - is not the least of her virtues, and for the moment she is in her element.

Her attention is momentarily diverted as he eats. She takes several bites of her pizza - one quarter slice consumed in contrast to his whole one during the period of silence - then snorts, nostrils flaring with remnant irritation as it sizzles up her spine like static electricity. "Who the fuck sleeps in the fucking closet? It's a rhetorical question. It must be. There's no reading Dire, and the Glass Walker isn't sure she wants to read him. "And Luc and his fucking music, and his fucking ma-ing me. And fucking Livingston and the fucking kitchen... Be one thing if it was occasional, but christ. They're like fucking guppies. Guppies that have learned how to walk and developed primitive prehensile thumbs."

(james)
she's watching him, with that locked-on radar smouldering gaze of a predator lurking just this side of seditious
he can feel it, the way it crawls up his legs and torso, stopping at is mouth
it's a mouth that's dropping to open, words forming on the exhale of warm air
(you... do... t....)
and snapping shut again when their eyes meet
the skin just beneath his lower lip pulled between teeth in somewhat.... nervous... nibble
lungful of breath just sighing away into nothingness

yes, he does
and beneath the heat of that gaze
he would be beginning to, now
(you make my fucking knees weak, you know that?)
even if it's touched by a shy smile, those umber eyes finding something else to look at for a moment
her self-assurance suddenly met by his self-awareness
he has confidence in spades, it's a background thing, it's just that he tends to forget to bring himself back into the picture and she's so damned good at re-drawing what he unconsciously erases
there's a glance back to those dark eyes, furtive.... when he can normally so easily fall and drown in the mahogany pools
he's a Gnawer, just a Cliath Omega for the pack, he's back-up, not the center of attention
dammit.

"But Luc's ma'ing you is kinda cute. Not a bad thing where I come from."

that's right James, just go with the subject change and keep on going, atta boy

(rune)
"Where you come from, it's respect for someone with a helluva lot more responsibility that I have, let alone fucking want." She hasn't moved, has Rune. She's just lounging there, one elbow hooked over a ladder rung, a bottle of beer (a fresh bottle of beer) dangling from the delicate grip of thumb and forefinger. She's just... lounging there, feet crossed at the ankles. The jeans that are molded to the strong curve of her muscled thighs and cling easily to her hips are old and worn at the seams, spattered with paint and smeared with oil, dust. Even her manicure is a bit off, what with all the manual labor: flecks and chips of paint have been scored away, leaving swatches of raw, clean nail here and here and there.

The sleeveless tee is too big for her frame, but it clings where sweat has pooled on her torso, to certain advantage. Likely, she stole it from one of the boys in her pack. Possibly, she stole it from him. Her hair spills back from her face, the roots damp from sweat and glistening, darker, as dusk falls and the last broad sweeping rays of the dusky spring sun dance through the wavy glass of the old windows, highlight the clouds of dust still dancing in the air.

She finished her slice, and didn't reach for a second. And she's just lounging there, watching him with dark and certain eyes. It's the way he fades from the picture and erases himself, so necessary for a Hood and a Gnawer and a Cliath and Omega in a pack. It's the way she draws him back in.

"Why do you do that?" She's not particularly eloquent, is Rune. Her social skills generally end with the misdirection and subterfuge urrah necessarily develop to protect the veil, the subtle tides of strength and intimidation, the sureties required of a leader when the mantle is thrust on her shoulders. She's not eloquent, but she makes up for that in directness. Chin rising in his direction, the scorching darkness of her gaze settles into something approximating a slow burn. Erase yourself, from me, she means, though he could take it as anything, anything at all. "I want to know why you do that."

(james)
there's a slow nod, she's got that part right - it's a term of respect
and those dark eyes, deep as the earth's crust, lift skyward to peruse the echoing loft

"Yeh.... you don't take care of us at alllll...."

chuckled softly, in chide
they both know her doing this is taking care of herself
getting her condo back to where it's simply hers
how strange it is to be selfish and generous at the same time
even if she's kicking them out, she's making sure there's a comfortable place waiting

does he include himself with "them"?
he might. no matter how comfortable he is in her bed
(still 'hers' after all this time, not 'their')
there's an understanding should she want it all to herself
he may not think about it, hoping that the day never comes that it's something other than duty which would have him sleeping alone, but if it did ever happen.... he would never question it

somewhere in the silence, as she studied and lounged and watched
he begin the consumption of yet another slice of pizza
(no... he.... doesn't chew, does he)
how easily he can be with her, there, in silence, and beneath her thoughtful scrutiny
whatever it is he began thinking fades away again beneath the direction of her voice
brows furrowing in mid-chew, though there's a polite swallow before speech

"Do what?"

is it that unconscious that he doesn't even realize it anymore?
it's not that he's trying to avoid her question
she can see it in his eyes he'll tell her anything she wants
but with how open that was.... he wants to make sure he's telling her what she wants to know

(rune)
"This is for me." The Glass Walker shrugs, a minute, dismissive gesture, unconsciously echoing his knowledge as she throws away responsibility for it, responsibility that sits ill on her shoulder, prickling at the back of her mind. "Not for them. But it's not like I can kick them out without a fucking place to go. Hell, it's not that I don't even like them around, now and again," another quick draught of her beer, lipstick smearing on the glass. "It's just that that the condo's too fucking small, there are too many fucking neighbors. We're gonna get a visit from the police, some night. It's practically endangering the fucking veil."

Her eyes leave him briefly. She turns her head, casting a thoughtless glance toward the series of offices accessed by a pair of doors on the far wall. "Figured those could do for private rooms, anyone who wanted one, until we can get that half fixed up, if we're gonna keep it long. Otherwise, ain't worth it." Her eyes come to rest again on him, brows rising in mirror of her brief shrug. "Good place to stay low, too, if we need to. We can get the cars an shit inside downstairs, someone has those pegged. No neighbors to keep track of us, maybe make deals with a couple of spirits to keep an eye on whether anyone comes snooping when no one's here."

So, maybe it is for them. The condos are exposed, their cars in the driveway, the pack lounging around on the porch, Dire with his fucking Get tattoo on his fucking forehead, Decker with his on his arm. Maybe the hairshirt of responsibility fits her better than she would like, when it comes down to it.

The sleek Walker falls quiet then, for a moment, but her eyes do not drop from him this time. That's a challenge she never concedes: she does not look away. Twilight, and the light is changing rapidly, it's falling from dusk to darkness, separated by a brief spill of silver, and the shadows are changing from natural to artificial as the illumination from the ceiling lights overcomes the remnants of natural light. "When I look at you - " her mouth thins, briefly, and her body shifts, liquid, minutely closer. " - sometimes you look away."

(james)
he can practically see it
the way she sidesteps the responsibility that keeps fluttering up like some little bird only to settle on her shoulders once again the moment she's not paying attention
whether she likes it or not (and definitely does. not.) it's pretty clear that he thinks she's doing a good job
the way he respects her as lover and the way he respects her as Beta aren't always the same thing
though one definitely does help the other

then she finally narrows what she's looking for
and.... he didn't look away, this time
the way that deep umber focuses on her is utterly raw, so painfully open, because of just how much he'd allow her to do without a single breath of protest, laying himself completely before her without a second thought or even concern for what will become of this - a long time ago (has it really been that long?) he promised her anything; a ring, a pizza, a look, an emotion, his heart on a fucking silver platter, anything she asked, he would do everything within his power to give

"Sometimes I don't." and it's true, there are times that Gaia herself couldn't get him to look away, when it's a battle of wills or he's trying to prove his point, there are times he won't back down, even to the point of maintaining the Alpha's mangled glare; but in the sweep of his gaze down to the bottle that's raising to his lips to empty, he knows that answer is verbally looking away from the question, now that the attention is suddenly on him
not on his unshakable faith - but that young man standing far behind the fearless Ahroun shell
he realizes now.... she's the only one he looks away from
and he actually laughs, softly, a low croon of musical sound
retreating to the fridge to get two more beers
hers is held out and offered on passby, his is maintained until reaching the couch
there's a look that hopes she'll come with him
to maybe rest for awhile from her relentless work or just be near him, under the guise of stealing the cigarette he now lights
(even if now, at the pack's place, they're more alone than they are back at the condo)

"Submission?" there's a roll of wound rited shoulders that may symbolize a shrug, a slow draw of breath that guides his eyes back up from the carpet with the rise of chest within black cotton, a lazy pull of flat teeth across his lower lip, the shake of head that flips the shorter of dangling dreads - he knows that's not it "I guess...... sometimes I'm just shy around you."

(rune)
"Sometimes you don't." Her body folds to easily at the waist as she deposits her empty on the floor beside the ladder and, rising, takes the bottle he offers her in its place. She's still warm from her work (air conditioning isn't working yet. The windows don't exactly open easily, painted shut, she's no glazer, or spider to scale the brick and chip off the dried paint) so she lifts the cold new bottle to her forehead, drags it across pulsepoints: the curve of her neck, the tender skin inside her wrists. "Sometimes you do."

Dark eyes track his progress across the room, and after a moment, she pushes herself away from her easy lounge against the ladder and follows in his wake. Metal scrapes upon the carpet (thhu-thhu-thuu. thhhhu-thhhhhu-thhhu) as the weight of her body is briefly balanced only by elbow and hip. Then she's sauntering across the room, beer bottle riding coolly at the level of her hip, dangling from her thumb and forefinger, curved casually around the neck.

The CD has long since finished, and they are left in silence. Silence, or rather, what passes for silence in the city: the rush of traffic, distant, the constant hum of electricity, of metal birds zooming overhead on their way to Newark International or JFK or LaGuardia, or closer sounds, the squeek squeek squeek of a single wheel on a rusted shopping cart a homeless man pushes down the dark deserted, industrial street.

Silence, then, their urrah version of it. In that silence, the subtle sigh of cushions chuffing beneath the sudden burden of her sleek, muscled weight. Not inconsiderable, no, though hardly a match for his. She settles opposite him on the couch, and after a half-moment's thought kicks off her boots, toes off her socks, and lifts her long legs to fling them across his lap. "Wanna tell me why the hell you're still fucking shy around me?" she asks at last, in a quiet, sardonic voice, accompanied by a sure and forthright gaze.

(james)
there are a thousand sounds outside
this is the urrah version of silence
nothing like the opressive weight of total silence out in the Barrens, where not even the insects dare chitter
this is the cacaphonous silence of the city, so many unidentifiable things melding together to become nothing more than white noise
but he's listening past that - even though he's shy, even though he's looking away - he's still so painfully aware of her
the fuzzy scrape of bootsoles across the carpet
the gentle brush of rough denim between her thighs
the whisper of cushions sinking beneath her weight
the steady beat of her strong heart

she's questioning him with a sure and forthright gaze
he's looking down at the ankles flung across his lap
the beer's wedged between his thigh and the arm of the couch
fingers occupying themselves by plucking and arranging the frayed strings of cotton that dangle from jean's cuff

"I'm not sure." his voice is quiet now, soft around the Camel's filter denting between his teeth, soft as the smoke that coils out with each breath, hands suddenly find they're bored with just the strings and wrap warm around her ankles - climbing the ladder must be strenuous work, and he's gotta rub all that ache away, even if it's as much of an excuse to focus on something as it is for her pleasure "Maybe I just let myself be that open around you..... cause it has nothing to do with rank and tribe."

(rune)
Easily, she half-rises in place to steal the cigarette from his mouth. As she falls back into place, she sweeps her hand down for the ashtray at the foot of the couch, settles it on her stomach, then lifts it to balance on the back of the couch. For such creatures as they, movement is a natural, animal, instinctual, poetry that even the most well-trained humans cannot hope to match. Predators must be sure and swift, or else they die, of hunger, to another's claws, some challenge for territory or dominance. Weakness is deadly.

Smoke spirals from her mouth as her dark eyes wander over him: the dreadlocks spilling across his shoulders, his shoulders, bared by the black muscle shirt, darkening already from exposure to the warm spring sun, the tracery of ashed scars that disappears beneath the fabric, dark and vicious welts scored well down his back. And more, of course: the line of his jaws, the downward slant of his eyes, his hands on her flesh, her ankles massaged by his strong fingers, her feet flexing from the quiet pleasure of his touch.

"Shy because you're open?" Her gaze has strafed back to his face, now, and she watches the minute movement of muscle and tendon, the twitch of each expression across his face. "Or just open about being shy?"

Tension, a sudden frission through her body. He can feel it beneath his fingers, across his thighs, the flexion of her calves, the minute changes in her shoulders and hips that spread down the long length of her legs, like morse code on a telegraph wire. "You don't - " For once she looks away, to the windows smeared with fluoresced light. " - you don't have to - " And then she's looking back again, the sentence cut off as she takes a long drag on his cigarette, followed by a long draught of her beer. "You don't have to fucking be like that." Some humor, dark, enlivens her voice. "What the hell do you think I'm going to do?"

(james)
it's a strange thing, really, those hands that could break bone now so gentle on her feet
the way that the muscles slowly twist and flex through his arms as she watches, calloused palms and fingers applying specific pressure across bones and lengths of tendon, the firmly soft pad, even carefully flexing those perfectly painted toes
the way his eyes narrow slightly in the concentration on what he's doing, what he's thinking
the way his jaw flexes as words begin to form but don't quite make it into the conversation because they just aren't right
the way his brows lower and draw together in search for just the right way to phrase it

"Probably both. I just...."

lips draw together, pursed, silent in the grasp for words
nothing but the steady movement of hands over feet
the scrape of teeth over the swell of lower lip

"It's not that I think you'd ridicule me for anything, or that I'm afraid to tell you things. I just...." the breath finishes in soft laughter, and she can see the subtle smile in profile, here she is telling him not to be like that and here he is stumbling over his words like a damned teenager before some silly prom - at least he can laugh at himself "I don't know, Rune, sometimes with the way you make me feel, I just.... get.... shy. I know I don't have to be, and it's not a bad thing, I don't know how to explain it."

that blush they were talking about earlier? it's creeping into tanned flesh right now
even though he chances a (shining) glance slipped sideways at her, breif before it plummets back to the work at... in... hand
that warmth is leaking - just barely - into his skin steady and sure

(rune)
"James - " she removes one of her feet from his grasp, and leans forward, offering the cigarette in exchanged for her flesh. Settling back against the arm of the couch, she lifts her beer to take another drink, and then allows the bottle to drift down, bottom rim resting against her flexed abdomen. "James."

There's a particular quality to her force, sometimes, a certain aura of command that rises unconsciously. Nine months of Beta'ing a pack of Fenrir, perhaps, or years of tutelage under an Alpha much different from their own. It rises now, finds its way into her voice unconsciously, saturates it. His name: a command, because she wants him to look at her, sometimes she just wants him to look at her the same way she does, when she looks at him.

Her foot curls over his thigh, firmly, and her toes flex to dig into the fabric of his BDUs.

"I'm right here, and we don't have much time. We never have much time, but I'm right here, now, and I want you to look at me." Her voice is quiet now, and intense, but she's speaking plainly again, without the ruff of leadership, rank, responsibility, whatever it is, thickening her voice. "I don't want your life. I don't want your last dollar. I don't want the world on some platter, even if you could offer it to me. I don't want deference, or obedience, or anything like that. I don't want the world on a fucking platter. I don't even want out of the fucking war."

When he looks, if he looks, he will see her pale face, stripped of the artiface of smirk or smile, stripped down to nothing, or everything as the case may be. He will see her eyes, dark, dark as the liner and shadow that highlight them, and her drying hair spilling to graze the sharp line of her jaw. "It's what I was fucking made for, and it's what you were fucking made for, and it's what we do. I just want you, when I can have you, and sometimes I just want you to fucking understand that, and sometimes I just want you to look at me without looking away."

(james)
he looks
so rarely do they actually use each other's names, not even pet names
it's always implied or just skipped over
so attuned to presence they never really need to use them, because attention is already there

and then there are times like this

the rare moments they're alone - completely alone, talking about things they may never have expected to
she's right that time is running out
it may be for them as a whole: he could lean over to kiss her and a great thunderwyrm could rise through the warehouse floor to consume them both
it may be for them in part: the door could open downstairs as the pack finally decides to leave the condo and take shelter here
he's never been one to waste time, because he's never banked on tomorrow being there
so the moment she says his name, the way she says it, even before her feet are pulled from his grasp and replaced with the cigarette, those deep, liquid eyes are lifting towards her face because she wants him to look at her and he does, not having to hide that adoring shine like he has to when the others are around (even if they know, it's better this way, easier), so suddenly his attention narrows and tunnels and focuses completely on her with a magnetic intensity that all but takes his breath away, lips go so far to part in some vain attempt to steal it back - but all it really does is just let that little grin, that grin, crawl over his features

he knows why he looks away, but sometimes he begins to wonder....

the Camel is burning forgotten in his hand
smoke coiling from the burning paper almost to the filter
one arm stretching in vague attempt to hit the ashtray blind
but it doesn't work - all he lends it a quicksilver glance
and then his eyes are back on her
wicked, wicked red lips barely smeared by the bottle's mouth
the cling of sweatily inked hair to pale, pale skin
that's what he's reaching for, now, to pluck one errant strand from her jawline
his touch so controlled before, it's even softer now
calloused skin barely grazing the spa-induced perfection of hers
(even if smudged with sweat and sawdust and maybe even a little paint)
no tremble, just a light, even touch
as if he were reaching out to some priceless treasure or holy artifact suddenly bestowed by the gods

"I know." his voice is even softer than his touch, so close, he only has to breath it for her to hear it, and maybe not even that "I don't mean to look away."

it's not an apology, nor excuse
his other hand isn't quite as gentle
pressing up the line of her calf and thigh in scrape against denim
both drop to her hips as he leans over a little, so easily dragging her weight across the couch and fully into his lap
close enough now that he can't look at anything but her
one arm's snaking it's way around her waist, the other's hand brushes (pausing) across healing bruise before allowing itself to rest behind her neck
impossibly, his voice drops volume another notch

"Have I ever told you how much you mean to me?"

(rune)
"You have." He pulls her into his lap, and she settles there easily as the cushions of the couch sink further beneath their combined weight. She glances up, with an expression caught somewhere between the arch and some quiet, knowing satisfaction, the small pleasures of his touch, of his physical presence, which always serves to sooth her when her nerves are jangled bits of electrified wire. "You've told me."

You've told me. I've told you. That's all she says in reply, and it seems to be enough for her, for as his arm settles around her waist, she's curving her own around his shoulder. Her fingers find their way beneath the cotton of his wifebeater, dance lightly over the first of the deep, ashen furrows that mark him. Her chin rises, dark gaze drifting from him to glance over his shoulder, across the room, at the door. The rest of the pack may well be off somewhere, and it's doubtful that they would find their way here as they're so comfortably ensconsced in her condo (in her closet, in her bathroom, Decker used her shaver to give himself a buzz cut again) when not out hunting, whoring, drinking, brawling, fighting the fucking Wyrm.

Doubtful, but not outside the realm of possibility, or so says the brief, lifting, cautious glance that one or the other of them must always employ, no matter where they are, no matter when.

Her mouth slides into a thoughtful curl as her attention turns back to him. She remains there, on his lap, in his arms, for a few quiet moments, as the vibe between them changes from charged to charged, and then she's leaning to kiss him, some long, slow burn of a kiss.

Then she's leaning in to kiss him, and then she's rising, some long, uncurling stretch of motion interrupted only long enough to pull him to his feet after her.

"C'mon." The word is tossed over her shoulder, back to him, as she ambles toward the doubledoors leading to the suit of offices on the south wall, still quiet, though now her eyes are hooded, some humor mingling with the darker sparks of possibility that live in her dark eyes. "We can try out those," her chin rises toward the offices, in indication. "See which one I want." She's not looking at him anymore, her gaze has dropped away, though her arm is stretched behind her and her fingers are twined with his. "See which one you want."

Another few sauntering feet, and she laughs, a low rumble of rich sound. Even if he cannot see the smirk on her face, he can hear it in her voice. "Punch a fucking hole in the wall between 'em."

Posted by james at 12:00 AM
April 27, 2003
.04.27.03. - blackwind [blister-rune] *bw

[newark]

(a black wind)
A black wind has been blowing through Newark as of late. A strong, biting wind, always coming from the east. it defies logic, really. No weatherman has noticed anything to cause it on radar. Its much to cold for this time of year. Hell, it even blows when other winds blow from diffrent directions. But it is there, all the same. Tonight the wind blows strong, sending trash and random leaves barreling through the night over the unkept streets of this slum they call a city.

(james)
deep umber eyes lift as that wind blows through.... again
it just feels.... wrong
no weatherman's been reporting it, but it's still sending that itchy feeling down his spine
specially with what happened with Aurora the other day
though, as paranoid as the pack's been
just about anything sends that itchy feeling racing up and down his spine

but it's not enough to get him to move
nestled up against a brick wall at the mouth of an alley
just him, his backpack with the rebar stickin' out the top - and one to-go box from Julio's
best Mexican food that can come out of a little hole in the wall
the Gnawer is inhaling the Three Amigos Enchiladas that were practically spilling out of the box
just a few bites left
and he's back on his way

(black wind)
Something is watch him. He may not feel it. There is no 'deep peicing feeling to the center of his soul' or some other poetic crap. No, its much easier for his kind of hunt then that. High atop a four story building, abandoned for some time now except for the gangs and homeless, the demonic figer stands. Just a silloute in the moonlight, in a place many people simply don't think to look. He has spoted James now, a suitable test subject for this trail run. He lifts one of those massive, clawed hands, and sends it down again... and the things in the alley across the street start to move

((five 'fomori' - four of them are almost identical. Not the same person, but the same 'model' - one is a 'heavy hitter' - and one is a four head spider thing on the heavy hitter's back))

(blister)
Sometimes, you have to just have to drive – hell bent for leather with the windows down, the radio up loud, and Mexican food on the horizon. The ride from the boardwalk gives the Ahroun plenty of time to think, and plenty of time to brood, and just. Time. Away from the shinnanagins of Burger, the excited perfection of the girls, the ever present press of longing and need to impress and prove oneself with the Alpha.
The beat up old pickup truck pulls into some semblance of a parking spot outside of Julio’s where the barking chain suggests is the best damn Mexican food that can come from a little hole in the wall, and out steps the Gnawer. Pat of the hood (good boy, rest now) as the Truck stutters to a stop, and thuggish gait heads toward the restaurant. Luna has all but lost her face, but the rage still crackles around the Ahroun, viable, almost visible, as ball cap is pulled low over eyes, neck rolls on shoulders,
And the wind blows. A black wicked wind that sends the hairs on the back of neck into taught attention, and footsteps stop. Listening. Watching. Waiting.

(james)
Don't look back.... something may be gaining on you.
he doesn't notice it, that demonic figure keeping watch on the street below
right now, it's tortilla and salsa and cheeeeeeeeeze that has his attention
the moon above has slivered itself down to practically nothing
and the Gnawer, while a little paranoid, is surprisingly relaxed
(it's that filling your belly with cheezy warmth, thang)

there's things that rustle in the alley across the quiet midnight street
maybe rats, maybe that wind, maybe another derelict burying himself in the boxes to find some semblance of warmth
it's enough to impress itself on his attention?
but not enough to pull it away from the food
not yet

nothin' better than going on walkabout through the territory on a nice spring day and ending it with good fooooooood

(blister)
There’s a moment, where nothing seems right, but nothing can be pinpointed as wrong, and finger scritch under the edge of the ballcap, behind ear, before resituating it more firmly on head, before steps start again for the restaurant and disappears inside. It’s not too long, before the Gnawer returns to the street, leaning against the truck, opposite where James leans against brick wall, that cheesy goodness dug into in pure Gnawer style. Inhalation.

(james)
the box is all but licked clean
(it wouldn't be the first time)
all the little bits of cheeeeeeeze dug out of the corners
he's stretching up and moving out of the alley's mouth towards the trashbin infront of the Julio's

.... that's about when he spots Blister
.... that's about when he feels that crackling Rage
and glance slides over, rather blatantly
hello there..... that's two in two days....

(blister)
There’s little notice taken to surroundings (but there’s always some awareness) as the contents of that container is in.haled. Complete with a little orgasmic moan. There ain’t nuthin that beats good Mexican. Note made to think the one on the Chain who sent the message.
And don’t think the other’s were forgotten. This is but one container, the rest sit in a bag atop the hood of the truck behind the lean ahroun. Blatant gaze pulls vivid blue from the cheeeeeeeezey delight and pierced brow arches, slightly. Bites don’t stop, but gaze does not waver either.


(james)
eats like a Gnawer
looks like a Gnawer
damn well acts like one, too
we may just have ourselves a winner

he moves and gathers the pack and patchwork trench turned pillow
one slung over shoulder bared by wifebeater and marked by ashen scars
one looped through the resultant sway in strap
then that gaze swings back on the strange Garou
nod up

(blister)
Well, you know what they say. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, quacks like a duck – it sure ain’t no eagle. Last bites are chased, fingers licked, hell – the container is licked too (what, you’re surprised?) before fingers are given the once over again and pitch of hips pulls lean form from the truck, and container is dropped in the trashbin.
Dip of chin returns that nod up. Seen that before – ah, yes. The raging dick who sat in the middle of the clutch. Related possible, maybe not, either way, the greeting is somewhat returned before voice – as non-descript, non-gender specific as the shapeless clothing hiding the form underneath- slips past thick lips. “evening.” Fingers pat down pockets in the age old search, coming up with pack and lighter, smoke lit, before pack is offered James’ way.


(james)
it speaks!
yes. it

"Evenin'" too much time around the Modi, seems he's been forgetting his g's more and more often lately, yet unlike the Modi, the greeting slides on an easy smile rather than grunting scowl "What'd you end up with from Julio's?"

the backpack settles just infront and between the ankles of faded tankboots
both hands freed to take the offered smokes and lighter with an even wider smile
(definite Gnawer)
strong and calloused hands sheild the flame from that strange wind that keeps blowing through
long inhale before the offering is handed back with a nod of thanks

(blister)
Something of a smirk slides over thick lips as the lighter and pack disappear once they’re handed back, and two steps regains leaning post of front fender of beat up truck. Free hand tucks into pocket, the other occupied with moving cigarette to lips, only to fall down and rest against denim covered thigh. A slight softening of smirk to almost grin before it settles into normal expression again. “Enchiladas first. Mexican pizza still in the bag. You?”

(james)
"Three Amigos."

s/he moves to lean against the fender of the truck
he remains in that stand that, well, really seems comfortable
carefully, yet casually watching hi..he....it

"Julio's is the best place in this part of the territory, even the places that actually look inviting can't hold a candle."

subtle James, real subtle

(blister)
Subtle. Though rarely having a use for subtlties, it’s definitely not lost on the AHroun, noted with a slight smirk, and nod. Ankles cross, comfortable enough (well, as comfortable as the metis ever is in the face of new acquaintences) where leaning against a truck that looks like it should be held together by prayer and duct tape (it is.) alone. “S’what the chain said.” Yes. Subtle as well. Pierced brow arches though, and question posed. “Eagles?” While the Cuckoo’s are comfortable with their 15 blocks, rumor has it the Eagles claim all of North Jersey.

(james)
and those rumors would be true
he's nodding again - up and down this time - though the smile spreads
nice and easy, just as much at ease around new faces as old, it seems

"Wouldn't think one pack could run half the state, but we do."

okay, the territory is big, admittedly
the Gnawer still occasionally wonders why and how they've claimed so much
yet, taking into consideration he's packed up with a bunch of Get
maybe it's not so much of a mystery
this time his arm's extending with an offer to shake

"Name's James."

(blister)
A snort of amusement, but long arm extends and hand is clasped easily, without the ‘crush yur hand’ type of competition some are famous for. Got over that a long time ago, a shake is no place to prove oneself. “The Nest’s 15 blocks keeps us a damn sight busier then one would think. Blister, Cliath full-moon BeeGee from the Boardwalk Cuckoo’s Clutch.” Hand retrieved, and grasps cigarette from between lips as if it were a joint, last drag taken, before it’s flicked to the walk, and ground under construction boot, before ankles cross again. “Met one of yours down our way a couple weeks ago.”


(james)
there's those handshakes that become acts of war
this isn't one of them - why should it be?
though there's a soft chuckle, too

"Hear someone had set up shop down on the 'Walk, must be y'all. Met some of your handywork up our way a couple weeks ago." though the smoke is actually pulled from his mouth for this part, filter dented by strong teeth "James Branson... Jukebox to Family, Drums-on-Skulls to the Nation, Eagle's Cliath full moon BeeGee." then a brow lifts "Scorching Walker, lanky Skald, brooding Modi, or fugly Rotagar?"

(blister)
“That’d be us.” Brows lift slightly… some of their hand…. Oooooooh.. and that smirk grows into smug satisfied grin. “the Snotty Strider, by any chance?” Amused, highly. Relaxed, comfortable, the completed introduction noted and tucked away for future reference. Snort of amusement slides into brief chuckle. “Was the brooding Modi, actually. Took residence for the evening smack dab in the middle of our ‘walk and waited until we showed up. Lovely chap.” Smirk. “Sounds as if the Eagles are about as eclectic as we are…”

(james)
that... actually gets the Ahroun to laugh

"Decker isn't our PR man, that's for sure." no, that would be himself, the guy with the easy smile, personality, and actual capability for a complete sentence - that is also grammatically correct "And yeh, Lucca, he brought me BurgerWrapper's duct tape to get rid of. What'd he do to piss the Theurge off?"

lotta info you can glean out of binding glyphs

(rune)
Walking the territory. Rune's been doing more and more of that since finding Dire in the closet... again. Cabin fever, spring fever, claus.tro.phobia, call it what you will: it has infected her, and the trouble in their territory. Of course, there's always trouble in their territory, the wyrm lives among them, too omnipresent to challenge everywhere, infects the very poisoned air they breathe except on a day like today: a spring day, with the sun shining warm in the sky, the air cleared by days of rain.

Dark shades cover her eyes against the fierce glare of that bright sun, and her leather jacket has been dispensed with. Leather pants, molded to her figure, and a sleeveless white shell, nothing more. The Ahroun parks herself against the rough brick beside James, and pulls out a cigarette of her own (when in Rome), favoring the pair of them with a curving red smirk. "Afternoon."

(blister)
There’s a nod, not quite a grin, but something between that and the normal smirk passes over plain mismatched features. “From the descriptions – I’d place my money on you doing pack PR. Got one of those ourselves, pretty little gilliard. She tends to stand out like a beautiful thumb amongst us riffraff.”
Gaze slides to the approach and slinging park of sleek walker next to James and after a brief nod, gaze dropsinnstantly. Lingering somewhere on the cement between them as another cigarette is lit, and placed between thick lips. Something of that amusement remains in the smirk, as question is answered. “Refused to introduce himself when all was asked for was a name to call him by before we got into quieter area. He attacked, we taught him some manners. Left him duct taped to the railin outside the Strider territory.”


(james)
pack
you can feel it
just as he was out on the beautiful day to roam the territory
it doesn't surprise him to see the scor. ching. Walker approach
by the time she's a shoulder planted against the rough bricks
he's fished out the bronze zippo and it's offered to light the smoke he knows she's gonna....wehell there it is

"Well, the Skalds do a good job of PR, so must be something about the dreads." absently waved at the tangled mop of brown vines clustered around his shouldesr, still with that easy grin - he saw those eyes slam to the ground - then there's a nod towards the sleek Walker "s'Rune, my Beta." and back towards the Ahroun "s'Blister.... up visiting from Cuckoo's Clutch down in AC."

his job out of the way
the (taller) Gnawer falls into a smoke-filled silence
that fond smile has to be out of ranking respect, of course
seems he knows his place no matter whom does what PR

(rune)
"Please to meet ya, Blister." The words spill from the Walker's red mouth, accompanied by a thin, fine stream of gray smoke that rises and coils toward the brilliant sky. Her elbow (bare, scrubbed, exfoliated, ridiculously smooth for such an exposed joint) grazes James' side in subtle thanks for the light. "Y'all been around long?"

Her head half turns, one brow rising above the dark frame of the shades in query to James, before returning to Blister. "Y'know, I like my shoes, too," - a wiggle of her toes, painted red, bared by the high-heeled strappy sandals she favors in warm weather - "but the rest of me's up here."

(blister)
There’s a nod, slight, to the introduction, and a long drag taken. “an’you.” Added after the first words to spill from that red mouth. A pause before answer is given. Voice – still non-descript, non-specific, yet softer somehow. In the face of rank, in the face of perfection, in the face of… well, the Beta, who can only be the Scorching Walker. “Couple months now. Came up from Phoenix during that fuckin snowstorm.”
There’s a pause, and then a self-depreciating snort at the final comment, muttering.. “Yannow, ya wouldn’t a painted em if ya didn’t want em noticed…” Before eyes close, a moment, and hand clenches in pocket and those eyes are brought up with effort. Old habits die hard – and this… well. Talking to James is one thing, he’s Family. Even then gaze wasn’t truly met. And now? Rune’s dark eyes meet vivid blue (so out of place, almost pretty in comparison) briefly, before gaze shifts to the side a bit, fighting the desire to slam them down again.


(james)
since everyone's looking down
he does too
leeaaaaaaning over a bit to look at the shoes in question

"You have to admit.... they are pretty toes and that's a nice red, Rune."

dark eyes climb back (up long lines of leather, up and over the curves beneath that shell) up to meet the mahogany gaze of the Walker with a wink, though he sidles a bit closer to Blister for the swipe that may come, but mostly the chide was just to help the other Ahroun out
sometimes you can just smell when someone's highly uncomfortable

(rune)
The Walker's smirk curls wider, amused, deeping, blood-red against the creamy color of her skin, and she wiggles her toes in their small prison of leather straps. With the sun shining down, so bright and fierce, she must use some serious sunscreen. Either that or - like a goddamned leech - she usually only comes out at night.

"What the hell brought you up from Phoenix in the middle of that fucking storm?" Chin rising up (a nod, a gesture of respect as Blister meets her gaze, then allows her eyes to slide to the side), brows rising again above the stark dark line of her dark glasses, she continues, "...wouldn't've torn me outta a fucking paradise like that for a fucking snowstorm."

Some arch look, then, sidelong, accompanied by the usual smoking smirk. Amused, "All the credit goes to my pedicurist and daddy's credit card. Just had them done." Another wiggle of her toes.

(blister)
James’ comment and slide is met with something that almost resembles a chuckle before it disappears again, and fingers lift to scratch under chin, before another drag is taken, and hand falls to thigh once more, plum of gray exhaled with a snort. “Sure wasn’t my fuckin idea. Burgerwrapper’s spirits demanded we come right away. Said something about a bright light that needed investigated– which later translated to ‘having fun in the fuckin white blanket of snow, come join’” Lean (strong) shoulders shrug, and another smirk falls over thick lips. “They ain’t told us to move on yet, so we set up shop. Figure the resons’ll be come clear soon enough.”

(james)
those toes
those wiggling, perfect, painted toes
the things he would do to those toes
and the ankles connected to them
and oh. those. thighs.

.... pay attention, James.

he covers the sudden tunnelvision with actually folding his body
the zigzag of ankles, knees, and hips
crouching over the Alice pack and unbuckling the top flap
pulling free one paper bag from Julio's containing a singularly wrapped chicken fajita
that's extended on the elevator of a long arm towards the Walker
nope, no fond smile still there, really

"Gotta run down the street, meetcha at Hooligan's later?"

nope, no hopeful smile there, really
the grin - friendly, not hopeful - turns itself on Blister

"Nice meeting you, tell BurgerWrapper nice job on the wrapping."

then the pack's slung back over his shoulder, and the Gnawer strolls off down the way

(rune)
"Yeah," the Glass Walker echoes, her voice thick with sardonic amusement. "...or not. Might be, your theurge was just itching to get into a snowball fight. They get strange ideas, those Theurges." Rune takes another deliberate drag from her cigarette and flicks the ash aside - toward the gutter, away from both Gnawers - then lifts her hand to her head, twisting her finger in a slow circle, the universal symbol for crazy. "Our always does. Fucking nut, Livingston. Has some sort of awakened Blunt he carries around with him all the time. Makes pickle, egg and peanut butter sandwiches. That sort of thing."

Right hand occupied by her bright pink cigarette, the Glass Walker slips her left hand into the back pocket of her sleek leather pants and pulls out a card, which she offers Blister with a quick twisting flip of her fingers. "Tell ya what, let's make a deal." Red nails tap the white card lightly as she holds it out for the Bone Gnawer. "Give your pack free passage through our territory, if y'all return the favor. Mutual aid and comfort and all that. Probably should get your Alpha together with ours, sometime, but my word's good for now."

As Blister takes the card, Rune takes the bag James' offers her, slender fingers curving around the crumpled paper. The dark glasses slide a quarter inch down her nose. Above them, dark eyes, a quick little wink. Below them, the everpresent smirk, cool and calm and utterly sure. "Yeah. Hooligan's later. See you there."

(blister)
If that tunnelvision was noted, it was ignored. No skin off the mutant’s nose, after all, and it was somewhat amusing to watch the cover. “an you, James. I will. He’ll burst at the seams with pride.” Which falls right into the Walker’s comments and actual laughter from the Ahroun, brief, but there. “Burger’s our card carrying nutjob, for sure. Gotta luv’em though. He hits on the counter girl from White Castle to feed his junkfood addictions though. No blunt – but duct tape of bonding that’ll hold nigh unto forever.”
A pat of duct taped fender of beat up truck in proof. Before there’s a slight nod, and strong fingers reach to take the card. Vivid gaze has reason to drop now, reading the card, before it’s tucked away into pocket. “Met up with yur Modi down AC way a while back. Offered the same. My words good as well. I ain’t gotta card, but territory’s clearly marked and should ya just hollar, we’ll find ya. From here, the barkin chain can reach us fastest.” Said with a nod toward James.. “until we get the phone set up an’shit. “Cable TV and skinomax was much more important to Burger..” amused.

Posted by james at 12:00 AM
April 25, 2003
.04.25.03. - ana kozireski at the motel 6 [ana]

[newark ave diner]

(ana kozireski)
Spring rain: a bright, refreshing blast of the strange half-musk that accompanies such sings and slips and slides and loops and whorls through the bright diner, carried on the crest of the nightwind, mingling with the usual scents of good strong coffee and burgers sizzling on the griddle. The strange, subtle music of rain against pavement does not drown out the tinkling of the bell against the glass, but it distracts one's attention from the sound and perhaps from the slight figure framed by the door stamping the wet from her body, conscientiously wiping her feet on the welcome mat in front of the door.

A girl, though her sex becomes clear only when she pushes the loose hood of her nylon jacket back from her head. It's the hair one notices, of course, and the hair that clinches it when her features are half-shadowed. The hair: thick loops of silvery gold twisted heavily onto the back of her head and secured with a plain plastic... pen, of all things. Bic, to be exact, the smooth blue cap peeking up from the mass of her hair.

She lingers a moment in the vestibule, breathing deeply, and then walks into the diner, slipping into a booth before the front door has swung all the way closed. Winter rains are dreary affairs, bitter cold and bleakly gray. Cool showers on a warm spring night, though, clouds gathered overhead and flooding the whole damn city: there's nothing better in the world.

(james)
sometimes you can just feel it
that subtle barometric difference that rides the waves of warm spring showers chasing the chilled winter's airs away
that little pull and tug which screams there are others about, maybe you should pay attention, boyo
soon enough, one deep umber eye crawls open and peers about
focus begins on the table right infront of him

the still steaming coffeemug clasped between rough and calloused hands, wrists resting on the edge of the table, long arms reaching back out of his field of vision and disappearing into the short sleeves of some t-shirt that Rune bought him (far too clean, far too.... nice... to go along with the rest of him, but he wears it anyway) then the tips of worn and badly needing polish boots peeking up from beneath the other edge of the table where feet are propped up on the opposite bench of the booth, climbing up over the patchwork trench spread across the back of the benchseat to leak over into the next booth (vacant, of course) to attempt some semblance of drying even though only halfway through the process now it looks even worse for wear as some patches have dried to their faded glory and others are still richly dark with moisture, then those dark eyes swing out on a voyage across the diner

there's the couple seeking shelter from the rain just as he, quietly conversing over meatloaf and potatoes, a few truckers and doctors scattered here and there, all infront of the darkened night background provided by the big windows along the front of the diner, the rain slipping in serpentous rivulets down the glass prisming and distorting the lights eeking in from outside

keeeeeeep looking, Jamey-boy, that can't be it
though soon enough he's rotated his head far enough around to catch sight of the blond
(that's silver and gold, you fool)
brow lifting just a tad
Hello there

(ana)
The waitress glances up, and sees only a fraction of what James might. A kid: some high school junior or senior, some college freshman, pretty in her way, but still painfully young. A kid who catches her eye and offers the half-edge of a smile before burying her attention in the menu, one foot propped slyly on the benchseat of the booth opposite, a position achieved only by slouching down an inch or two in her seat.

Her mother would never approve.

The girl's clothing is unremarkable, of course. There's nothing to catch the waitress's eye, nothing out of the ordinary. Somehow, the girl fits in. Worn jeans, boot-cut, the hem of a white t-shirt - untucked - visible beneath the bottom edge of a nylon jacket in drab navies and grays, a worn black satchel - leather, most likely, slung across her narrow torso.

Give her five years and she might be lovely, but for now the prettiness of youth, the smooth skin, the rounded cheeks, the flush of pink from the cool night, is all she can claim. She has fine bone structure - high cheekbones below wide-set eyes, a high brow and a decisive little chin - hidden by the remnants of babyfat rounding and smoothing out her features. Perhaps she feels James' regard settled upon her, senses the lift of the brow, the skeptical attention. Perhaps she has simply made a quick decision as to what she wants. Either way, the girl lifts her head from the menu and catches the edge of his glance and offers a brief, quicksilver(burn) smile before her attention falls back to the menu.

The babyfat does nothing to hide her breeding, to be sure. This is the blood of kings, the blood of madmen, the blood of squires and knights and lords and ladies, the blood of heroes, a silver flame lifted (...flickering...) against the long black night.

(james)
give her five years she might be lovely
give him five seconds he may make the wrong conclusion
she's from the lines of king and queens and squires and nobility flooding like silver veins through muddy earth
he's from the paupers and indentured servants who slogged away in the fields ankle deep in that very mud
supposedly, never the twain shall meet
but here they are, perhaps a few yards away in a diner

luckily, the moon has been reducing itself to a cheshire cat smiling sliver in the sky
but things have been going on in Eagle's territory that leaves that itchy feeling crawling up his spine
and while this isn't his main stomping ground
it's still well within jurisdiction

his first reaction - after returning the quick almost smile - is to lift that mug to his lips
sloooooowly taking a long sip of the caffeinated beverage
letting it coast across his tongue in cholocate brown wave before disappearing down his throat in swallow
then weight shifts a bit, to pull feet off the other bench
still damp dreads cling to the vinyl backing of his own seat before falling to settle across strong (scarred) back
fingers fall away from the cup and drum a little tattoo on the linoleum covering the table
just enough to get her attention back from the menu again
and rather than just a singular smile, he offers her a sentence of body language
animals speak in a language comprised of very few words
and without getting the message to everyone else within earshot
he composes a little ditty that invites her over to his booth

(ana)
The rhythmic beat of his fingers upon the linoleum is enough to catch the girl's attention. Her eyes (sunlight slanting through blue-gray smoke, pale and bright, translucent and opaque) rise and a quirk of curious attention lifts a single corner of her mobile little mouth.

Then her fingers open. Then the menu falls soundlessly to the table. And then - with a quick glance over her shoulder (the couple enjoying their meatloaf, the waitress filling a plastic tumbler with ice and water, her reflection, faint, against the black reflection of night beyond the window) - she slips from her booth leaving a smear of raindroplets on the patched red vinyl of the benchseat and approaches his.

"I'm Ana." Straight as she stands, with her shoulders square and her spine rigid, she seems like she should be taller. It's strange, really, how the sly slouch melts away and years of training replace it unconsciously, half-felt. The satchel now hangs from her shoulder, and the strap is so long that the worn leather case swings heavily, dislodging a few beaded droplets of rainwater from the nylon coat as it collides with her thigh. "Join you?"

(james)
he studies the way she moves
it's the musician (predator) in him
walking and sneaking is little more than an off-beat dance

"Please."

his hand went from drinking to drumming and now it's gesturing again
offering the other benchseat to her...
.... then he seems to remember himself and stretches to retrieve his jacket from the back
little bit of an oops type of grin climbing over his features
it matches the smile that never quite seems to leave umber eyes

"Much of a cheesy pick-up line as this sounds, couldn't help but notice you when you came in." more than likely she'll understand why, even with the moon so thin above, that Rage is still palpable, some things just come natural-like when you're pack's going to be huntin' soon, and now that hand extends to shake "I'm James."

(ana)
The artificial light glances off the heavy strands of her hair and highlights the girl's (soon-to-be) proud profile as she turns her head to watch him snatch the patchwork coat from the seat. Some little smile - a sly thing, amused, twitches across her mouth like a fox - but is quickly supressed.

"Pleasure." Spoken as she takes his hand, in a grip that is firm, if not strong. Her own hand is slight, and soft, though there are faint calluses of course, a swordsman's own. The satchel thumps against the vinyl as she swings it off her shoulder, tossing it into the booth before following, herself.

"Your digs?" A glance outside - the night, the rain, the city streets gleaming beneath the amber streetlights, strewn with refuse, bristling with cars - speaks more than the mere words can. "I'm sorry I would have - " the suggestion of a frown, creasing her high brow, and a shake of her head that threatens to dislodge the pen securing the precarious mass of her hair. " - but, well," her eyes drift back to him, and she smiles again, a quick thing that dissolves too quickly, like cotton candy on the tongue. "I didn't know."

(james)
he could lecture her
he could chide her
he could do a great many things
but rather, the Bone Gnawer smiles
nice and easy
waving it all off

.... wait..... was that an apology? from her?

"Northern parts fall under Eagle's own. No worries."

with the dreads, the demeanor, and that jacket
he must be some urban bohemian speaking in slanguage
because that string of words does little to translate to the other patrons
but to her it's loud and clear
North Jersey. Eagle Territory. You know now, don'tcha?
the waitress ambles over to refill (rewarm) his coffee
and James smiles up at her with a wink of thanks
waving for Ana to order something if she wants
(funny thing about Gnawers, even if they barely know who you are, they feed ya)
and only after she's done does he continue on

"'Round long?"

past, present, and future plans wrapped up all nice and pretty into a singular question

(ana)
"Coke - " to the waitress, who receives the ending upslant of the girl's decisive little nod in response to James' declaration of territory as she refills James' coffee. Really, no more needs said on that. " - and a tuna melt, thanks."

The other side of the bench denied her, Ana instead lifts her foot to rest it on the edge of her own bench seat. Shin against the table edge, slim arm curved round her calf, cheek and then chin pressed against the curve of her knee, she tips her head northwest. "Two days, at the Motel 6. I'll be there until the money runs out, or Noah works out his mate problems and fulfills his pinky-swear." The half-smile doesn't leave her face. It always seems on the verge of erupting into something full-grown, full-blown, winged, and is always supressed just before it blooms. She has an expressive mouth and a mild, detached air at odds with the weight of his rage, at odds, perhaps, with the silver song of her proud blood. "He said he had room," her shoulders rise and fall in an abbrieviated shrug. "...you know him?"

(james)
"Know of him." not exactly falling into the tale of the little clash of a few days ago which left that pretty and permanent dishonor mark on the Fianna - yeh, work that out with your mate "Some of the gang knows him personally, I've never had the pleasure, more familiar with Zoe."

not much else needs to be said about territory, really
he's not the type to hammer something into someone once it's realized
subtleness tends to go a long way, sometimes
just like that subtle, almost smile that keeps wanting to find its way to her face
it keeps tugging at his own
but that easygoing grin is trademark, for him
and he doesn't think twice about hiding it

"Something bring you here or just passing through?"

he's veered away from grilling, with that question
it seems more genuine curiosity than laying out the where's and how's
possibly, even idle conversation
but when kin are getting killed in your territory
it pays to be well-informed

(ana)
"Zoe's his..." a glance up and over her shoulder, placing the waitress, the few patrons again in the map of her mind. Finishing the question with a little shrug, she looks back to him. "...girl?" What curiousity she has on the subject, if any, is muted, faint, washed-out pastel against more vibrant and interesting possibilities. "Someone named Billy said she was sick."

A moment then, reassessment, redacting, looping back from her question to his before she responds.

Wryly, "Marriage." Ana says the word too quickly, she says the word because it amuses her, now that she has escaped it. Because five days, one questing stone, and fifteen hundred long miles through the wakening spring has lifted the iron weight from her spirit. "He was a mouthbreather." Once more, her private little smile appears, flits across her lips, and melts away.

"So, really - " another quickling half-shrug does nothing to dislodge her chin from her crooked knee. Comfortable as she is, she doesn't move that leg, not even when the waitress brings over her coke. She's had enough of sitting straight, you see. " - I came because I knew Noah, and because I needed someplace to go. I'm not sure, yet, whether I'm just passing through."

Arranged marriage at seventeen: it's enough to make anyone run.

(james)
a brow lifts a little bit
marriage? why wou...... ooooooh
he gets it
the veritable light comes on in the Gnawer's skull
arranged marriages are a very foreign thing to him
he comes from a place that allows Garou to marry Garou
structure is something people like her deal with
not him

"Makes sense.." a pause, to drink again from the cooling coffee ".... some wicked voodoo with the zombies been going on around here, wasn't sure if that brought you."

(ana)
"Zom - " It is Ana's turn to be confused. Puzzlement wrinkles her brow and lowers her eyes to the table between them. Her view of the linoleum is interrupted ten seconds later by the sudden eruption of a pale into her view: tuna melt, oozing cheese, decorated with a scattering of thick-cut potato chips. " - bies?"

The crease between her brows disappears long enough to offer the waitress a meager, dancing little approproximation of a smile. Half-measure, that. She's chewing on her lower lip, and then she's unwrapping her slim arms from around her slim leg and picking up the sandwich, to chew - thoughtfully - on it instead.

"This isn't really my milieu," between bites (brief and precise, each chewed at least ten times before she swallows.), an apologetic shrug. " - but if there's anything I can do - " because we all have obligations. That, too, is the heritage of her blood, the burden of a great weight of history always carried on the squared shoulders of her kind, for all that she seems too young. Like every last one of them, she is too damn young for this war. " - I'd be happy to help."

(james)
"Walking dead." offered with dismissive gesture after Sandy moves on to the next table "Blood-sucking, brain-eating, using some family for target practice." muscular shoulders roll in a shrug beneath the thick fabric of the tee "Zombies."

too young for this war
too jaded for this war
too hurt to carry on any longer for this war
yet they all. slog. on.
a whole bunch of veritable kids recruited from birth to a destiny none even whole-heartedly understand
though the choice of words may or may not be helping the understanding of the situation
in this day and age of Resident Evil, Zombies is a lot more casual fair than Vampires in a public place
she doesn't look like she's out of her teens, and with a birthday last month, he's not that far ahead of her
so if they were overheard, at least it can be passed off as the talk of teens, and not the Apocalypse

"What's your specialty?"

(ana)
In response, a sly little grin that dances sidelong across her mouth. Soft with youth, the curves of her cheek and the quicksilver movements of her mouth do something to hide another truth: how easily those features could turn arrogant. She need merely set her jaw and lift her brow, she need only look down the long line of her patrician nose. And then there is that bow-shaped mouth: turned it down at the corners, add a mild twitch of her upper lip, and it could be downright cruel. One step, perhaps only half a step, in the opposite direction, another destiny beckons, the darker side of that fine heritage waits to be fulfilled.

The girl sets the remnants of her tuna melt (she has eaten her way through the triangle'd half, leaving only the crusts) atop the remaining triangle. Rocking forward, she reaches to the far end of the table and plucks the salt shaker from beneath the gleaming dark window, where their ghostly reflections play at silent conversation.

The sly edge of her little grin lingers on her twitching lips as she unscrews the cap of the salt shaker, widens as she tips the little glass jar and spills a river of salt onto the cleared portion of her plate. Soft, full cheek against her knee, now, golden hair sliding heavily with the movement to rest langorously upon the slender nape of her neck, she watches not him, but her hands, as they dance across the plate to push the salt into a lobular circle. Her mouth twists, secretive, as she plows her finger through the amassed salt, displacing the crystals in a long, thin crescent, like the curve of a Cheshire smile.

Ana's eyes drift upward as she pushes the plate across the table to him, turning it so it is no longer a smile, but a reflection of the stranded, eaten moon slivered silver in the sky.

"This." The precise tap of her index finger on the edge of the plate displaces a few salt crystals, further distends the approximated circle. "but not here. I'm not -" her hand rises, her fingers ripple in a little wave toward the city beyond. " - familiar with these landscapes."

(james)
he watches - rather intrigued in the capturing of the salt soldier standing by the window keeping eye on the rain outside
the crystaline particles flow like bleached time into a little pile
then smooth and plow and divide themselves to form the slender crescent that smiles in the sky above
and a brow lifts, slightly....that's innovative
chin twitching in a nod of understanding
when he reaches to slide the plate back towards her
the edge closest to himself is tipped up
collecting the salt back together into the singular almost circle
(show me yours I'll show you mine)

"Not too sure what I can ask of you, but I'll let my boss know, keep it in mind."

(ana)
Galliard or Ahroun, or some Bone Gnawer Elder, she had guessed, in the secret little inner bubbles composed half of monologue, half of impressions morphing liquid, one into the next, that float around in her head. The shining circle of salt certainly tips the scales.

Pale eyes half-close in consideration of the spilled salt. Then, she reaches out again and traces a series of glyphs in the circle, tipping the plate to erase each one before beginning another.

Cliath
Gleaming Eye

Then: a question mark and a tip of her head in his direction.

Her regard is serious now, serious and clear-eyed, cast from beneath a fringe of lashes so pale they recede to nothingness, little more than a faint gleam of gold against her skin, pale from the long, long winter.

"Ana Kozireski at the Motel 6," she reminds him, "Or Noah's, but I've a favor to ask in return. I can't think my father or brother would look for me here, but - " another shrug, abbrievated and taut, somehow, jerks through her shoulders. " - if someone were to ask, don't say anything, yet? I need some time."

Ever one for superstition - for real she knows so many things to be, breath given physical form, the remnant of sigh become ephmera upon the umbral wind - she steals a pinch of salt from the circle and tosses it over her shoulder before pushing the plate back to James.

(james)
most people would play a game of tic-tac-toe in a diner
or perhaps hangman, or another game scrawled out on napkins to pass the time
however, they aren't most normal people
when you come down to it, they're not really people at all
whatever was remotely human in them was bred out generations ago
now it's just some skin shell that helps them blend into the majority society

Cliath
Bone Gnawer

he recognizes her house, but he's not about to give his camp
so Tribe should suffice since hers was obvious, especially with the Gleaming Eye tossed in
his chin drops in a thoughtful nod

"No worries, this state tends to collect those that need a little time." the smile is kind, knowing, seems he's familiar with situations such as hers, at least generally "We're based out of Hibernia, boss is Blood Eagle, should probably meet'n greet if it takes awhile for Noah to get things settled with Zoe. At least appraise him of the sitch 'cause my word only goes so far."

plus, he already kept one Garou under wraps because of family looking for them
so far he hadn't paid any price for that, but he's not taking his chances again, plus it's just the way things are done
why tempt fate?
speaking of.... he mirrors that toss of salt
he may not be the most superstitious, but he's taken a walk through Wonderland, might as well cover all bases
at least there's noone in the booth behind him to get showered in salt

(ana)
"No gathering place," she nods, murmuring against the worn denim of her jeans. "...that's sort of my reasoning, I guess. Or, well. No gathering place, and I know someone here. Helps to level out that loneliness."

He will know what she means, of course. Pack is more than instinct, it's a nigh-physical need. Wolves are social creatures, after all, and sundered from their shining spiritual half as they are - "...but thanks, James." If her smile shades shy at the use of his name, it could well be a trick of the light, for the shadows reach long across her face and her mouth is half-hidden against the summit of her knee. "Could you arrange that for me?" Some minute, self-effacing shrug. "I don't like to violate the rules."

Humor quirks through her mouth as she extends her hand to brush away the last threads of glyphs pressed into the salt granules. "Though you might want to warn him, if he wants the full introduction, well - " her eyes, which had been resting on his face, though not quite his eyes, fall to the table and the corners of her curving mouth crest into what could well be a tiny little smirk. " - it might take a while. My father's been known to put even other House members to sleep with his recitation..."

(james)
"Sucks traveling the lonely road."

half spoken, half just murmured idly
yeh, he knows that road all too well himself
he meant to keep traveling it, too, but look at where he is now
(and wouldn't be any other place)
again, there's that affirming nod

"I'll pass the message on, see what he wants to do." then the grin quirks wry "He's not one for frills, so you may not have to go that far."

then his head tips, a bit, as if listening to some far off sound
(and maybe he is, and maybe that wry grin seems to soften a bit)
attention returning to this timezone, he plucks a napkin from the holder
pen produced from seemingly nowhere scrawls a number onto it

"Just in case something happens before then."

that's when the Gnawer unplugs himself from the bench with a slow stretch
(been relaxing a liiiiiiittle bit too long)
pockets explored to grab enough cash for both their meals, plus tip
that's pinned to the table beneath his empty coffeemug
and he's gathering up the trench and the pack it covered beside him
once more tossing that easy, lopsided, friendly grin at the young Fang

"Take care of yourself, 'Ana Kozireski at the Motel 6'" winked, as reminded "I'll catch you round, letcha know what's cookin'."

and with that, it's time to roll, one Bone Gnawer making his way back out into the rain

Posted by james at 12:00 AM
April 24, 2003
.04.24.03. - we huntin'? [pack] *soi

[noje]

(james)
there's a stack of pizza boxes sitting inside on the breakfast counter
however, the Gnawer is out on the front porch
slice (number four) of meatlover's in one hand
half-smoked Camel in the other
weather isn't the nicest
but sometimes.... ya just gotta be outside

(luc)
Bed.

Wild nights - raging hormones - darkly painted nails - ungentle hands. Yeah, They didn't fall asleep till middle afternoon and shifting in his sleep [..music -always- blares from his room.] a particulary deep slice stirrs him to wakefulness. One eye cracks open as his hand reaches around to feel the moisture where blood squeezes through parted skin. Toungue runs over teeth as he settles on an elbow to regard the pierced princess in all her snoring glory.

Her mouth half ajar, as his sheets twisted around her limbs - he smiles to himself quietly. Not GRINS but smiles, its a strange moment - one that could only exist in the solitude of early evening wakefulness.

but sweeter for its solitude. But hell, they had shit to do, and wiping the crust from his eyes he nudges Eva to wakefulness.


(decker)
Hunkered up on the balustrade, facing out, legs hanging out over the side, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. Waiting, you might say. Waiting for trouble. Waiting for Imogen? Waiting for pack. Waiting for war.

Waiting for the Alpha and the click of his leash coming off, the target pointed out. Git 'em, boy. Decker has no illusions about his part. He's a fighter. A warrior sometimes. A warleader very occasionally. The fist (and claw and tooth) of the pack that was the fist and claw and tooth of the Nation. Don't mean he likes the part, or even dislikes it. Pretty damn indifferent towards it, really. But it's something he's good at, so that counts for something.

Swig of beer. Cough under his breath. Draw the hood of his sweatshirt up over his buzzcut head. Grey eyes scan the horizon like a gargoyle on a building, an eagle in an aerie.

(eva)
Bed.
And she doesn’t fuckin snore.
Nails and hands and twisting sheets and growls and snarls and purrs and laughter – yes, laughter, until the wee hours of the afternoon and the pair slept on. Where he regards a slice (dark dark nails gripping dragging holding) ruefully, and gaze slides over her – it is clear she is not unscathed. Ungentle hands leave bruises, hip, thigh, shoulder bicep… eager lips leave marks, neck, shoulder, neck…
His smiling gaze garners no reaction of course, relaxed and sprawled in his sheets, stealing his pillow the moment he moves, comfortable here. His nudge? That gets a grunt. Snort. Growl. As she complains and rolls over slowly (…….ow. the visible marks are not the only left.) before dark lashes part and look up at him. “wha?” So eloquent in the morning.
Fingers lift and dig at eyes, smudging make-up even further, before she pulls herself into a slow, languid, early morning stretch, voice foggy with sleep “Christ I needa smoke..” and good morning to you, too.

(erik)
Erik's '70 monte rumbles down the street and into the driveway... With someone in the passenger seat. He guns the engine once just to hear it roar, and kills it. Then he opens his door and steps out. Little has changed with his apearance or dress, except a pair of mirror sunglasses, like people used to wear in the '80's.

(james)
waiting
one counts the minutes and seconds until that leash comes flying off and steel gray fur goes flying at a targeted throat
one is a far sight more patient... even if he's just as much of a fighter as the other
one perches on the railing the granite-eyed gargoyle to frighten away the evil spirits that dare tread their lands
one lounges in deck-chair boots kicked up on the ballustrade as if jungle-vine dreads tied him back to wait
(git'em boy, i gotcher back)
for a long while, there's nothing but the sound of beer swishing in half full (half empty?) bottle, chewing, the occasional crackle of tobacco succumbing to embers and burning away in smoke that will never blacken the lungs that hold it

deep umber eyes lift up when the monte carlo rumbles into the parking lot
fingers licked clean as that pizza slice didn't last another two bites
.... oh look, daddy's home.

(luc)
Funny.

The pack is tossed toward her with the rip-tide stretch of scarecrow arm, [..subtle musculature made visible when skin is SO exposed.] and launched at her as he snaps up. Its like the boy was on batteries, slept like the dead and woke up SUPER-charged. He leans over the side of the twin bed rubbing the back of neck...

-neck jerk to left and right, leaving the pop-pop-pop of bones before he reaches towards the pile of folded laundry (..largely untouched, certainly not PUT away.) for a clean pair of boxers and a comfortable pair of pants. Camo's today.

"S'almost midnight." Good Morning, sweetness? Neither really saw the need, life ain't pretty - why perpetuate a lie?

(billy bedlam)
Time to come out of the barrens. Dressed in Blue jeans and a black turtle neck, the Native teenager walks through the streets. letting his feet lead him.

(lexi)
Yeah and she should have probably commented on them, but obviously he has his reasons for the miami vice style sunglasses.. stepping sideways or something She doesnt say much as she gets out of the monte. She is tall, Very tall for a girl, almost 5'10. Dressed in dark clothes...She knew how to stay on the sidelines...although she hates to have to do it. she should have been garou
Shoulda coulda woulda...didnt matter now.
Blonde hair pulled into a pony tail that hung past her shoulders. Her features, intimidating, but the most eerie part about the girl was her eyes...they couldnt be real? could they
Yes. and they were, the way the grey sank into the blue swirled with the green...
Glancing over at Erik, a nod and partial smirk..They didnt have to say much..maybe that was why the ugly get intrigues her so much and she still hung around him...cause he was so much like her

or perhaps it was just that he truly saw the potential in her.

(decker)
Yup. Daddy's home, and look who he's got with him. Decker's eyebrows go up a few notches. James can feel his lazy brand of astonishment through the totemlink. Tha heee-yell?

Swig of beer. He keeps his quiet. Don't wanna make no assumptions til facts were laid down cold. Tendrils of mindpresence reach out across the lot; he speaks to the Alpha across the link.

We huntin'?
...taste his hunger.

(eva)
She catches the pack easily, a snatch of it from the air as lips curl into normal smirk. He snaps up, her hand snaps out, connects solidly across his ass before belly crunches and pull lean (battered) body upwards. Feet hit the floor, tangled sheets fall away, and she moves toward her own little pile of clothing. Christ. Gonna have to make a stop at the old man’s to get some more of her stuff if she’s gonna keep staying here.
Standard fare pulled on as she eyes that pack (but doesn’t light up. Yet.) A few of the piercings strategically covered with jeans, tank top. Mass of multicolor’d braids pulled back with a black bandanna, falling loose over shoulders to midback. She steals a pair of his socks with a brush of lips across shoulder blade, before pulling them and her boots on. A wink, and she snatches the pack up and heads out his door. “slow-poke.” Smirked back over her shoulder.

(billy)
coming near the Get Condos...again...it must be muscle memory inborn into his feet. leanign on the same lamp post a usual...across the street from the condos, he removes a new corncob pipe and fills it with Tobacco, a gleaming Crimson eye takes everything in

(erik)
He stops on the lawn in front of them all, looking Decker in the eye after the question. "Fuck yeah. We go tonight to scout, but I want this one's lair, so we wait till the day to take 'im."

(james)
Decker.... lazily astonished
it's enough to get the Gnawer's attention
his own brows lift a bit as boots pull down to rest on the terracotta tiles and weight shifts forward to place elbows on knees
jaw tilting up in the pack's serve-all gesture - and to get a better look

(We huntin'?)

the Ahroun's been quiet..... real quiet
someone's killing kin on their lands
someone's killing.... kin
someone lost a mate
now if THAT ain't a sore spot
when their Alpha speaks... he just smiles
it's the furthest thing from that trademark, easy grin, crawling slow and sure across his features
the Modi isnt the only one hungry for blood... not by a long shot

(luc)
Skinny.

He's not the rippling bruiser his gran'daddy was. Just got his height, like fun-house image, stretched out and molded with play-doh. [..Nightmare before Eaaster.] ...and watches as she makes her way out, sharp-edged feature taughtening briefly as he leans forward in feinted-lunged before the dore closes behind her. And he scratches the side of his face...

Th'fuck was he doing again? Yeah, clothes. Socks located, boots pulled on, army-issue Tshirt to drape tent-like over skeletal seeming forming.

Just. Try. Him.

He almost to the door, and then kicks it, going back to scour the room for his wallet.

(decker)
Just a nod up.

A last swig of beer. Lean back, grabbing the edge of the balustrade with one hand while he sets the empty bottle carefully down on the balcony behind him.

Then he slides the fuck off his perch the balcony, landing into a muscular python-coil on the pavement below. Straighten up. Tug his hood back into place. "Yeah, okay."

Ready to go.

(lexi)
She had been briefed..ok not completely briefed..in fact it was more a series of grunts and half sentences through whiskey and cigarrettes..but she got the gist...
they were hunting
She didnt quite know if they meant her too, but she stood next to the Get hands comfortably placed in her pockets as she looked around to place who was there...
She stays quiet...which was something she did well, words were for people who couldnt communicate with their eyes..
One look from Lexi and it could either make someone feel comfortable (rarely) or it could send goosebumps up soemones skin.
She wasnt a people person..
However among the Garou, the intimidation factor didnt exist, that was just for normal people, among the garou, she just presented herself as strong willed and tough, certainly hiding any arrogance or indimidation, she was smart, not crazy....
She watches Decker...she knew him best, but still didnt know shit bout him...didnt really care..

Eyes move to Erik..the leader...and the slightest smirk crossed her lips for a second
Her first real observance of him leading

(billy)
Billy watches this all quitl. lighting the pipe, he taks a long puff and offers it to the 4 winds as he fingers a pair of necklaces...one with a polished red stone and the other with a polished black stone

(eva)
There’s a snort of amusement heard for that feinted lunge, but it fades in the “ohhhhhhhh FOOD!” that carries back. Teenagers have this automatic sense of Pizza, and she pops open a box, roots for a plate, grabs two pieces, closes the box (Luc can get his fuckin oh – th’ell ya think she is?) again, grabs a beer, makes sure we still have smokes and lighter and finally, Pierced princess exits to the porch.
And stops. Hey, hey the gangs all here.
There’s a slow smirk, and she moves to a chair and folds her length into it, feet stretching to rest on railing – no where near any member of the group, really, a bite of pizza taken, smoke finally lit, that first glorious drag of the day (night) pulled deep into her lungs before exhaleing slow.
Gaze rests on Erik, smirk sliding somewhat amused as she watches him, watches the reactions of the others to him, but there’s nothing in way of greeting. Ain’t her way. Ain’t her place. She’s here to eat the food, drink the beer, and keep Luc smiling like that when no ones watchin. Everyone’s got their duty to Gaia, after all. (some duties are far, far better then others.)

(erik)
He watches Decker rise, the full moon blood in him pulling him to the hunt. Erik smirks. "Soon enough, Deck. Few things first... Who knows the spirit trick for resisting fire?" Obviously a question for the Garou only to answer.

(decker)
A muscle strains in his jaw. Then Decker backpedals a few steps and drops down on the second-to-bottom stair up to Rune's condo. Shrug. Shake of head. Not him. All the burns he kept fuckin getting proved that one.

(james)
alley - oop
Decker's slithering off the balcony railing like some venomous serpent
James is standing and gathering the trench that served as pillow and shrugging it over muscular shoulders
there's a half-glance back, as Eva joins them on the porch
but that's it, he's already heading down the stairs
tonight ain't his night for kin-duty

though the question gets a pause
and there's a half frown as his head shakes, dreads tangling over patchwork trench
stopping just behind his packmate and leaning a hip against the railing halfway up (down?) the stairs

"Only know how to get around banes."

(luc)
Clothes Fly.

CD cases, Empty bags, more clothes, Cellphone [..aaaaalmost does--and then he pockets THAT badboy], more CD cases, pornos -- WALLET! And hooking the chains to his pants he shoves it into his pocket and makes his way out...

Shit.
[..grabs deodarent on the way.]

Icing out his pits as he goes [Spideysense tingles: PIZZA 3 yard radius.] and makes a beeline setting the deodarent on the counter and grabs the box, [...aaaand Eva's beer.] heading toward the porch his mouth full of doughy-cheesy goodness.

"Wha'sh Up'sh?"

(lexi)
Only a question for garou...and so she remains silent. Hands still shoved in her pockets, still not a word comes from her mouth...
she didnt have much to say as of yet

(eva)
Something of a nod thrown to James – but ain’t his fuckin night for kin duty. Everyone migrates toward Erik like some fallen sea of sinners toward some fucked up risen lord, which can only mean one thing. (daddy’s home) Not like there was any doubt, only he could match the descript she was given.
Dark eyes snap toward Luc as he comes out (fuck! That’s where my beer went..) and a tilt of her head down the stairs. No words –don’t need none, ankles cross, hand offers pack in exchange for her beer.


(erik)
He grunts. That's nobody. "Ok. Then you'll wanna be careful with the firebombs. Lexi..." He turns towards her. "Thats your job for now. Make us some molotovs. Now, is whatshisname over there..." He nods at billy... "gonna join us, or what?"

Nobody there got a nod or greeting, not even those comming late. Erik doesn't seem to care. All business... Seething, fanatic business.

(decker)
Shrug. "Was his mate," is all Decker puts in.

(billy)
He doesn't look inclined to join at the moment, though as Erik and Decker speak, that Crimson eye turns towards them.

(luc)
Totemphone: If she needs help, Eva got that anarchist cookbook type shit, down too.

He still looking [..down at her/them behind] from the porch, and inhaling half the bottle trades over for the pack. Pizzabox is balenced against the cornered 'L' of the rail while he inhales his FOURTH slice and finally sparks up the stog.

Only four slices, whatsa matter -- lost yer appetite?

(james)
so.... that's.... Lexi. Allrighty then.
though through the rest of it, including the Modi's interjection, he falls back into silence
(jaw tightening, already that burning Rage is blistering into a low boil, begging to rise again)
arms draw up and cross over his chest
and the Gnawer just falls back into waiting

(seething. fanatic. business.)

(lexi)
"Right" wow she had a voice
She nods once, as she takes the large bag she had over her shoulder and moves off to the side a bit...
Crouching at the knees as she begins to create the ammunition for the evening--well her part anyways.

She could do this in her sleep, and she knew each one would blow..and quite effectively. Things that went boom was one of her specialties. dont ask her the others
Each piece put into place off to the side, hands working inside the large bag..of course she would have to be careful..this wasnt child play....

No longer seeming to pay attention to them talking, as she makes sure her job is done--and done right.

but she is listeneing....she always is listening Even if she doesnt seem to be...one ear always listening...

(eva)
She downs half the beer, and tucks it between her thighs, before finishing off her plate of pizza. Lost appetite? Nah – its just too early. They’ll kill the rest of a pizza together. Later.
Silence from her as well. Almost odd that, but she knows enough to know when to keep her mouth shut. Sometimes she chooses not to act on that knowledge, other times she does.

(erik)
He turns to look at Billy for a second, then back to the pack. "James, why don't you go bring whatsisname over here..."

(james)
oh sure... send the guy that has no idea who that is
(was his mate)
but there's a breif nod up in acknowledgement
soon enough he's down the steps and across the lawn
long, lopey strides devouring the distance therein
city block miles or one lawn, parking lot, and (look both ways) street - it makes no difference

by the time he gets closer to Billy, chin jerks up in that all-encompassing nod up

"You've got a cordial invitation to the powwow over yonder."

nod up turns to nod back towards the condo in question
smooth and easy tones, even a partial smile, that bloodlust pointedly tempered

(lexi)
Ok...simple enough..now for the fun part eyes light up a bit...the voice of beevis and butthead in her head...fire fire fire
She couldnt help but smirk...
Bag laying on the grass, a clank heard..as she stands up and heads to the car...and now folks...for the gasoline.
That was last...
Slowly she opens the door and it squeaks...bending into the large blue vehicle she emerges iwth 2 red gasoline cannisters. Ahh the smell of gas...
Promptly moving to the little area she had taken up and setting them down....she would wait until it was time...
Eyes glance up at the group..and settle on Erik
as she waits

(luc)
He leans over the railing listening to the goings on with Eva, nose wrinkling as he spots Billy. [...don't forget the FIGHT CLUB.] But says nothing as the papered rolls is sucked back in paused exhalations of smoke.

(billy)
As James get's near, it's almost as if he were bing slapped in the face with an oven mitt wrapped fist, his rgew stronger than the avverage Garou, for a momet it doesn't look athough he's going to follow. taking another Puff from the pipe, he offers it to the 4 winds, then finaly he follows. pipe stem between his teeth, hands in his pockets. his movements are silent

(erik)
Turns to watch the two approach, and from where he stands he'll be the first to greet the wendigo. James should know enough to expect that.

He turns a careful eye on Billy, noticing the scars and thinking of them as competence. There's no substitute for scars. Just ask Erik's face. Never a handsome kid to begin with, the two scars that mar his face mark him out in any crowd.

(james)
slapped in the face, yes
but he also shares a condo with Decker
he's used to it

also seems like he understands it

no introductions, no chitchat, no 'hurry up man my Alpha's waiting,' not another damned word between them
just a patient wait for that few moments, then leading back over
cause the Gnawer knows well enough Erik's the one to do all the talkin' here
a glance to his Alpha and he's moseying on past
when they're back at the steps, he regains his place half-way up
such a subtle thing is rank, sometimes
even with the ascent of the sculpted concrete
that's not above the Modi, that's behind him
settling to sit this time, pack and zippo pulled from pocket

(luc)
Wide.
Ass.
Grin.

Beer accepted. And the pair hang over the porch while the old folks talk and seethe. [Heh. Kill-shit. Heh. Heh. Heh.] His head twists to the left a bit lips brushing against her ear in whispered words before his grey-toned gaze drops down to the assembled. Another slice of Pizza dragged lazily from the box and muched on and a slow almost -normalish- pace.

(lexi)
She glances up at the pierced girl who seems to have taken an interest in what she is doing..
wanna take a picture?
But she doesnt really change her facial expresion, merely stands there and waits...the canisters next to her feet as she waits...

(billy)
As he gets nearer, he nods quietly. if scars are Competence...then Billy is the expert...he's not wearing the eyeppatch tonight so as tebreeze stirs his bangs, thyey can see the destroyed socket. bone gfragments sticking out at grisly angles. the shrivelled remains of the Eyeball skewere ina piece of bleached bone in the center of the once socket

(dire)
Closet door opens. Dire rolls out. Stands up. Streches and heads for the portch. OPens the door and looks around at them all and gleeps at them. Seems his grunt was intrrupted by a yawn

(erik)
Oh yeah, Erik likes this guy. Likes him alot, enough to have a smile on his face by the time he gets to the lawn. Someone as ugly as him.

"Here ya got a personal stake in this shit..."

(billy)
He nods, and a sound that could only be a grunt ensues before a strangled rasp of a voice says. "Yeah...fuckers killed my mate...I'm gonna slow roast 'em over my tanning fire before I send 'em on an eastergg hunt for their nuts...after that...I'm really going to hurt them."

(decker)
Erik up front. Decker two steps up on the stairs. James another two steps behind him. Dire up at the top, Luc too, and Eva. Lexi off to the side, makin' molotovs.

Regular Eagle scout camp, this.

Since it didn't look like they were going anywhere just yet, Decker eventually leans back, settling one elbow on the step above him while the other hand gropes around for matches, a joint. Find one. Find the other. Strike one on the concrete stairs. Light the other.

He tosses the smoking strike-anywhere match out on the pavement, stomps it, and has hisself a smoke. Passes it up to James, in case the Gnawer wanted something a little heavier than those Camels.

(erik)
"Sounds like a plan. You remember who's turf your on, and who leads the hunt, and we'll give ya first crack at the leech. Fair?"

(eva)
His head tilts her way, words sliding over her ear, and smirk slides again across her lips. Now free hand slides up to drag nails over the back of his neck, teasing into his hair in a scrape of nails over scalp in misplaced affection.
Dark gaze doesn’t move from Lexi though – that glance and not so subtle smirked ‘take a picture’ that comes clear only in gaze not missed, not acknowledged either. She’ll look where she fuckin pleases – Lexi ain’t the only bitch kin here - and make sure the high brow bitch puts those together right.

(billy)
Another grunt accompanied by a nod.

(lexi)
She could hear the sound of fire Head snaps to Decker to se ehow far off he was from her
no offense she didnt need her face covered in 3rd degree burns..she liked her face...

Ok he was far enough away she didnt have to worry..
Eyes moving back to the bottles, corks, rags...and the cannisters..She didnt know if she needed to start the pouring, and she wasnt gonna waste good gasoline..so for now..she waits.

Every few moments turning to look at Erik to see if he gives her a nod to start-a-pourin.

for now...she merely waits, guarding her little fire bombs

(james)
boots scoot over a bit, making room for the Modi to stretch out
the Gnawer's long body angling a bit on the steps
leaning against the vertical rails instead of the concrete platforms
Decker doesn't have to offer that joint twice
damn skippy he wants something stronger than the Camel
rare is the occasion he'd actually ask for it
he knows what they're planning, and the reason for it
something that makes him sick to his fucking stomach
(smirk goes smug, hearing the proposed pain)
that's a long. hard. deep. hit.
held until his lungs burn
before passing the joint off to the next packmate that wants it

(erik)
He gives Lexi the hurry up nod, wonderin how long she plans on makin molotov's on the front lawn.

"good. anyone got anything to add?"

(dire)
"I've got targeting discript for any that havent heard...." His melodic voice coming from above and behind.

(billy)
Looking at Lexi, he wanders over and kneels down in front of her. reaching into a pouch, he comes out with a large lump of what looks like a grey roick. he holds it with a leather scrap as he hands it to her. "You be able to use this?"

(lexi)
She sees the look in his eyes...rolling her own She certainly didnt have them spread out on the lawn, the supplies were all inside a bag, but regardless he seemed impatient...
She finishes the final preparations and makes sure they are secure in the bag, she had it all rigged inthe bag, so they wouldnt clank around...a nifty little homemade bag perfect for carrying the little firebombs used to go kapow...

yeah yeah yeah im the one holding you up She doesnt say a word though...
instead, she picks up the large bag, no clanking inside of bottles hitting each other, there was padding between each little bungee holding the bottle in its place in the bag..
Returning the now empty cannisters to the monte...
She moves swiftly to Erik. The long thick strap across her front.

(luc)
Chin jerk.

Eva to the joint being passed another swing of the beer the teenager doesn't -quite- see that there's much to say. "Can get Livingston to call up the ghostie that teaches th'fireater-shit." Just wanted to add, maybe it was obvious, but he'll he ain't the group 'thinker' now if they need someone to rock-out on a list of glorious deeds?

He's yer man.


(lexi)
She glances up after taking care of her job Glancing at Billy..
holy shit shed never seen that deep into someones head before..dude your eye is gone
But she doesnt flinch, good thing he isnt reading her mind...cause she hadnt been expecting an eye socket..
Looking at the lump in his hand..
"what is it?"

(erik)
Eyes go to Dire, not certain what the hell Luc is talkin about. "Well, spit it out then."

(billy)
Eyes go to Dire, not certain what the hell Luc is talkin about. "Well, spit it out then."

(eva)
Chin jerks, nails scrape, lean form slides around Lanky Skald to go down a step or two and take that joint. She hits deep, before passing it up to Luc, holding while she makes her way back to her lean against the railing next to Luc. He can pass it back down – she grabbed the shit, his turn. Slow exhale, and body folds, elbows finding railing, hands clasped lightly as she listens.

(dire)
Dire also looks at Luc like he had too many shrooms off the wrong cow patty and shakes his head. Moving forward on the deck he speaks in that tgrand skald style. Not loud but cultivating. Discriptive. Amazingly descriptitve of the prey they speak. Outlinign they're appearance and how they acted. As the ghost had told him. His voice lyric, rising and falling in the cadence of the high tongue, as it was his ft language.

(decker)
One arm stretched out on the step above the one his elbow's on, which is the one above the one his ass is on, which is the one two or three above his feet, Decker answers Luc. "Gonna take too much time. Spirits ain't never teached nothin' fer nothin', 'n they ain't gonna be happy to be dragged all the way out here to the city. Take even longer t' appease their asses." Thwppt. Airdriven spit off to the side, almost graceful in the delivery. Spitting elevated to an art form. Look and despair.


(luc)
He takes the joint.

Slooooow ass hit, and still holding the smoke arm sweeps around towards Dire if he's wantin, if not he [..wolfie-express] mails his ass back to ((Decker or James, I'm not sure who sparked it)) and then three HUGE steps later he's back on the porch and in his "spot".

He nods to Decker, thoughtful.

[..prolly gonna have some crispy-style hot dogs.]

(james)
somewhere between the Skald(s) and the Modi lays the Gnawer
so he makes himself an instrumental part of handing the joint back to the sparker
and yup.... is otherwise quiet

(imogen)
One twenty. It's that period of time where one cannot decide if she's really late, or very early coming home. 4am is not unheard of; at the very least, Dr. Slaughter never really has to worry about traffic jams. The car slides into it's parking spot, the well kept rumble of the car barely audible, the shut of the car door behind her only slightly louder as she exits the car and starts to cross the parking lot, one hand passing over her hair. The alarm chirps tonelessly as it arms.

(erik)
Well, they look ready, but there is one question yet to be asked... "Ok then. You guys are stoned, we got molotovs... We look ready. But has anyone asked -why-? Why did this happen? Why Aurora? why these leeches? Why on our turf?"

(dire)
He shakes his head "She said it was just random. Manical behavoir."
Dire's not stoned. he never touches the stuff. His senses are too sharop. He hops the rail and lands in a crouch next to the blood egal.
"She said they did it for the glee of doing it."

(billy)
Lookng at Eric, he shrugs quietly. "To me it doesn';t matter...they killed my mate that's the onl thing that does." turning to look back at Lexi, he still hold the Lump of Metallic Sodium out to her

(lexi)
Why ask why

(decker)
Chirping alarm hits his ears and Decker's just reaching back to get his joint. It fits between his teeth and he lee-e-e-eans to one side. Looks around Erik, around Billy.

Leans back.

There ain't no big dumb grin on his face, but James, sitting right behind him, will see some of that tension slipping loose from his shoulders. 'Least she made it home safe. Again.

Those shoulders shrug. "Asked. Ain't got no answer though." He passes the joint toward Erik, in case Tall Dark 'n Ugly wanted some too, and uses that forward momentum to get to his feet. The Modi adds, "Someone oughta stay behind 'n watch the kin."

And no. He ain't volunteering.


(james)
a brow lifts
he took into consideration the descriptions and the actions
and so far the mention that these beings are leeches

"Do you seriously think there needs to be a reason?" there's a roll of shoulders and signifies a shrug "Sounds like these guys are Kooks. They don't need a reason for anything other than their own shits and giggles"

he can see that tension bleed out of the Modi
(and hell, it bleeds a bit out of himself, too, that's his friend out there)
and you spend a day? week? month? in a world of a Malkavian's making and not get anything out of it about the fucking Clan
learn the hard way all those stories about the insane vampire clan you hear in your childhood are real
that's what you do

(lexi)
Watch the kin....
She didnt flinch
But if Decker could only hear her thoughts right now..
Erik knew what she was thinking
But the look on her face, like stone, doesnt change...not in front of all of them..
always trying to prove herself
Watching the kin? What the fuck he think we need a baby-fucking-sitter...Eyes shift to Imogen approaching now...There was one she liked...they had had a few entertaining times...

(erik)
"Jus a couple of crazy fuckin leeches, huh? Well, fuck 'em for it, then. they still burn. Deck's got a point, but you think its necessary? If this was just random stupid shit..."

Plus maybe, just maybe, he's giving these kinfolk some credit.

(decker)
Another shrug as the Modi flips his hood down. "Looked like basketcases, 'least," mutters Decker. One supposes the words are for everyone, but he's looking at his Alpha. "'R else they's someone's real careful-planned bait made to look random."

Just a liiiittle paranoid.

(billy)
Seeing as she didn't seem to want it. Billy replaces the Lump in the pouch and nods to all of them. turning quietly, he heads off down the street. letting out a low whistle as he walks, a small badger soon joins him.

(dire)
He watches Billy take off and jerks a thumb "WHere the fuck's Ugly goin'?"

(luc)
Kinfolk.

Okay, to be honest sometimes he forgets Eva's Kin. This is likely one of those times, shit bitch held her own pretty damn well. Imogen and... well to be honest he has NO CLUE what the other one with the molotovs is but.. whatever. He reaches into the pizza box and finds the lasts piece.

Okay. Okay. Can we hurry up on the damn details?

(imogen)
The smell of marijuana is heavy in the air, the low conversation sounding odd and quiet. It doesn't take much perception (and this she must have in spades) to guess that the conversation isn't particularly all that friendly. She might have even caught the paranoid words (look after the kin) as her eyes flicker across the grouping of full bloods and kinfolk alike, dark eyes shadowed blacker as Billy walks past her, her head turning to watch him briefly, looking away as the badger (... the hell?) joins him, before turning right as the pathway branches, walking toward the (thankfully) empty stairwell and balcony.

(james)
he isn't exactly paranoid
but putting together these are Malkavians
he's more than a liiiiiitttle tense
last time he dealt with them he was whisked off to fucking Wonderland
he doesn't like vampires in general, that's a given
he fucking. hates. Kooks.

teeth practically grind as they clench around the filter of the Camel
(almost forgot about that, din'cha Jamey-boy)

(erik)
Someone's paying attention. "right, which is why we find the lair tonight, and do the do once the sun is up. Then he answers Dire, wondering himself. "Nowhere, I'd guess, since I'm the only fucker knows where the leeches are. He'll be back."

(billy)
He needed to get out...Rage stronger lately...he was gonna explode and he didn'tewant to be in the city when he did so.

(dire)
He chuckels a bit at Erik and nods. Still crouched there. Trying to stay as low under the clowd as he can

(decker)
A quiet. He don't give a damn if Lexi knew molotovs, Eva knew kung-fu, and Imogen once stomped a leaping fomor with a single stab to the heart. Leaving them alone gets his hackles all up and bristly.

But pack's pack. And Alpha's Alpha.
Just a nod up. He's ready. Was ready. Will be ready. It's the essence of being Fenrir, isn't it?

(eva)
Watch the kin.
Yeah – that gets a bit of a smirk as well, but she still remains quiet, judging the reactions in the other kin, Lexi getting a bit of a longer look. Sometimes? Luc forgets she’s kin. But Eva’s never able to forget it. She shouldn’t be. There should be more. But since there ain’t – she holds her own.

(erik)
Fuck the kin. That's what Erik thinks. If they can't take care of themselves then they're just dead weight. Eagle pack cannot afford dead weight. 'sides, he's seen Lexi in action. she's solid. And anyways, Erik aint stayin, so it aint his problem.

"aint gonna do us no good to track these fuckers all over the city all friggin night, so I'm catchin a few Z's. Be here in 2 hours."

whoever isn't is watchin the kin.

(james)
he hasn't volunteered for kin duty
but that doesn't mean he'll argue if he's told to take it
pack's pack and Alpha's Alpha and Gnawer's Omega and all that shit
he's ready either way
not particularly fond of leaving them alone, either
but protecting Kin isn't his damned forte
(nah, he just kills 'em)

.... class dismissed

just a nod, that's all the Ahroun gives
two hours
more than enough time to get something to eat for the trip

(lexi)
Yeah whatever...Eyes flicker back to Eva...and lingers there for a few..ok she looks at least tougher then 99% of the kin she came across
slight smirk and she glances back at Erik
her eyes scream
can we go now

(erik)
Erik grabs the bag of molotovs and heads for his car. Into the trunk they go, and he opens the door (its a two door), and gets into the passenger seat (bench seats), and lays down. guess he's gonna sleep right there in the car...

(decker)
Two hours. More than enough time to get some nook--

--ahem. Decker's only reply to Erik is another nod up. A hand scratches the back of his head. He looks up the stairs at James, at the two Skalds up at the top, and all the assorted kinfolk hanging out.

"Someone go git some MickeyD's." A last hit off the joint and it's passed to James. He doesn't tell him to keep it. Doesn't totemphone it. Doesn't need to. The very way in which he passes it (careless, hand extending just a bit further than it would if he wanted it back) is enough.

Rune oughta be awake in 2 hours, too. That's good. Rune's many things, but she's a fuckin' Fostern Ahroun too, and good enough to be an Adren and a half if she just asked. Fuck if Decker knew why she didn't.

Though vampires in the daytime...ain't that sorta like shootin' fish in a barrel?
(Careful now, don't get cocky.)

(dire)
He stands up "I'm going for a grilled stuffed Burrito... anyone want?"

(lucian)
"Concerts out."

He grunts now mildly annoyed. [Eh, Priorties boy.] He finishes the beer and nudges Eva thoughtfully, realizin she was gonna be stuck in the aprtment for the first time.

"Wammie walk ya'home?"

(imogen)
Exodus.

Lexi and Erik leave, Billy has left. Dire is apparently feeding his bottomless stomach, which involves a walk a few blocks away, anyway. Her eyes lift from the balcony as she reaches a hand into the pocket of her jacket searching for what is presumably a cigarette packet (because otherwise, she would go inside), while the other hand reaches up to catch the plastic case of her identification badge and pull it from her jacket collar. The Medical Examiner's Shield, seperate, hangs at her hip, but is left alone for now, familiar baggage like her pager, her cell phone. Her cigarettes and the taste in the back of her throat reminescent of blood.

Cigarette package is pulled out with one hand, from one pocket as the identification badge in the other hand is shoved into another.

A cigarette is lit, the taste as she inhalation washing away the afterscent of memory.

(eva)
Concert’s out. Fuck. There’s a look of annoyance that crosses her face and she returns that long look Lexi gives her, smirking as they turn and walk back to the car. Decker demands McD’s, Dire says Taco hell – and she waves him off “pizza inside – gonna kill another couple slices. Thanks though.”
Yeah. She’s got manners. Sometimes she uses them. Fuck off.
There’s a roll of lean form until she’s got the railing under her hands and her ass against it, stretching a bit. She weighs the pros and cons a bit, and then shrugs. “If ya want. Don’t mind stickin though.” If nothing else – She and the redhead have a better chance standing together then separate. Someone’s gotta take Kin duty – may as well be the Kin who hasn’t gotten a chance to prove her shit yet. Otherwise? She’s just dead weight. Sides… that’d mean Decker’d owe her ass one. Stupid prick.
Dark eyes finally make their way back to Luc, sliding from the other balcony, to the floor, and inching up long lanky form in that slow molesting crawl….smirk tucking at her lips. “up to you.”


(decker)
"Naw," resettling on the stairs, one step closer to James this time. Pack disperses and those that remain draw closer together. It's instinct. You watch the left and I'll watch the right. You watch the sky and I'll watch our backs. Yeah. Okay.

"Gimme a Big Mac. 'N fries." Nobody doesn't like MickeyD's fries. Decker rolls his weight to the left as he jerks his wallet out on its chain. Flips through his scanty bills and fishes out four battered one's. An annoyed glance at Dire as he gets antsy - "Shut the fuck up, Dire, I'm lookin' fer cash." - and he dumps out a handful of coins, adds it on top of the bills, and hands it to the Skald.

(james)
..... don't mind if I do
not said or thought, it's just held in the semi-quirk of that little grin
he doesn't need to be told the Modi doesn't want the joint back
some things transcend any types of verbal or mental communication
it's a long, hard, hit off the roach before the Gnawer's looking back up again
Luc and Eva
Decker and Imogen
Dire and "No thanks man, gonna finish off that pizza." his stuffed burrito
Erik an..... noooot even goin' there

hm.
one more hit, and he's flicking that joint off to the Roach Gods
perhaps in some whim of placating at least some diety for their journey in two hours
vampires in the daylight
fuckin Kooks
the night already started off with him pissed
and now that itchy feeling's crawling up his spine - spooked

not a good combination
even in the mellow Gnawer

(dire)
He takes it and sniffs it and gives Decker an "Ew" Smell and stuffs it in his pocket wiping his hand on his jacket.

Nods to them and Streches. He hops a few times and takes off at a jog. bounding down the road. Damn metis born. Too much energy in all forms.

(eva)
Concert’s out. Fuck. There’s a look of annoyance that crosses her face and she returns that long look Lexi gives her, smirking as they turn and walk back to the car. Decker demands McD’s, Dire says Taco hell – and she waves him off “pizza inside – gonna kill another couple slices. Thanks though.”
Yeah. She’s got manners. Sometimes she uses them. Fuck off.
There’s a roll of lean form until she’s got the railing under her hands and her ass against it, stretching a bit. She weighs the pros and cons a bit, and then shrugs. “If ya want. Don’t mind stickin though.” If nothing else – She and the redhead have a better chance standing together then separate. Someone’s gotta take Kin duty – may as well be the Kin who hasn’t gotten a chance to prove her shit yet. Otherwise? She’s just dead weight. Sides… that’d mean Decker’d owe her ass one. Stupid prick.
Dark eyes finally make their way back to Luc, sliding from the other balcony, to the floor, and inching up long lanky form in that slow molesting crawl….smirk tucking at her lips. “up to you.”

(luc)
He snorts to the other skald, and rolls his eyes glancing first to his mate and then to James. They had planned to go smash some head at the Tooley's tonight, guess that was out.

"...y'aint comin with me." He says half-guess that was what she was thinking - not quite remembering he forgot she wasn't. "...guess we'll pig out an' ah kick BOTH yer asses on gran'trurismo." His chest puffs out almost childishly, he's been practicin.

(eva)
She smirks and elbow lands light against his ribs. “Fuck you, too. y’think I wanna go with all you ragers? Fuck that shit. I’ll hang back and take care of the Redhead for the pissant.” Hands slide over Luc – but not without reason - searching for their smokes, plucking pack from pocket and lighting up before tucking them back where she found them.

(imogen)
And again, her attention arches toward Dire and his inexhaustable energy as he bounds down the rood. It's too damn late for that kind of energy. He'll probably make the McD's staff tired just watching him.

A smirk touches her mouth, perhaps at the image of poor harrassed staff dealing with crazy energetic Dire, though with the caustic mirthless curve it might very well be that she heard Eva, as she settles into the wooden chair, smoke exhaling slowly as she bends down, reaching out to pull the ashtray toward her feet.

(luc)
Take care of the red-head.

One brow shoots up, as he remembers Eva's willingness to 'take care' of her LAST time. Hell, he wasn't sure -exactly- what she meant but manages to mumble, "...bitch is packin, girl." The Bitch in question is, of course, Imogen. [Start Fantasy Mode: Imogen and Eva cacked in mud, pulling each other's hair while they're out...] He blinks realizing Eva's still standing in front of him --grabbing the empty pizza box distractedly as he heads back inside.

(decker)
Dire takes off. Decker sprawls another minute and then gets up. Stomps his slow deliberate way up the stairs, stabbing Eva with a glare. "The 'Redhead' don't need no fuckin' care." He'd just feel a lot better if she had a fuckin' pack of Fenris warwolves around her. And Luc, stabbed with the continuation of the same glare (it's like a fuckin teenage Fenrir shishkabob), "'N she ain't no bitch, neither."

Fuckin' kids.

His skechers squeak wetly as he climbs up on the balustrade and crosses over. Go fig. He'd rather climb up the stairs and jump, than walk across and climb. Lands on Imogen's balcony with a thud. "Cop escort today?" He knows what his money's on.

(luc)
SLAM.

His forehead eats a nice solid chunk of doorway, and he blinks stepping backward and looking around quickly, ducks his head and continues inside eyes glued to the floor.

No one saw that.
No one saw that.
No one saw that.

(eva)
See, Luc can’t keep shit from her. She? Didn’t bother to tell him about the little talk with Imogen. Ain’t gonna either. There’s a slow sliding smirk as she watches his eyes darken and the distracted grab and mumble. “Yeah?”
That’s it, for the moment, before there’s something of an amused snort. “and I ain’t?” And then Decker stabs her with a glare, tosses his comment, and pierced brow arches. But she bites back the comment. Having to fuck that is most likely punishment enough.
Then Luc hits the fuckin doorframe. And gaze. Narrows. [enter fantasy mode. Ain’t no other bitch.] before she’s pulling from the railing, grabbing her plate, and following him inside. Oddly enough – she ain’t kicking his ass because of what the Redhead said. Lucky luc.


(imogen)
She hadn't turned as Decker speared both Fenrir teenagers with a steel eyed glare, but she had turned her head as his sketcher knockoffs thud against her balcony, causing a mild shiver through the supports. Her gaze moves upward, and (no one saw it) catches the graceful meeting of Lucian's forehead with the doorway, her head half turning away abruptly, the cigarette returning to her mouth to obscure the amusement, quick and abruptly abated.

She inhales, drawing smoke into her lungs before she answers him, "Parked near the crime scene," instead of a block or three away.

(luc)
"...and you are?"

He tosses the empty pizza box on the [new and improved!] coffee table watching her from the corner of hooded eyes -- she's jus' jokin, right. She better be. Before he loads the game up -- "Yo, bring the other box'a pizza and th'beers?"


(james)
Eva goes inside after the remaining pizza
Luc punishes the doorway for being too low
Decker moves off to go get su..... talk with Imogen
James?
he just moves to the now vacated porch
streeeetching out in one of the chairs
replacing his boots onto the railing
out comes the pack of Camels again, and the zpCLACK of zippo lighting up

he could go in and play granamismo
he could go in and wake Rune up

but the last thing the stressed out Gnawer needs is competition
and one thing you.... don't.... do.... is wake Rune up early
so he settles in to chainsmoke for a bit
dark eyes half closing
forcing himself to re. lax.
(shoulda had more than one joint)

Posted by james at 12:00 AM
April 23, 2003
.04.23.03. - granamismo [eva-dire-luc]

[noje]

(eva)
True to his word, Luc was cool about taking her out to join him in this little fight club obsession today. Whether he spoke with the others via whatever little totem phone has ceased to be a real problem, as she’s spent a good three hours pounding and getting pounded and generally getting shit out of her system. He ain’t done, so put her ass in a cab and sent her home with his keys to clean up. Fucking Garou with their damn insta-healing bullshit.
Footsteps on the walk, footsteps on the stairs, footsteps pause by the door, to unlock and push the door open, moving inside and kicking it closed behind her. She shrugs outa her jacket with a wince and after grabbing smokes and lighter from the pocket, yes she even hangs it up. Standard fair from toes to head.. Shitkickers, jeans, studded belt, tank top, dog collar, studded wrist cuffs, piercings, the multicolored mass of braids pulled back with a black bandanna tonight, and brand new – under the makeup and smudged lipstick, we’ve a black eye and split lip. Zigged when she shoulda zagged.
Straight to the kitchen, smokes and lighter tossed on the breakfast bar, and she starts putting together an icepack to pull the swelling down.


(james)
"There's fresh Indian in the fridge."

Imogen was at work
Decker was back
James? was off couch duty
at least for the next few hours

which is probably the reason he's not particularly sitting on the leather furniture in the condo, rather, leaning up agaisnt the front of it, legs stretched out across the floorspace (cause the brand spanking NEW coffeetable has been pushed off to the side for safe keeping), ankles crossed, beer next to his hip, PS2 controller in his hands and a goddamned joint hanging out of his mouth - it may not be the full moon but you keep guard over a Modi's mate and see if you're a little stressed out by morning

deep umber eyes cast themselves towards the kitchen
just taking stock of what happened to the kin during Luc's little fight club reinactment
Grand Turismo 3 will have to do it for him, it seems

(eva)
Gaze snaps over toward the sound of the game, and the Gnawer sitting there, before there’s a slight nod and she turns back to the fridge, grabbing a random box, a beer, a fork, taking the whole kit and caboodle into the other room.
Lean form falls into the leather chair with a wince, shifting until pressure is taking off of her bruised rib. One hand, nails miraculously not broken, lifts the baggy fulla ice wrapped in dish towel to her face, the other hand opens the box and digs in with the fork chewing rather tenderly. Damn bastard wasn’t gentle, that’s for sure.
She glances at the game on screen through the eye that isn’t slowly swelling, and jerks chin toward it. “S’that?” can kick ass on grand theft auto three, as well as counterstrike, but hasn’t plugged this one in yet.

(dire)
There is a russel from the hall closet and the door slowly opens. Dire rolls out. Stands. Streches. Pops his neck and smacks his lips as he wakes. Closing the door he pads though the living room to the bathroom. The door shuts gently. Shower starts.

(james)
"Grand Turismo."

though it sounds more like granamismo with the joint clenched between teeth
dreads spill over his shoulder as head tilts, keeping the smoke out of his eyes
long thick vines of still damp hair fall and cling over skin just beginning to regain what will become summer's tan
not too long out of the shower, he didn't bother with more than pants
Eagle's brand on his chest, the ashen scars over his back
docile as he seems playing the video game, there's no question the man's at war
taking this little slice of time for what it is and enjoying the downtime for however long it lasts
rather expertly navigating the green sportscar through some curves on some digital track in the forests of Germany

"Luc still out playing?"

speaking of Germans....
there's a flicker of attention as the Skald comes out of the closet
but he doesn't say a word

(eva)
There’s a glance toward the closet as it opens… ok, truthfully more a turn of entire head in order to glance, gaze blocked by the towel-wrapped ice held over one eye and cheekbone, another bite of Indian taken, chased with a few swallows of beer as she watches the action onscreen.
Nod, slight, and a chuckle. “The boys were getting pissed off about being beat by a girl – left so they could regain their testosterone levels.” Smirked, and she even holds back the wince for the duration. Really should see the other guys. Took’em three fights to fond someone who could touch her, and she looks a damn sight better then he did when she left. They were using smelling salts to bring him too when she got into the cab and headed home. She rotates her jaw, slightly, before replacing the towel against cheekbone and eye, working her way through the carton resting between her thighs. “e’ll be home later.”

(dire)
Shower shuts off and Skald comes out a moment later. Jeans. Poof. that's it. His lanky body not scrawny or drawn. Musseled much like a gymnist, that if you knew him, he was. He moves into the den and pauses. Walks over to Eva and gently pulls the ice from her eye. Leans over. Looks with his own icy ones. Nods and lets her replace it.

He sits and gently scraches his chest. The nordic runic tattoos that are about 3 inches wide starting at his shoulder and dropping straight down the left side of his chest to his pants line. Running a hand though his still wet sandy hair he looks to the screen and tilts his head.

The dark tattoo over his left brow stands out on his freshly scrubed face. Keeney had stolen all his stuff so he had to just scrub till the top layer of skin came off and regenerated. He's pink as a babys butt.

(james)
note he isn't offering to help or heal or.... anything
he's become pretty accustomed to the Get way
if she wants help, she'll..... snarl.... for it
so he just keeps playing his game

"Couple more boxes of take-out in the fridge."

that tossed back towards the Skald
this level's won, now the green car is careening on some island paradise
and it's careeeeeening
he's not as good at this level

(eva)
He pulls the towel away and she narrows her gaze at him..
Well.. narrows the part of her gaze that’s still reacting correctly, and just snorts as she puts the towel back when he’s done looking. She don’t expect any of them to give enough of a fuck to help heal it or help in anyway, and certainly not the dredlocked asshole. Dire – some sort of uneasy respect there. Least he was gonna step between her and that little pissant Decker if he’d gone for her, but other then that.
What does it matter. She’s just the flavah of the month, right?
She keeps eatin, half assed watching the screen between bites, before she’s scraping the carton clean and setting it by her feet, the towel set in her lap as she goes about unlacing and pulling off her boots. She kicks them close enough to the chair to not be in anyone’s way, before long legs fold under her, Indian style, beer propped between thighs as she makes sure her make-shift ice pack isn’t leaking, and relaxes back in the chair, cold cloth pressed against eye as nails tap absently against the beer bottle.

(dire)
He gets up with a nod to James
"Thanks yuf"

Walking to the kitchen he roots around till he finds the walnut chicken then a bit more. Coming back to the living room he pauses by Eva's chair. Slaps a steak into her hand. Nods and grunts with a smile. Hell if anything he seems PROUD of her. He takes a seat and pulling the chop sticks out he starts to eat as he watches.

Still waking up.

Still a get.

(james)
seems he made it through that track
.... barely....
toked up on damage and good enough for a whopping fourth
whatever paltry amount won by the race goes right back into fixing the car
and as he's clicking around that menu with one hand
the other's taking the joint from between his teeth
offering it to Eva with a crooked grin

there's a nod to Dire as he sits back down with breakfast
knowing not offering him the J isn't an insult
the weed isn't a peace offering, by any means
he's just treating Eva as one of the gang
not flavor of the week

"How many asses you kick?"


(eva)
Dire wanders off and comes back and slaps a steak. Into her hand. She arches that pierced brow and snorts in something akin to amusement as she lifts it slightly in thanks, but doesn’t put it on her face. “Thanks man… prefer to eat mine rather then wear it though.” She shifts the ice to split lip for a few moments, watching James barely make it through this track, smirking at the 4th place finish (not that she could do better, but better believe she’ll be practicing up the next time she’s locked up in the damn condo under some pretense of their giving a fuck.). The passing of the J gets something of a suspicious look, but she sure as fuck ain’t gonna turn it down, leaning forward with a suppressed grunt at pressure on rib before relaxing back again.
J lifted toward lips, where lips devoid of the dark, dark plum (smudged a bit under the swell of lip still) clench joint, and she hits… hard… holding as she passes it back to James…. An eternity later, she exhales and smirks. “Three. They were still tryin to wake the last guy up when Luc put me in the cab.”


(dire)
He listens and nods. He'd offered. She declined. No problem with that. Sometimes he whished he could wear brusies. Sadly nothing short of a incapasiting wound would ever mar his fleash. He watches them and snorts. Not meanly but that shit stank. He rubs his nose and eats his chicken. Not EVEN relating what it LOOKS like

(james)
there's that half-frown half-considering look
not that bad
though the suspicions get a little more than a chuckle
as if he can't smell that underlying seeth

"Livingston can fix you up, if you want."

he knows it's not a mean snort
that would be why the overhead fan is on
to at least quell the smell and smoke just a bit
though his gaze pretty much stays on Eva

"So what... exactly.... did I do to piss you off?"

free to talk here
free to drag him somewhere private to talk
free to tell him to fuck off, too

*luc)
Fight-Club.

It was the buzz on the streets, something was going on. Something wild[/Wyld] and it was infecting people in the stragest ways... Fight just seemed to break out anywhere, and the strange chuckling scarecrow, well he was always around. Three guys to chill out, three guys to initiate and and a few hours later he was back at the pad.

He's got a few bruises himself, its no FUN if yer not fighting in homid, but the pain [..unlike Eva's..] was only novelty -- something he could change. His thoughts grow a little more solemn as he gets to the condo...

Damn waning moon.
[...damn girl.]

(eva)
Not that bad indeed. For a girl. She smirks slightly, and nods. “yeah – might ask him. Depends on how the swelling goes down and shit.” She’s been hurt before, she doesn’t turn down the offer right off though, so that must be something. Towel and eyes are placed in lap, beer lifted and several swallows downed before she meets his gaze levelly. (Christ Eva, gonna getchoreself killed doing that shit..) “You’re a condenscending asshole.” Cut to the chase and who gives a fuck who hears, eh? A few beats of silence, before she smirks and shakes her head. “I ain’t no ones fuck James. Anymore then you’re her’s. Y’don’t know shit about me, and I sure as fuck didn’t deserve that kinda introduction from the one they all say is a cut above the rest. Expected it from Decker.”

(dire)
Dire grunts. Looks between them. Raises his andy brows and pulls his legs up so if needed he can hop between them and suckup lics. He kinda gives them both a look.

you know the look

"If I spill my fucking chicken to keep you two appart, heads will roll"
(not spoken)

that look. He smiles softly and looks to James after Eva's words and raises his brows. Poor Gnawers. They always catch shit.

*(luc)
He gets outta Dre's car, with a faked yawn. "Nah man.. I'm spent." Dre quirks his head at Luc and the oversized scarecrow slams the car door shut.

All fun and no work.... wait. He glares at the condo, and cracks the joints in his neck [..home sweet home.] as he makes his way toward the stairs. Key jangling in the lock as its pried open...


(james)
a brow..... lifts
condescending asshole - the hell?
mentally, the Gnawer replays the last few days, searching for this conversation
rewind.... rewind.... rewind....
..... oh

oh shit

there's a goooood chance the Ahroun doesn't exactly remember what he said
or at least wasn't even aware of the implications of what he was saying
(fucking. full. moon.)

"Fuck." well, yes James, that's what got you into this mess, muttered in a sigh, and he actually pauses the game to turn around and face her fully - funny thing that, one of Gaia's great warriors turning around and giving a mere Kin full attention and respects contained therein "I don't.... remember exactly what I said, or why, but the days before lead up to it being harsh and you bearing the brunt of it, and you're right, you didn't deserve it. I apologize."

many Garou would strike a Kin to the ground for what she said
beat her worse than any at the little impropmtu gathering could even dream
yet here he is, still sitting on the ground, meeting her gaze, and offering a genuine apology

(luc)
Enter Luc-Boy.

The prodigal son, bruise stained and grinning wiiiiidely. He was a charmer if nothing else, too quick tongue - too big grin, that shit was gonna get the skald in trouble someday. Course, for all the lumps the kid took, didn't seemed like he shied away from any of it...

Get to the BONE baby.

His eyes flicker around the room but that grin doesn't waver a fraction. Though the words are a rumbly whisper oddly aimed to James, "Honey, I'm home." His attention though is drawn towards Eva...

Wonder of wonders.

(eva)
Fuck. Indeed.
He pauses the game and faces her, and she’s already gathering muscles in ready coil to spring away (course, chances are the first punch will send her flying, but better to try and dodge then to take their shit) And then he stops, and gives her full attention. And respect.
Fuckin respect.
That right there, coupled with the apology, from one who - in their world – has the right to beat her down for answering the question as honestly as it was put forth gets a reaction. Gimmer in dark eye(s) of respect, of appreciation (of belonging) as she searches his gaze to be sure that he was genuine. Silence lingers, lengthens, and Luc enters.
His attention on her, Dire’s attention on them, James’ attention on her to await her word, finally there’s a nod, and she holds her hand out to the Gnawer. “fair enough.” Same thing she said to Imogen, her acceptance of how things are, and of apologies, but James gets one further word. “Thanks.” It meant a lot, that much is clear, even as dark gaze peel from him to look up at Luc.. “well looky what the cat drug in. You get that last guy to wake up finally?”

(dire)
Looks to James as he apoligises and grunts and nods chewinghis chicken. Looks to Eva to see if she'll accept it.
Nodding to Luc as he walks in. Dire's in jeans. Eating chickel with white creamy stuff on it. Sitting beside james, looking at Eva with her beer, her take out and a raw steak over there.

Nods and grunts again as Eva agrees and eats some more chicken.

(luc)
" --'Ventually."

Course he passed out again later. [..glassjaw muthafuckers.] but hell leave work at work right? He takes pff his jacket and throws it on the couch settling on the other side of Dire. One legs fold in WIDE shape atop the other.

"You healin up okay?" It bothered him. It bothered him to ask [...so against the point of fight club] and it bothered him to see her fucked up...

Alot.

(james)
"Dinner's in the fridge, honey, have a good night?"

shot back at the younger Skald, though his attention doesn't pull from Eva
when she gives her nod, he returns it
bit of that trademark easy grin raking across his features
freehand reaches out and clasps hers
(and with the strength in it, one hit would break her neck)
sometimes things are settled with fists and fury
other times it seems a few words will do the trick

this is about the time the Gnawer gathers his legs and stretches upwards
handing off the console controller to whomever wants it
pointing out which button does what
they can play his saved game, or start their own
but he's got something that needs to be done before the night is out
wandering off to gather shoes and shirt
those little vacations from duty never last long enough

(eva)
She isn’t surprised at the strength hiding in that clasp of hand, and her smirk slides to crooked grin before she takes the controller, and nods to the explanation as it is given quickly, and there’s a nod as he heads off to get dressed. Gaze turns to Luc and her smirk is born again as she arches pierced brow, gauging his reaction to seeing her hurt for a change, something akin to satisfaction to see that it bothers him. (now you know how I feel, at least in part..) “Good.”
Stupid glass jawed freaks. Beat down by a girl – he’ll probably never live it down. She tips her beer back, draining it half, and props it between her thighs again. “S’all good. ‘ll get Livingston to patch it up later.”


(dire)
He grunts and sprals out on the space that James vacates on the couch. Taking up 2/3 of it. Still eating his chicken and watching silently. He flickers his eyes between them.

(luc)
"Aww an' ah thought you fergot our anniversary.."

He makes kissy noises after James departing form, that incorrigible grin still in place. And at her look of satisfaction his nostrils flare briefly in exhalation, no answer however-- "Yeah." He didn't like it--it was like seed planted in his stomach.

Nudging Dire with his shoulder "Move over man."

Posted by james at 12:00 AM
April 17, 2003
.04.17.03. - somethin' harder [pack-eva-imogen]

[noje]

(james)
at some point last night, he caught up with the retreating stairs and found his way up to the waterbed
that, in itself, was a near tragic experience
but soon after the swandive towards the pillows, the Gnawer passed. out.
lights went off even before the bed stopped moving

the fuck kinda tranqs were those??

ones that hadn't yet worn off by evening, that's for sure
if it wasn't for the call of food, he wouldn't have climbed out of bed
or slithered into.... well hell... seems he somehow got out of his clothes.... BDUs, fuck the wifebeater, that's too complicated
or stumbled down the stairs
or even attempted conquest of the FrigidAire
however.... there! is! success!

scrambled eggs inhaled
(siiimple)
one beer down, second one on the way
the Ahroun isn't even attempting to find that place called sobriety, he knows Luna still hangs heavy in the sky
he'll attempt to find the couch instead
today must have been a maid day
cause there's no glass on the living room carpet anymore
even if the skeleton of the table still remains
Rune's not gonna be happy about that one
not. at. all.

he? doesn't think about that
he? digs in pockets of those BDUs for cigarette pack that must have a joint left

(imogen)
She likely received little of the massive sleep that James got to enjoy. Considering the time he left her on the back porch with the Fenrir, and the time she must have left for work this morning. Well. There are hours of sleep missing there. Not that it seems to be anywhere out of the ordinary for the good doctor, and nor is this pathetically late homecoming.

The warm weather of earlier this week has faded away to be replaced with nearly freezing temperatures once again as she steps out into the thirty five degree weather, a hand reaching up to draw the collar of her suede jacket further around her neck, as she closes the mercedes door behind her, beginning to across the parking lot, the hand that had so briefly clutched her collar now reaching beneath the fold of the jacket to remove the metal beaded necklace that holds the badge of her profession, fingers idly wrapping it around itself, slowly, a careful motion, as her head turns to glance over her shoulder. The moon hangs pregnantly still in the sky, a heavy orb of silver, obscuring the stars and eclipsing them with Her light. A day past full, and things could hardly have improved.

Her badge wrapped securely with the beaded thread, she shoves it into her pocket, her fingers brushing the cigarette packet, catching the cardboard to draw it out, pausing on the side of the walkway, to pull out a cancerstick, apparently not caring to wait to reach the condo's porch before lighting up.

(eva)
The door to Luc’s room has been shut. tight all day long until now. Stumble of sleepy doped up Gnawer doesn’t even dent the sound of music that still thrums – softer then usual, as they were as passed out as the rest of them. None-the-less, sometimes ya gotta pee and you can’t ignore the call any longer.
That’s about when the pierced princess emerges from the room. Same tanktop that’s tight enough to show the outline of matching set of nipple rings, makeup scrubbed off at some point before they slept, face teenage fresh and clean, if pierced multiple times, and a pair of Luc’s boxers hanging precariously off of slender hips, leather silver-studded cuffs and chains still on wrists (janglejangle), choke collar still around neck, one end sliding into cleavage. Summertime hot in here, and she didn’t wanna pull on the jeans just for a trip to the bathroom. The whole look and brief parade shows off the edges of bruises nicely though. Press of fingers into thigh, hip, shoulder, upper back. Press of lips neck, neck and..well.. below the neck..
Shorter without the shitkickers that sport a 3 inch heel, only 5’9” but carries herself as if she’s always taller then the rest. Teenage sleepy stumble toward decker’s bathroom (you do NOT wanna know what’s in th…oh! must be a maid day, it’s not too bad.) not even looking down the hall to see what else lurks in the condo, just inside, shut the door behind her.

(rune)
There's an (almost) full moon in the sky, and blood on her hands, blood on her hands and an (almost) full moon in the sky.

It all fits together, somehow.

The Beemer pulls into the parking lot and idles in its space as the Glass Walker listens to the end of the last song on the CD with her eyes half-closed. There's something wrong with shutting off the Clash with ten seconds left on the CD, and so she remains there an extra ten seconds, idly scritching at the spatter of dull crimson staining the tender flesh flanking her nailbeds like so many bloodied hangnails.

Imogen is briefly caught in the glare of headlights, before Rune flicks them off. Abruptly, the low purr of the Beemer's engine is cut off, the door opens, and the tall Walker swings her long legs out and onto the pavement.

Rune's thumb flickers over the remote key and the alarm system tweets in response. Like Imogen, Rune's already fumbling for her cigarettes well before she reaches her porch (or even the sidewalk for that matter) and some visible relief of tension is apparent with the first lungful of nicotine after a long drive.

Rune's not dressed for the weather, and so she takes the sidewalk in long, sweeping strides, the steps two at a time, brushing past and up and inside with a brief floating smirk of acknowledgment for Imogen, arms curved close to her body for warmth. Somehow, she manages to smoke her cigarette a quarter of the way down during her passage. She pauses at the door and flicks a glance toward the sand-filled coffee can that serves as an ashtray, but thinks better of it and heads inside.

(decker)
Yeah. Okay. Inside Decker's bathroom? Decker. Stark-fuckin-naked, dripping wet from a shower, not even bandaged up yet. Real lovely gashes on his side. Healing, but not quite done yet. Tomorrow night they'll be pink lines; night after, nothing. He's got Rune's electric razor in hand (who gives a fuck what she shaves with it, he washed it but good), plowing it over his scalp to get that hair down to a nice quarter-inch of blond or so.

When the door starts to fly open, his hand snaps out - palm hits the door - shoves it forcefully closed.

"Occupied," snarled grumpily.


(james)
he doesn't need to hear the car to feel her
(where ya been all night, baby?)
in fact, he doesn't even open the eyes that are already closing as head leans back against the overstuffed back of the couch
(moon explains it all)
he just waits
pretty much ignoring the sound of..... someone..... making the potty trip out of Luc's room
(they move already?)

oh no, he just diiiiiiigs out that joint from the pack
and all praise Gaia, there's a bic stuffed in there, too
there's gotta be some satisfaction in that
writ in the way dreads bunch up around bare torso as he sllliiiiiiiiides further down onto the couch
lighting up that J with a looooooooooong drag
by the time the Walker's in the front door, he's holding it out to keep the rotation going

(dire)
A sound from the hall by the door. The scrape scrape scrape , click, the door opens and dire steps out od the hall closet. He's in lupus. Long legged gangly lupus. He takes almost a feline strech a yawn with one of those curled tongue things and then shakes out his fur. A yip and he sniffs the air. reaching around to nibble at a flea on his flank

(eva)
“Fuckin prick.”
Door slams in her face and her comment is snarled as she slaps the door in response, and reaching behind her to pull the band that’s wrapped around the mass of braids (keep them out.of.the.way) free, letting heavy ropes fall over shoulders to midback. Crimson-tipped nails scratch through them to scalp before there’s a roll of eyes and she turns and heads toward the kitchen instead. Food first. Pee later. Apparently.
Heels of hand digs at eye, getting there rest of the sleep from her face before pausing midstep to stretch lean form, then continue on toward the fridge. Half a thought to going back and putting makeup and clothes on. Ditched as too much trouble at the moment, still. James gets an arched pierced brow in something of a ‘morning’ Rune gets a slight wave, then the door to the fridge is opened and the search begins.


(dire)
He pads into the kitchen after Eva sniffing around. As She opens the Fridge door Dires snout goes right up between her legs from the rear. SNIFF SNIFF.

(rune)
It's automatic. Almost as if programmed to do so - some strange, synchronous dance - the Glass Walker pluckes the joint from the Gnawer's hand and passes him her own cigarette as she breezes by him, heading straight toward the mecca that is refridgerator. Although she can rummage and sulk and stare at the unchanging contents as if they might transmogrify before her eyes with the best of them, she doesn't tonight. Tonight, it's find what you want, and take it. It's still the hunter's moon.

Bottles clink musically as she shifts them around until she has a nice assortment in the six-pack: Oktoberfest, Blue Moon, two Stoudt's American Pale Ale, Stoudt's Amber, amd a raspberry wheat ale for good measure, just in case anyone's feeling fruity. She grabs herself a seventh bottle (someone's planning on drinking tonight) and hipchecks the fridge door closed on her way back toward the living room.

Each movement is some lesson in easy, natural concert. She's kicking off her shoes as she rounds the side of the leather couch, giving lupus Dire the eye The fuck are you doing in my fucking closet? and taking a second toke off the joint and holding her breath as she reaches to set the six-pack on the table and the

table.

There was a table here.

Her arm is suspended in the act of letting go, only distal joins of her fingers curved through the handle, and the smoke inhaled a moment ago comes spilling out of her mouth in a long choking gasp.

"The fuck is my table?" Pause. Breathe. "Where the fuck is my fucking table?"

(decker)
Bzzzzz.... Tiny short hairs shorn off even shorter. Evenly 1/4" front hairline to nape, now, he sets the electric razor down and passes a hand over his head, turning this way and that in front of the mirror to make sure he didn't miss a chunk, like badly mowed grass.

There. Perfect.

Conventional razor (cheap, plastic, bic, razorburn) rinsed off in a sinkful of tepid water. He starts shaving his jaw, holding the skin taut with the angle of his head. He felt like a damn Mach3 commercial. Hardbodied nordic-featured young man shaving in front of mirror. All he needed now was the cool visual effects. Oh yeah, and someone to drain that

RAGE

from his eyes. Rinse again. Set razor down. Open medicine cabinet, get bandages. Start binding it up, looping the gauze around and around his torso. Massive, huge waste. Who cares. Tape it down and he's done, leaving the steam-hot shower behind ("All yers," grunted in Eva's general direction) to stomp back into his bedroom. To get dressed, and all.

Inhale: can still smell her in here. Drawers slide open. He gets clean underwear out. Clean shirt. Semiclean pants. Lays them out and looks at them for a moment, blankly, as though considering if he really needed this or not. Then it passes. He gets dressed.

(james)
it's automatic
he relinquishes the joint and gains..... a strippa pink cigarette
(countdown)
he's just siiiiilently inhaling that expensively smooth smoke into his lungs
listening to the clink of bottles drug from the fridge
(three)
tipping his chin a bit as he feels Eva pass
(two)
that greeting probably encompasses Dire as well
(one)

(Where the fuck is my fucking table?)

the Gnawer peeeels himself off the back of the couch
reaching to carefully take the beers from their precarious perch hovering above where glass should be
her cigarette still dangling humorously from between his lips
jungle vine dreads dangling crosshatchingly over the ashen scars on his back
teeth press into the gold filter to keep the nic-stick in his mouth as words sort've tumble free

"I think it pissed off Decker last night."

(eva)
The pass of Rune was noted – and the fridge is getting a damn good lot of workout tonight. Recently hipchecked, it’s now under the study of the Get Kin.
And apparently. Mangy-assed-Dire. Not. a muscle. moves.
Her voice low (specially when compared to the snarled GROWL of Rune in the other room…) and snarled “You gottabout half a second to back the fuck off before I find something to bash your fuckin head in. ya fucking perv..” Fingers reach for a beer, and some carton of left over something or another. The bottle hefted easily enough and aimed at the fuckin lupine freak between her legs. Hand holding the takeout carton of something or another hefted in acknowledgement to Decker’s grunt.


(rune)
Shift up, Dire. The brush of her mind against his, threaded with the fast-burning short fuse of the Ahroun's anger even as her mind ranges beyond the immediate, beyond the apparent. It feels like a moment of expanded consciousness - the sudden clarity of battlemind - some deluded, half-omniscient view that comes from the sharpened awareness. It's my fucking condo. It's not a fucking nature preserve.

Somehow, the moment of distraction only narrowed the focus of her irritation, narrowed and magnified it, though that isn't immediately apparent. The Glass Walker's dark eyes shift to James, and she lifts her chin in the direction of the kitchen, speaking outloud in a low voice, clear and deceptively controlled. "Who the fuck's the girl?" Then:

Crash.

Her bare foot on the edge of the tableframe, painted toes curled over the edge, the contraction of smooth muscle before she sends it tumbling end over end in one hard kick.

"The table pissed him off?" A slow, incredulous blink as her gaze tracks back toward the frame, now listing on its side. "The fucking table?"

(dire)
"He tripped.... again."

He steps back and SNEESZES. SNEEzES, SNEEZES and paws at his snout and sits on his haunches. Tongue panting softly looking up at Eva and then he starts to shift. Takinghis time cycling up though the forms as to not "POP" and bowl the kin over.

(james)
there's a slow, decisive, nod
(mmhmmm)
it seems the Ahroun is still pretty heavily hiiiiiigh from last night
watching her through the wafting gray smoke with those burnt umber eyes
the sixpack of beers are settled and nestled on the exquisitely leathered couch
(something. must. be. sacred. if the beer's not safe there it isn't safe anywhere)

"Dire, too, but the table got the brunt of it."

the fuck was he on to think the table was talkin' smack to Decker??
muscular shoulders roll in a shrug
signalling he didn't get into it, whatever it was, that happened
was a Get thang, not a Gnawer thang
that seventh beer is gently (gent! ly!) pried from her fingers
he's twisting the top off and using it to wave towards Eva and her new friend

"The girl is Luc's fuck, Eva."

not Luc's girl or bitch just.... fuck
finally he's handing the beer back to the Walker
she's carefully controlling herself not to explode
he's still so freakin' calm
(though he can feel that Rage clashing up against his, no matter how deep it's shoved away and smoothed and fuzzed by chemicals, it's the one thing you can never get rid of, never completely)

(imogen)
There was time to smoke the cigarette now, on her porch. She doesn't really take her time with it, as might have been hinted toward as she'd lit up before she'd even reached home. She does not, however, war with Rune's speed with inhaling her cigarette, nor does she have to pass the cigarette on to anyone else.

It might have been the faint sound of a crash that drew her attention back to the condominium, made her consider something, a thought, a vague one. A curse falls easily from her lips (freer, because, well, there wasn't anyone out here), "jesus fucking wept," the words lost beneath the exhalation of her breath as she unfolds herself from the chair she'd been sitting in, half curled against the cold.

Booted feet hit the balcony's floor, spurring into movement as she sweeps down to stab out the cigarette in the ashtray and start toward the stairs. Down the steps and starting to cross the pathway to Rune's apartment.

It's hard for her to decide at exactly what point she feels the rage of those within, the point where the near full moon makes itself that much more poignantly known. As she walks up the path? The steps? Or as she approaches the door, and pauses a moment, listening intently. For further crashes, for sounds of anything (... cautiousness does not become her ...). Certainly, it can be said she feels it as she raises her fist to knock on the door.


(eva)
She smirks as Dire steps back, ignoring his shift as it’s her turn to hipcheck the fridge door closed, searching for the drawer that holds a fork to dig into whatever the mystery meal in hand is. Beer is set on counter,.Carton opened.. oooooooh pork fried rice. Perfect. A bite. Two.
Sharp.look.at.James. Glare. “The name is Eva.” Rage crackles from Rune and her fucked up table, and something of the same (much.more.subdued) snaps from the kin before she’s turning and stalking toward the bathroom at last. Fucking fullmoon assholes.

(decker)
Eva slams into the empty, steamroiling bathroom. Quite a bit quietly, Decker's door reopens. The Modi slugs his way up the hall, distant sounds of conflict not quite escaping his keen hearing.

"Table. Dire." Levering himself up on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, thick shoulders roll in a shrug. "'S between me 'n the Skald." Roll up, don't light up just yet. Joint goes behind his ear, tucked against his freshly shorn head. "Gitcha a new table when we're through."
(dire)
Getting back to Homid he rotates his shoulder. The left one, like always. Fridge is opened again and on the bottom shelf in the back he gishes out the strawberry Yohoo and start shaking it. He steps up beside Eva and looks over to Rune. Nods to Eva

"She's cool. Kicks-a-lotta-ass."

He's still shaking the mummy strawberry milk drink. Eyes the table. Grunts.

(rune)
"Yeah?" How easily her chin rises, how smoothly her head turns, dark eyes narrowing to track the young woman's path through the kitchen and into the hall beyond. She watches and watches and watches until the young woman has disappeared into the bathroom. Only does do her eyes drop to the beer in her hand, the curving sweep of dark hair falling across her pale cheek with the movement. "Bet if I had a fucking table, I could get my own fucking zip code."

Her voice is calm, but the brief smirk that touches her mouth is a sour expression, loaded with discontent. Rune takes a long pull at the mouth of the bottle that has somehow found its way into her hand, and as she starts to saunter toward the door, her gaze falls across James in what would otherwise be an expression of appreciation were it not for, say, the shattered table tumbled across the living room.

The Glass Walker pauses at the door long enough to compose her features into a mask of smirking calm, then swings the door open. She lifts her chin in greeting toward Imogen, "C'mon in, it's a laugh a minute." then turns on her heel and heads back into the condo, leaving the door open behind her, extension of the dubious invitation.

Decker's remark is greeted with a sour snort, as Rune finds her way back to the living room and flings herself down onto the couch, at last trading the joint back to James. It'll be up to him if he wants to pass it around the room.

(luc)
And The music is turned back UP to thunderous decibel. Drum beats rain from Luc's bedroom and finally the door is yanked open to reveal one SLEEPY half-dressed Skald. Let the good times, roll.

Walking down the streets at night
I see her stumbling through the rain
A skinny figure in the dark
Her face a shade of grey

His chest is bared broad-boney-scarred even as he pulls on a flannel shirt, jeans hanging off his ass, even as big [..did he buy shoes at the CLOWN store?] and barefoot. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. -SLAM!- THe bathroom door is shut, and reopens a few minutes later....

Down the Hall and toward the kitchen. Homo-erectus in his native habitat forages out in search of food. Note the flannel plumage, and the sour breath, particular to early evening when this species first wakes...

"..fuckin beer."

(billy bedlam)
Once more he makes his way into the streets. dressed in Blue jeans and a T-shirt. Hiar tied in a Braid to his waist and his bangs vcovering the left side of his face


(james)
he can feel that glare
but he doesn't really do much to acknowledge it
(y'all do more'n fuck?)
calm as he.... seems... his tongue is still bladed
but Eva slinks and saunters away
and for all her piercings and ass kicking abilities and ropes for hair
she's decidedly not the woman he's paying attention to

that'd be the one flinging herself back down on the couch
but he doesn't do much more about that than settle back into the overstuffed leather himself
suuuuuuucking down another long drag before ashing it....
..... shit....
no table. no ashtray.
it's a dangerous dance to drain what's left of his own beer without exhaling
but he does it, and makes himself an ashtray
smoke exploding out of (burning) lungs past a grin aimed at Imogen

yep. that joint's held out towards her with far less accuracy

(and james settled in to smoke or something as Wolf must go afk and pause)

(and, veritable hours later, totally having no clue what went on other than lots of weed, something about rotting food, and now fight club....)

(noah)
"You must get a hardon or something at constantly reminding me of my age, kiddo." Noah's head turns back around to scope out the terrain. He slows down as they get closer to fenrir party pad. His hackles almost raising up as he sets himself on his guard. "Been too long since I've been on this side of town."

(dire)
"Thank you rhya."

He smiles to Rune and then hears Decker. He grunts happily, it takes so little to appease some people and he's heading for the door, Out the front door. Two steps and the metis hops. Feet tuck up under him on long legs then extend halfway to land perpindicular on the ral sliding down. At the botom a forward flip into a crouch. Damn metis seemed to have one or two extra joints per limb sometime and almost as at home in the air as on the ground. He falls into stride to Deckers left. He rummages in his pocket and comes out with two cinnimon toothpicks. Offers one to the Modi

"Nice haircut. You look like a poodle."

Said in gentle jest.

(eva)
Puptents and sleeping, it’s all over her head, all she’s got is the pacing Luc in mind. She doesn’t side step him as he heads back down the hallway – in fact its last minute that she ducks into the door, knowing he’s following. Music muted, voices not carrying over the sound, more a low mumur of bitch this, and fuck that, and hand me my goddamn boots, wolf boy, gonna be on more even footing if we’re gonna spar tonight.. followed by some sort of laughter (really. You don’t wanna know.) and an emerging, fully dressed Eva. Back to the kitchen, her own joint in hand, lit and inhaled as she moves past the one in rotation for another beer, waiting for Luc to finish getting ready.

(noah)
The bag slides from his left shoulder, arm drops down by his side, fingers still coiled around the nylon strap,tighten slightly. He slows down even more, almost stopping as he follows Billy's gaze over towards Dire. "You could say Decker and I have danced before.. And it wasn't good for the realestate."

(decker)
Actually, if you ask the Eagles, all'a North Jersey's their stomping grounds. But obviously, Noah hasn't been close enough to an Eagle to ask for months and months. For good reason, too.

Decker grunts something denigrating back at Dire - and that's when he kinda. hardens.

It's largely a change in attitude. In presence. He goes silent; his mind is impenetrable and dark. There's no change in pace. No faster, no slower. Deliberate and shit, even accepting the toothpick from Dire. Hm. Joint. Toothpick. Joint. (hiiiit.) Joint flicked out in front of them, a bright arc. Keep walking. Joint smashed out underfoot.

Keep walking. Eyes locked on Noah now.
Not getting along is one way to put it.


(james)
Fenrir party pad
owned by one Glass Walker, standing before the couch
also occupied by one Bone Gnawer..... stoned. as. fuck. on the couch
(could he even move if he wanted to?)
it seems staying within the rotation was automatic
because suddenly there's a moment of clarity and James rejoins the time zone
(rotting food..... the first rule of fight club.... puptents and maids and lupus sleepovers....concerts.... Miccy D's....)
good. damned. drugs.

somewhere, within the immediate vicinity, there's a pack of Camel 100s
he pulled the joint out of it (hours ago) and now.... it's....
aha! there
Zippo snapCLACKS open, flare, inhale, snapKer-CLACK closed
smoke filling lungs that will never, ever blacken

(billy)
He sighs....he liked everyone present and accounted for...and he could just sEE another brawl coming...add the fact that the moon of 3 of them had ~Just~ passed and the 4th wasn't much further away from his...it was quickly turning into an Oh shit situation....offin the distance another dog is barking ~Hey! my crotch makes a good nose Warmer!

(luc)
Aww, shucks now.

He ain't put on his Lipstick or nothin, shit. Music Left on [...as ALWAYS.] And metal chain is leashed about his neck, boots shoved on--shirt changed. [..can't get that SMELL out of the flannel] And He rummages to the freshly laundered clothes, until he finds something from the LATEST shopping trip. [...does he EVER stop growing] Seems like he's leveled out at 6'7 -- still freakish.. but it fits, he ain't exactly normal either.

Stomp.
Stomp.
Stomp.

Woolen cap pulled outta his back pocket and over the freshly washed [...guess who convinced him to take a shower? --don't ask how, that bathroom will NEVER be the same.] mop of blonde shag. "Ruuuuuuuu -- UUUUNE!!" Bellowed as the door is yanked back open.

Nice set of lungs, there.

(imogen)
In lieu of the roach, she is offered a six pack, and the change is favourable, as her weight shifts and she leans forward, catching one of the cans by the bottom and tugging it free of the plastic rings, her other hand catching the plastic rim to hold it in place as she tugs. "Thanks," again, though this time said in the more American style then her oddly truncated Ta.

A crack of tin as she pulls the tab, a hiss of trapped carbonation as it releases.

A faint smirk as James suddenly seems to join the land of the living for a little more than just taking the joint as either she or Rune offered it to him. A long drink from the can, a swallow of beer, before her head turns to glance toward Lucian as he exercizes his teenaged lungs and extends Rune's name from one syllable to two.

(noah)
Noah stops, doesn't bother to keep walking, his head lifts up, cold blue eyes, darting out from beneath the stained visor of the ballcap. Nostrils flare out, picking up the stench of the joint. He snorts out, cuffing warm breath in a slight twitch of distaste for the herb. Dulled the sense and muddled the brain, in his point of view. Tension coils beneath heavy expanse of muscles beneath his jacket; head rolls on neck, popping joints roll down his spine. He keeps himself in check for the most part. Perhaps, this would be a civil confrontation.. Yea right. Nothing was ever civil between Noah and Decker.

(dire)
He's walking along in that effortless long legged stride of his. Smells it about a milisecond before decker sees and stiffens. Dire's Reply is to take about 3 steps to the left as they keep moving forward. Seperating them as targets? subconsciencly flanking? Opeing up new avenues of attack? Something any way. He's still walking with deck but there is more space between them now. Into his pockets hishands dip. Sap gloves put on. Clinch
Heh.

(billy)
Sighing, billy lets his ears do his looking as Dire fades to the edge of his vision not quite out of it...but not fully in view. he stands beside Nah...he wouldn't get into the fight unless Dire did too...he didn't want that.

(rune)
The Glass Walker disgorges another beer for the Gnawer, but hordes the remaining four for herself. Blood red nails limned by dried blood gleam against the container (the faint tap tap tap as she pulls it free).

The beer tangles from her three fingers, slaps against her thigh as she saunters through the living room. Half-way to the stairs comes Luc's bellow. Rune's chin rises sharply, head turning to follow the boom of sound. One hand on her hip, the other cradling alcohol, the Glass Walker sends him a soured smirk.

"What?"

(decker)
More space between them. Fanning out. If there were more packmates this would be a loose wedge - hold the line, boys! for gaia and fenris! don't let 'em git through! But this time, it's just Decker and Dire.

That's all they fuckin' need. Funny, how Fenrir can throw down with one another one night and then close-n-lock ranks the next. Funny and disturbing.

Iron grey eyes flick aside ever so briefly: Billy picked out. Bit of a nod up. "Billy." Good to know he's still in one piece. "This ain'tcher fight."

Subtext: and this ain'tcher turf.
And you don't know the whole damn story.

Still coming on. Grey return to Noah. Lock on. Without breaking stride he shrugs out of his jacket. Leaves it abandoned on the ground. On his right shoulder the tattoo begins to burn, luminescent ghost-flame blue.

"Noah." Real damn quiet. "Guess you musta fergotten what I said."

(eva)
Beer tips back, swallow or 4 before it comes down again, and almost up again as she chokes a laugh at the sudden testing of teenage lungs.
Yeah, still waiting patiently. Course, only reason she is ready first is she woke up first and got a headstart. Even with the prick being all pissy and takin his time in the bathroom. Nails tap along the counter in slow tattoo. Crimson red on clean formica.

(luc)
Steps that eat distance, the way an oversized mouth can inhale Deli-Meat. Still hungry the too-lean skald groans briefly, rubbing at his left eye. He's aleady down the hall and fishing around the living room for his keys... [Floor-nope. Couch-nope. Nudge-imogen-nope. Nudge-James-nope. FUCK.] He stands back, and exhales a controlled breath rolling from his nostrils.

Turns to Rune, and that wiiiiide grin -- sheepish almost. "Can I borrow th'car? Concert's out late." Yeah, and her keys to pad are WITH her car keys so...

Two birds, one stone.

(billy)
He nods to Decker quietly. "Nope...ain't my fight...but Noah and i have spilled blood together...you 2 wanna get into it that;s fine but I can't stand by and let him get Ganked." Almost apologetic in his tone but it's where he stands...he can't stand an unfair fight between gaians.

(james)
there's a bit of a sheepish grin aimed towards that smirk barely edging onto the firey Kin's features
(no matter how small, miniscule, or even outwardly non-existant, he can recognize her amusement)
then mother of Gaia that boy has lungs
whatever reaction to the sudden hollering that was creating itself in the Ahroun's frame is suddenly quite distracted

ooh. beer.

the expression that melts across his face is one of pure. glee.
(beer!)
even the nudge-nudge-move-thuh-fuck-over search for keys doesn't do much to distract him
(god. damned. cotton. mouth.)
slugging that beer back at a pace that probably isn't safe for most mere mortals
(but he? is Garou!)

(dire)
He knows his place. Dire's the packs resident lefty so he takes that flank. IF __IF__ backed in and closed together where swings might inadvertantly hit packmates his swing would not overlap that of the garou to his right. only if totally back to back woud the overlapping fields ever come into play and lets face it folks. If something is bad enough to back the pack back to back and only DIre and one other left the shit's hit the fan and the Apocolapse is here.

Hearing billys words those glaciers hearts ice orbs flicker to him. Soft shake of the head. This wasn't a shits and giggles sort of thing. Decker had it well in hand. __IF__ Decker fell It'd Be Dires turn. While they had no qualms on pouncing wyrm creatures 5 on one the Get held their honor. It wouldn't be a team up, Maybe just a Daisy train.

(noah)
"Yea, well. I haven't been in the city much, Decker. Thought I'd come in for a night out. Do some of my business. I ain't bothering any of your crew. So slap your jacket back on and keep truckin'." He replies in a casual tone. His gaze shifting over to Dire for a moment, never like the skald much, tolerated even. He remains on his guard, watching the two fenrir, letting the boys start the shit. He wasn't going to instigate anything.

(rune)
"Fuck no, Luc." Her eyes are narrowed and her face is stilled, and her fingers, curved around the handle of the six-pack, are gradually contracting. "Touch my car, I'll geld you. Take a cab. Take Decker's goddamned truck, if you think you wanna ask him. Make a hobby horse outta Imogen's bridge and ride your way to the damn show, but keep your hands off my goddamned car."

The Walker turns on her heel and heads up the stairs. One, two, taking in quick succession. She pauses on the third and comes back down, digging into her pocket with a sour expression. She pulls out two crisp fifties (newwwww money) that rasp as she clasps them between thumb and forefinger, and holds them out to the Skald. "Cab fare. Have fun."

...and, with that, she turns around and heads back up the stairs, beer thumping rhythmically against her thigh.

(imogen)
"Fuck no, Luc." Her eyes are narrowed and her face is stilled, and her fingers, curved around the handle of the six-pack, are gradually contracting. "Touch my car, I'll geld you. Take a cab. Take Decker's goddamned truck, if you think you wanna ask him. Make a hobby horse outta Imogen's bridge and ride your way to the damn show, but keep your hands off my goddamned car."

The Walker turns on her heel and heads up the stairs. One, two, taking in quick succession. She pauses on the third and comes back down, digging into her pocket with a sour expression. She pulls out two crisp fifties (newwwww money) that rasp as she clasps them between thumb and forefinger, and holds them out to the Skald. "Cab fare. Have fun."

...and, with that, she turns around and heads back up the stairs, beer thumping rhythmically against her thigh.

(decker)
No break in eye contact now. These words can only be to Billy: "Dire knows not to git involved."

And distance diminishes to fifteen feet. Ten. A hardening of the nerves. A steeling of the resolve. There's a hole on his side but that ain't gonna stop him now. And a slow shake of his head: left, right.

"Don't think so, Noah." Beat. Then, in the high tongue, rhythmically as though quoting - and he is:
Tread on my land again. And I will mark you for life.

Crinos. Axe drops into hand. Eagle taken into blood.
RAGE.

(luc)
Lungs.

...came in handy when they shipped his ass to NYC to sing the damn reknown songs. Even if he usually covered tunes from other songs with new garou-riffic [Luc's term, not mine.] lyrics; shit, he had better things to do than write tunes.

Who else but Luc would have the ball's to sings deeds, to the tune of Copa-Copacabana. [Thank GOD, he's a cliath.] His eyes shine as he pockets the cash, Rune. And his expression is that -damned- wiiiiiiiide-ass grin. "Bring'ya a t-shirt, Ma." Sheer Love, for the resident den mother -- but he's out of arm range BEFORE he says it. YeeeeeeeeHaaaa! Baby.

Totemphone: Don't leave home without it.
"Dire, Borrow the Jetta--? "

(billy)
Falling in Beside Dire, he speaks in an almost conversational tone...reassured now that it will be a fair fight, "I see Decker's jaw is healed...what happened to his side?" He doesn't even bat an eye at the rending of the Veil yet again...it's almost common place in these parts lately.

(dire)
As if on mental cue HELGA THE HORRENDOUS Is called forth. The long handeld warr hamer is twirled once and then the head gently touches the pavement.Both hands in the Sap gloves resting on the pommel.

over the Totem phone just before the party starts

"Sure keys are on the floor in the closet. No used condoms in the back this time. I have a 4 year old."

add on.))

"That's where I grabbed him after he bit my right arm and shoulder and lifted him to slam. I'd still be hurt but our theurge was high and thought I looked better a pale arien looking chap than red and raw. In honesty i think it tutned him on and he didnt like the homoerotic fantasy."

(eva)
Beer finished, bottle joins the rest in the recycling bin and pierced brow lifts as he’s passed the cash and smirk slides into smile. It’s like fuckin Christmas around here. She wants cash from her own place and she’s gotta steal it… there’s a damn good reason she prefers shackin up here with the lanky skald.
Even if he practiced those damn songs to the tune of copa in the shower every morning for a fuckin week.
She heads to the closet (you know. Where the hangers are.) and grabs her leather, slips it on and checks the pockets, making sure everything is there. Her pack of smokes from the kitchen counter, lighter in jeans pocket, all the piercings are in place, and she’s good to go.


(james)
Rune heads upstaids
like the Skald expected to be able to TOUCH that car, he's still surprised Rune let him ride in it on the way down to Kentucky
the sheer fact of it all holds a great deal of amusement for the Gnawer
but then "Ma" leaks out
and it's. all. he. can. do. to keep from laughing
swallowing it in a cough of camel smoke
he checks the pack of 100s

three left, plus one joint
he's got another pack.... somewhere
there's a low whistle to get the Skald's attention
long arm stretched to offer the pack and J inside for the concert's cause
(he remembers what it was like to be that age.... )

(luc)
Eyes flick to James as he palms the joint from him "...not commin?" How MANY times had he invited the damn raggedy man out -- it became an informal ritual of sorts. Respect for Ma an' Pa. But where Luc might call Rune "Ma", calling James "Pa" was just a little -too- weird: close to the truth.

"Yo Bitch.." Head nod to the door and he stops in the doorway looking at Imogen and James... "--yer not stayin inside ALL night?" Sacrilidge to the young to waste a night inside, the WORLD is outside.

Dire's Keys: check.
Money: Check.
Eva: Check.

We're good t'go.

(imogen)
Her weight shifts further, raising hips slightly off the couch to reach into her back pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled packet of cigarettes, well worn from the day, considering she smokes at least that much a day.

A fag is pulled out as she balances the beer on her knee, before placing the package on one of the legs sticking out perpendicular to the floor of the poor, abused table.

Zippo next, fingers curving easily around the worn brass plating, and starting to light up as her head turns to look at Lucian, an eyebrow arching lightly as the flame lights the end of the cigarette a dull orange ember. Normally, nobody smokes in here. It seems around the full moon, no holds barred, as everyone gives up on going outside just to smoke. Cravings can be too immediate.

Considering that she's probably been out since six this morning (though she left here somewhere around five thirty), staying in might not sound like such a bad deal. Smoke drifts out on her words, easy, "Likely not."

(eva)
There’s a smirk and a slap of Lucian’s ass as she falls into step with him, glancing back at James with something more of a sneer. “You got it wrong. I’m just your fuck, right James?” Before she tucks her hand in the back pocket of Luc’s ill-fitted jeans and nudges him toward the door.
Keys. Money. Luc.
Look out world, here we come.
“We got time for some chow first?” At the Wendy’s where there’s more interesting things then food on the menu – least until the cops shut the operation down again… but as of last night, it’s still the place to score. One J, her unfinished one, a stop at Wendy’s for some… things… to augment the music.. and they’ll be crawling home in the wee hours, fatcatcontent.


(james)
a grin rakes lopsided at the Skald
dreads tangle further over bare shoulders as the Ahroun declines
it only happens most of the time, they've been out before, and at least the music is getting to the point the Gnawer would appreciate actually hearing it live, and not just at live volume through the condo's walls
at least the hard-core punk has respectable drumming compared to the machine-gun tempo of death metal

"Noooot tonight bro, don't think crowds'll do me good." not with the moon still heavy in the sky, wouldn't matter what drugs the Garou was on "Next week, promise, I'll treat you both."

then there's that patented "Pa" don't get caught or in more trouble than you both can handle type of look
aimed at them... both... really, in it's brevity
he may give Eva shit, but she's not that bad
(just another. god. damned. Get. - it's enough to give a guy a complex)
and since she's shacked up with Luc for now, seems he's just adapted to keeping an eye on her, too
however much it may not be stated or liked
he's a Hood, dammit
and there's a wink aimed at the punk-rock-princess' sneer
sorta that... He's still got that fuckered grin, don't he? type of look
they didn't wake him up last night (nothing would have) but that's a rare incident

then the... kids... leave
and the condo falls into a very strange silence, given the phase of the moon
it's not the heavy silence of impending doom
but a strikingly easy silence
just cause the Gnawer can sit in silence with the Kin and not think anything of it

"Up for something harder?"

nodding towards the beer

(luc)
Gone.

Luc pounds down the stairs jumping the last few steps with huge [..clown college.] feet. Sonic. BOOM. Arms stetching out as they finally are free of the sheetrock box, urrah- but not THAT urrah. Turns to Grant Eva a stare thats a cross between happy and hungry...

Free.

"Seen th' Jetta anywhere?"

(imogen)
Silence. We know her and her silence. She prefers silence. She breathes more easily in it. It's odd that she can find it with the Gnawer (odd that he considers her a friend; or maybe not so), and worse that she's seen the Hood fuckered, drunk and other various states of inebriation more times than she can count. Her attention flickers to him as he breaks the silence, exchanging the cigarette in her mouth for the beer balanced on her knee, taking a long deep drain, likely emptying the can.

An eyebrow arches, and a smirk curls one corner of her mouth, head tilting back slightly to regard him. He can read the amused half challenge even before she speaks, "Every time we go f'r somethin' 'arder, you end up plastered."

(eva)
Free. Free as a fuckin bird - ain’t no ones bitch, and sure as fuck ain’t just a fuck. Course – not sure what that makes her right now, but we’re on the way to music. Drugs. alcohol. And sex. She? No longer cares.
She follows at a more sedate pace, adding just that little extra swang on that there back porch as he turns to look up at her with that stare that she remembers from that first night. The one that caught her attention. The one that says he’d be just as happy to eat her up right here and now on the front porch… there’s a slow wink as she reaches for him, and uses his shoulders to aid her jump down the last three steps. “Far end of the lot if I ‘member right.”

(james)
at first, they were forced into each other's company in a motel room
she studied her files while he paced holes in the floor wondering about the state of this new pack he's suddenly become attached to
it wasn't the fact he was assigned watch duty, that didn't get him so full of energy he probably made her dizzy watching
it's just the situation they were in, and what he was still recovering from
then there have been the random rides across town
the strange conversations and confidences within the little world of the suburban
along came smokes pilfered and shared on the balcony, hydrated by beer
the sudden sleepovers with her couch when shit hit the fan again
and yes, she's seen him plastered, fuckered, high, and falling down inebriated more times than he probably remembers
so somewhere, in all that, the Hood developed a trust for the ex-Fianna now-Get kin
however.... professional... it may have been at first
to him, it became the consideration of friendship
long, long ago
returned or not

the black cloud of the Modi hanging over everything concerning her safety isn't the only reason he goes out of his way to watch out for her

but, amazingly, he's remained in the present (!)
and even though he's soaring thirty-thousand feet above the earth's crust
(as a kite baby, as a fuckin kite)
he sees that amused challenge growing
it's met with that sly grin raking laterally in the frame of heavy dreads

"Yes I do." nodded oh so matter of factly "But how else am I gonna build up a tolerance?"

not to mention it keeps him outta crowds and other equally potentially messy situations on a night like this, cause soon enough, she'll drink him right on under the table and look! he doesn't even have to stumble home
up-sey-day-sey
that's a long damned process and stretch that prepares the Gnawer for preflight
floating his way towards the kitchen
cabinets open and close as he searches for any hard liquor that hasn't been mostly consumed already

(eva)
Hands slide (and she likes that he’s never. quite. gentle.) and she’s pulled close with the bite of his kiss as her hands slide down his arms until feet are firmly on the ground again. It hasn’t been long – but they respond to each other as if they’ve fit this way for years.
It’s odd. A little frightening (but she’d never fuckin admit it.) but nice. (She wouldn’t say that out loud either. “Damn straight.” And lips curl into that slow smirk… “Got beer?” with a wink, before she’s off with long, easy, teenage swaggering strides toward the other end of the parking lot, knowing he’ll fall into step within two strides of his own, even if she’s got a 4-stride head start.


(luc)
"Figured we'd grab eats, yeah?"

Strange accent, southerner, urban and sometimes almost foreign. He don't talk about his past much -- they don't do alot of TALKING in general, and it seems to work for both of them. Lucian, at the very least. Natural, thats exactly what it is, as he swats her ass jingling Dire's keys with free hand.

He takes smaller steps when he talks with her: instinctive consession -- pack tactics? - And another stretch as lones in his neck and shoulders pop...

Not the car.

"Lets hold off a minute an'breathe."

Before the 6'7 guy squeezes into ANOTHER cramped space.


(imogen)
It is certainly a strange relationship; ironically enough, she was the one who ... ahem. helped him to start smoking. However, most of her relationships with the Garou are odd, strange, and out of place. Perhaps she keeps them that way. Perhaps it keeps her in control . It may be she doesn't even notice, and even humans must suffer her eccentracies. (she's cuts up dead people for a living. That is enough to excuse all oddities).

"Try... uhm..." a pause, as she gets up, taking the beer can with her, cigarette still burning between her fingers, index and middle finger carelessly gripping the filter.

James is on one end, and she moves to the other, fingers trailing across the counter (.sen.sa.tion.) before falling to a crouch and opening one. Closing it, and opening another, joining him in the same search. "In deference to workin' up y'r tolerance," tossed at him with a smirk.

(eva)
She is oddly without accent. Nothing other then the slur the piercings tend to give (we may have forgotten to mention the tongue ring. But you know? That’s just expected.) on occasion, worse when she’s wasted (is she ever completely sober?). “Yeah. Hit the Wendy’s, get some shrooms maybe.. or ecstacy, and whatever else they got on tap. Enhance the experience and shit.”
He says hold up and breathe (and how many times a night does she hear that huh?) and she nods, palming the fender of the jetta and sliding up to sit on the hood, letting him stretch. Boy just don’t like being folded up in tiny places (well, cept that one time in the coat closet at some bitches party…he liked that right well enough) that’s for sure.

(as Wolf screams one doesnt slur with tongue piercings)

(eva)
((here. *Edits*

She is oddly without accent. Nothing other then the occasional slur playing the piercings tend to give (we may have forgotten to mention the tongue ring. But you know? That’s just expected.)


(james)
she cuts up dead people
the lingering smell alone should make his animal side bristle each and every time she comes near
but he looks past it, as he's been able to look past a lot of things
she, the educated doctor, hangs out with a raggedy dreadlocked (and, for most of his life) homeless guy
amusement, if nothing else
seems she can see past a lot of things, too

somehow, in this foraging spree for alcohole
he's come up with nicoteine
(THERE is that other pack)
top smacked against his hand a few times to settle the tobacco inside
and his search is distracted by flipping a lucky (the smoking he picked up from Imogen, where he got that is a mystery) and then stealing her carelesly dangling smoke to jumpstart his own

and then. a moment. of clarity.
(1. 2. 3. Tequila!)
it's been above the fridge all along
he's stretching to drag it down from that glorious pedestal
(meeh mah leetle friend..... hooose)

"Any shot glasses giving themselves up to your pillaging?"

(luc)
He nods to her.

Watching the slide and motion of her muscles as she eases onto the hood of Dires car, under hooded gaze -- There' a REASON Rune doesn't want him to drive her shit. Its called situational apathy, or seems like it he leans against the car gulping air..

(eva)
He nods and leans, and she shifts to slide one long leg around him, feet hooking around thighs as she rests her cheek against his back. A lone moment of something akin to tenderness (That fuck comment really got to her. If she’d allow herself to admit it.) togetherness, or simply touch. Or maybe a whole possessive ‘mine’ thing goin on as she listens to the air flow into his lungs in rapidfire gulps. Course, minute she lets go she’s back to bitch status.


(imogen)
"Tha' would be..." she's drank over here often enough, as her eyes loft upward to scan the cupboards, before straightening for to her full height of ... five feet and a bit, a hand reaching up to open one of the cupboards, and finding shot glasses.

There we go.

Two are grabbed, the glasses clinking between her fingers, as she turns to face him, reaching out to pluck the cigarette back from him, reinserting it into her mouth, speaking around the filter.

"Tequila. Shot glasses." All set. Her chin lifts slightly, "Though I would think that by now, y'were sick o' this shit."

(james)
there's a brow that lifts, in hazy contemplation when releasing her kiped smoke
(er..... sorry)
by all means he should be - and the slow nod leans towards admitting that
there's also the though that, well, he's safe around her
(he trusts her, for a thousand reasons, one would be that utter lack of interest)
so can take the chance

"Touche..... however." said with a self-satisfied (high) chortle "I'm feeling daring."

gotta. do. something. to. kill. that. rising. Rage.
drowning it seems to be a good idea
and since they're sans one coffee table
he takes a placemat (yes, they have those, even if they're rarely used) and snaps it out to lay across the counter in pure high-class style, smoothing it out to become a superbly dapper backdrop for the two glasses and bottle of Cuervo Gold (amazing it's lasted so long unscatched) and soon the ashtray that joins
he would be polite and leave the kitchen-sided stool for her to sit on, so she wouldn't have to walk anywhere to sit
but then that puts his back towards the window and living room
and he may be high, but he's still Garou, he's still protector, and, well, it's something he's sure she understands
he makes up for it by cracking open the bottle and pouring double shots into the glasses while settling onto the stool
BDU's bunch up in their own little unique pattern as weight settles, dreads swing across the yet-to-rediscover-its-tan skin canvassing his back, making the ashen scars stand out even more, Eagle's glyph branded (Branson. Branded Son. Maybe he was meant for this) on his chest
but he's not paying attention to fashion or destiny
just those glittering glasses of gold
he lifts his own in toast - no Galliard, he's not about to say anything - but, it begins

(lucian)
He should say something meaningful.

Maybe even some logical part of him, might say so: but what to say? Live Hard, Die Fast. You can't overthink this shit -- and he doesn't; call it, survival. Silence reigns and he settles a hand or her theigh rubbing it idly, as if it were HIS limb instead of hers.

"One day ah'ma get mah'own place."

(eva)
Maybe he should, but he won’t, and she doesn’t expect it. All she needs is just two minutes to gather her thoughts, her calm, and let that bitchiness shine free once more. His hand falls to her thigh, and rubs it much as if it were his own. (and in some way, it is just as much his as hers right now) and theres that chuckle, the slightly smirking amused ya right prove it big boy chuckle as she slides her arms around him, fingers spreading across his chest as she lifts her head to growl across his ear.. “then I’ll be able ta fuck ya in the living room without a damn audience…”

(luc)
Brows waggle and he leans back slightly that chuckle edging somplace laughter shouldn't go. [..shudder.] Crooked grin stretches across nordic features, "...kinda like the applause." Her turns slightly as eyes crane to make her out, stomach rumbling briefly--

(eva)
There’s that slow smirk (and the arching of limber frame against his back as that laughter slides dark and sinful over her..) “You’re screams are the only applause I need, boy. And I get a LOT of applause.” Hand drops in slow slide over hips and thigh before tilting her head and winking, slapping his hip and nudging him off the car. Cuddling time over. “Feed me. I’m hungry.”

(imogen)
Cigarette smoke curls from her mouth, an easy exhalation, lazy as she picks her way around him to take the other stool.

She understands predators all too well.

An ashtray is grabbed and drags toward them, the cigarette slid between between her fingers, taken from her mouth and replaced on the ashtray to rest on the small indentation just for that purpose. A double shot is taken, held between longer boned fingers, slender and smooth as she raises it, considering the liquid, before tossing it back in a single. swallow.

It takes a lot for a kinfolk to outdrink a Garou, but Imogen has managed it on more than one occasion. The glass is put back down with a thump, and she looks at him for a moment, before speaking, tilting her chin at him.

Hear the hoarseness of alcohol, scratching through her voice, clearing as the words complete themselves. "You do this to dull y'r rage?"

(james)
it takes a lot for a kinfolk to outdrink a Garou
but Imogen has done it on every occasion with James
so he's not expecting this one to be any different
dreads tickle and slide over bare skin, raising gooseflesh as the shot slams back into his throat
(he is getting better at this)
chuckling a wry (hooo that's strong) frowning grin back at her

"Not normally." sooooth that burn with smoke, boyo "But the beating things method won't work tonight like it did last night, and the weed only does so much before the high wears off and that gets old. S'not just the Rage, anyway."

that last part a lot softer than the rest
sorta.... slipped out before he could think about it
but high as he already is, he's not thinking all that quickly
elbows resting on the counter, one hand with the Camel, the other wiht the bottle, now
just... pouring another two doubleshots

(luc)
"When aren't you?"

The devil MUST have a grin like that, just enjoying himself a little too much. He pushes off from the Car and unlocks his side, leaning over to unluck hers before the seat adjustments begin -- actually not TOO mant to make--Dire and He being both some overgrown-fuckers.

(eva)
Good point. Maybe shoulda been a Gnawer. Nah, she likes to e.n.j.o.y her meal, and that looks she gives Lucian? Says he’s on menu for desert. Yessireebob. He unlocks her door, and she opens it and slides in. He once opened the door for her, and she calmly stabbed a well place heel in his instep – she ain’t no women’s lib freaks, but she sure as hell can manage to open a door for herself. Now he gets in, leans over, like a good boy. She folds her long legs into the passenger seat, and there’s a bit more adjustment for her, as she’s got considerably longer legs then the 4 year old that normally occupies this seat. But finally, comfortable, and she gestures with a smirk. “To Wendy’s, and be quick about it.”

(imogen)
Her eyebrow arches faintly, as she regards him, and maybe she says this for her own safety, though, truthfully, she doesn't sound concerned, so much as... considering. "This shite? Can make it worse." She is (ex-)Fianna, after all, and... well. She can drink Garou under the table.

"And not just the rage." She pauses to take a drag of her cigarette, lifting it to her mouth, inhaling on it quick and fast, replacing the cigarette on the ashtray before exhaling the smoke and lifting the glass again, and hits back another glass.

(james)
there's that wry grin again
umber eyes pull up from watching the glittering gold to meet the dark blue of hers
see, Decker's stormcloud grey and her deep atmospheric blue have something in common
but James' earthen browns are the farthest thing from that deep, fathomless blue
because it's not the ocean she holds in her eyes, nothing close to land, it's the endless sky above surrounded by the sun's dawning, blazing flames of red, auburn, copper, and brassy gold
yet they still sit here, matching shot for shot

"I know" Toast. Slam. Swallow. (Grimace) "But with my tolerance I'm passed out drunk before I can either begin thinking too much or go get into trouble by picking a fight I shouldn't."

four shots of tequila mixed with weed and a mostly empty stomach
won't take him long at all
already the words begin to slur together a little more than what's inspired by the language of marajuana
but even as they stumble, they cause him to pause to catch his balance
and.... he's quiet, nothing save the sound of Cuervo rolling against smooth glass

"Coupla weeks ago I had to go back up north for a funeral, respected kin passing, and all that. Heard about it through the grapevine and went to pay my due yet keep my distance." seems some details belong there "Didn't work out that way. Got challenged. Faced up to it. Been thinking about it since."

strange, he hadn't even told Rune where he'd been, yet
the inebriating concoction seems to be a truth syrum for him
the distant look turns into that familiar, easy (if strange) grin
toasting the next round

"And that doesn't help the Rage."

sllllluuuuurrrrp it down, Jamey-boy

(luc)
He shakes her head and starts the car, Revving the engine briefly before they zooooooooooom down the street. Shit he drives like a seventeen year old, go fig. And a few run red-lights [..its late and there ain't no cops on North Jersey.] later.. they're there pulling into the parking lot.

....loud ASS music pouring through the windows.

(eva)
Is there any OTHER way to drive? She seems perfectly content with the red lights (please, she’s been arrested before. Got off, too. A ticket’s no big deal.) run, and the squeel of tires into the parking lot, as well as the loud as fuckin music through the windows. She arches a brow. “goin in, or drive thru…” have to hit the drive thru anyway to make the score, but if they got time they can sit and eat… what time does this concert start anyway?

(luc)
"We're kinda missin it."

Smirk, And he pulls into the drive through...

(eva)
There’s laughter as she slides her hand along his thigh, nails scraping denim.. “Why… am I not surprised. We can always hit the after party.. that’s usually the best part anyway….”
The intercom crackles, and they order. A lot. And even slip in the code that orders a couple of things not on the menu – and when they get comfirmation instead of “huh??” it’s a done deal and they’re sliding on through to the window to await they’re bags… “ain’t there supposed to be a party tonight out at the old drive in?”

(eva)
Errr?

"Ah'heard -somethin- was goin on but I didn't call Kaiser this morning to check."

Gotta love this bitch.

"..you know how to get there?"

Bags recieved and rifled through, money exhanged--and they drive off. Service with a smil[ey face.]

(imogen)
"Well." Toss back, swallow deep, return the glass to the the counter, and reach out for her cigarette once more, "Just don' pass out 'ere. I can't carry you, an' I won't feel right leavin' y'passed out on th'floor." She says, speech slowed somewhat. Her stomach hadn't been empty, and she had not smoked as much weed as he, her speech is clearer, her attention sharper. But still, the edges round out, and the consonants soften. If you ever really got her plastered, you might hear the way she really speaks.

And never understand a word she says.

Her hand pushes through her hair, pressing it back as she listens to him tell his tale, her head tilting slightly, as she regards him, thoughtful. A beat later, "Y've left too much out o' th'story, James, I can't see what went wrong. Challenges are.. normal. And..."

A slow shrug. "Kinfolk die." Fatalistic, perhaps. Her tone is not so much condescending as lost as to what had happened. Without the meat, the story he tells is without substance.

"But..." As she takes the bottle this time, pouring him another drink and one more for herself. "... I doubtcha nee' e'en more things helpin' yer rage."

Her head turns, glancing over her shoulder to the window, the lightening of the sky, and she stands, a hand bracing herself against the counter, "The sun's coming up." Oblique commentary. She needs to go, either to work (that would be certainly... interesting) or to call in sick. "Can ya ge' upstairs alrigh'?"

(eva)
There’s a slight smirk and arched brow. “Course I fuckin know how to get there. ‘ya think I am, some tittering schoolgirl?” Amused, and already munching on fries, as she spouts off the directions, hands him a burger, griiiiiiiins to see the amounts of party favors added in the bag. Gonna be a good night after all. “god I love wendy’s.” groaned in appreciation as she takes a bite of the burger, then peels it apart, and adds a layer of shrooms, closes it again and munches happily. It’s party time.

(james)
her voice softens under the blanket of tequila
the accent isn't as covered as it usually is
the musician that he is, he likes hearing it, the foreign lilt and beat, it's really rather pretty
even if there'd be a point he wouldn't be able to understand a damned thing she says
he's sure, when he's all but conscious, he's said things to her that remain a mystery to this night
he doesn't need more things to fuel his Rage, but with that half-assed attempt at explanation
she deserves a better try at navigating his thoughts towards speech

"Yeh, we'll all die, Garou. And Kin." those mellow tones are soft, thoughtful, Kin dying are all too familiar to him "She was Sledge's mom, lead a good life, died honorably, great asset to the Nation and all that - very respectable woman, deserved to have the eulogies she got. Sledge was my old packmate. Her step-brother's the one that noticed me there, and threw down the challenge. Never forgave me for what happened three years ago. Normal..... just not something I wanted to do."

such a bittersweet smile
still the story isn't complete
not everything he thinks makes it to verbal realization, too much toxicity to swim through
it's subconscious, the ripple of chilling memory that crawls down his back, beneath those darkly grey scars
(what could have happened, to leave such marks, to beat him down to such a point only his Rage saved him)
all pushed away by that familiar, trademark, easy smile
(if anything, Gnawer's can adapt)
his chin's reversing the normal pack communicado and dropping in a nod
(stairs. railing. drag self up to den of watery wonders. grunt.)
dark eyes lifting towards the blushing curtains holding back the rising sun from entering the living room just a minute longer
by then he's already moving past her

the hand that reaches out and lands on her shoulder may be to steady himself in chasing after that balance that's dancing just out of his grasp, or may be for something else entirel

Posted by james at 12:00 AM
April 16, 2003
.04.16.03. - flyyyyyin [imogen-siobhan-eva-pack]

{noje]

{siobhan)
Was it the moon that had her out on the cold streets tonight? Something about the way it shone tonight...the shadows dancing on the ground from buildings above. The rhythmic clomp of her boots on the concrete.
The moon fueled her...Tonight she was slightly on edge...not a night to mess with her in an alley...
As indimidating as she was, something about her came across almost ironically innocent.
The way the dark wisps of hair fell over her eyes...the way she held herself...So strangely unique. On a night like tonight, the flannel hanging over the black t-shirt and jeans assist in the intimidation look, however on a warm night she could just as easilly have slipped into a sundress and sandals and could be seen as the innocent irish type.
Different bloods in her that were shown at different times Masks worn at different time and she could play the parts well.
Didnt matter anyways...tonight she was just
out for a walk
No real reason...just passing through town...again, and she throught shed pay a certain condo a visit...
maybe ighten the mood or change the mood anyways, depending on what the mood of the night was

(decker)
STONED.
...is what he's been all day.

Stoned. Sprawled. Lengthwise. On the couch. One arm trailing across the floor. The other hand on his side, loosely cupped over the already-healing wound. Joint dangling from the corner of his mouth.

Next to Dire, one supposes, though whether or not the Skald really enters into his consciousness is dubious. In front of the tv, which is tuned to the Home Shopping Network. Can't really get aggravated over that. It's the Great Decker Smoke-In, and the fuckin condo smells like People's Park in the 1960s.

Curtains are drawn.
Rage is empty.

Isolated and wrapped in isolation, he's waiting for the ceaseless pull in his blood to give up. Look at the moon... His moon: full moon. Look upon the face of she who has blessed you...

Or cursed. Your choice.

Half-lidded eyes. Another joint burnt to ash and tossed lazily into the ashtray. Lingering in the wake of the gesture is a static-electricity crackle of rage-that-could-be. It never does go away completely, ever. On the tail of the last joint comes the next - hand reaching for his baggie, feeling around slick debrised plastic.

...empty? Fuck him. With a groan, the Modi pushes himself up on his elbows. Room wobbles. He puts a hand on his head. Potchoked voice, "Don't tell me Rune fergot to stock the fuck up..."

(dire)
He pokes at his wound and grunts softly, Blue eyues rolling in thier socted to connect with decker like an aircraft carried at full tilts running over a small little japanese fisshing troller.
"She did.
You smoked all that reeking SHIT"

(siob)
It's a good thing she knows what kinds of party favors to show up with...or perhaps peace offerings, she hadnt really gotton too close to anyone here...A closed book..certainly didnt wear her feeelings on ehr sleeve..except about her father who she loathed
Stopping at the condo, she re-aquaints herself with the area and counts the condos until she finds the right set of stairs and heads up
clomping up the stairs...and knocking
surprise...avon calling
Not

(james)
Blessed.
Cursed.

depends on your outlook, really
if you ask the bag at the gym that's been split open like Sunday's side of beef.... well....
but that was an hour ago
since then the Gnawer's been moseying on home
finally making his way up the condo's front steps
boots clomp thickly on the terra cotta tiles of the front balcony
he even goes so far to wipe them on the mat that says anything but 'welcome' on a night like this
key's hit the door
and the door swings open
oooooooh lordy lookit the layer of smoke hanging out beneath the ceiling

(Don't tell me Rune fergot to stock the fuck up)

not even a hello
not even a wave
not a damned thing to acknowledge his packmates

(She did. You smoked all that reeking SHIT.)

one hand goes into the left cargo pocket of the BDUs
one glorious baggie of green pulled out
one glorious baggie of green slung towards the Modi
(incoming!)
apparently, Rune just forgot to pick up

(luc)
Keys jingle.
Tumbler turns.
Sparling teeth.

.....and Luc with a girl.

Our franco-germanic teenaged beanpole has turned in quite the ladies man. [--riiiight.] But Eva they've seen before, hanging around the place, drinking the beer, eating the food-- and crashing on the couch. [...since when did this place turn into a youth hostel?!] when NOT in Luc's room.

Well you know it goes--

Party Hard.
Die Young.
Leave a good looking corpse.

"--shit they're in the living room." the faint notes of embarassed annoyance creeping into his voice.

(decker)
Grunt. "Fuck off." Better than the alternative.

Fall back. Wound aches, but distantly. Marijuana really is medicinal after all. A hand passes over closing eyes, stays there, shielding them from even the fitful flickering of the TV. One package of green soaring through the air aimed straight for his ripped(-up, in this case) belly until

whisk-smack.

the hand over his head suddenly whiplashes out and pulls the baggie out of the air. Totemlink. Or maybe his ears were just that damn good.

"Now yer talkin'." Some sort of grim humor, there. He sits up with a grimace, tossing the baggie down and arching hips up to dig in his many and myriad cargo khaki pockets for the rolling paper, annnd...doorbell rings. And then? Door opens.

Likely three sets of eyes snap up toward the offending door. Earth's heart umber. Glacier's heart blue. And storm's heart grey.

"Fuck's that, Lucian?" demanded; not enough tact for a goddamn silent totem-message. Door was open; night outside is cool and silver with the moon, and he wasn't. gonna. look at Her tonight. Slouching back with the nascent joint rolling up between his fingers on his thigh, "'N who the fuck else's out there, Luc?"
(dire)
Hr grunts looking um over.
"That... is a female Decker..... want me to tell you what they're for?"

A bit of a smirk. he prods one of the HOLEs in his shoulder.

(imogen)
They all have their addictions (except perhaps for Dire and his sensitive nose), and she has chosen hers on her own. Two, actually. Alcohol and nicotine. It's beer, however, so she can last for some time yet as she steps out onto the porch, shrugging her shoulders deeper into the suede jacket, one hand occupied with a beer bottle, dangling by her fingers, the other hand sliding into the back of her jean pockets, searching for cigarettes, which would likely be the reason she's stepped out into the cold on the full moon.

Her eyes flicker toward Lucian, and his girl, and then Siobhan, as well. Dark blue eyes consider, and then flicker away toward the parking lot, the darkened street beyond as her hand slides through her wealth of burnished red locks, pushing them away from her face.

Cigarette pack is pulled from the pocket, fag tapped out. Light up, the flame of her bronzed zippo washing warm light across her face, briefly. The flame died, and she's left with the light of the orange ember of her cigarette as she exhales smoke.

(eva braun)
Luc. Is with. A girl.
Not just any girl either. Punk princess that’s been seen around before. Jeans, leather, thick hair (that might be blond but under the die, who can tell) in a myriad of braids that fall over shoulders to midback (and yes, it’s. all. Hers. Not a fuckin extension one, baybee.) There’s a smirk at Lucian as she hooks an arm around his shoulders and does that long ass drag of dark eyes under sooty lashes over Decker’s oh so unimpressive form before cigarette is pulled from lips to allow her to throw back “The fuck you care.” Smirked in reply.
Dire, James, the person at the door, the thick load of smoke heavy in the air. Now we’re talking… Luc gets a slap on the ass. “gimme a beer, you.” Before she’s moving across the room for all the world like she owned the joint, leaning against a convenient wall. As for the rest of the question? Up to Luc – she don’t know, and don’t fuckin care.

(sio)
She stands outside still..eyes making their way around the room as the door seems to still be open, and there were people all over the crash pad.
The moon shining down from above, bright in the sky fueling inside her...
She recognized some faces, didnt remember any names...and she stands there...
a thing of beauty..a dangerous beauty
"Was in the neighborhood" a quick glance towards Decker...
no more words, she wasnt a chatty type. Hands resting on her hips, the smell from the condo wofting out...One could get a contact buzz from the air alone..

(james)
one with ripped(up) abs
one with ripped (punctured) shoulder
and the Gnawer? doesn't ask
he's looking back at the door
(earth. ice. wind....all they need is fire - she's next door)
brow lifting towards the frame of dreads

Luc he recognizes
Eva he recognizes
the third? he's seen somewhere before....
by the fact he doesn't do much more than look and then head inside to the fridge - that glorious baggie is already short a few joints

(decker)
Grey eyes just stare at the chick for a long...
...ass.
.time.

"..." smirk. New-rolled joint slid between lips. "Yer right. I don't." Moving on then: Siobhan. The same careless (read: stoned) lazy look at this newcomer. Dear old sis. Where's his fuckin matches...

"Ain't dead yet?"

(luc)
Past the Death-Metal Phase. Luc and the pack of musical-junkies [..wanna know what else some of them were hoped up on--geez, its JUST experimenation.] sailed head first into hardcore punk. None of that Whin "Emo" shit--just straight, testosterone filled, kick-your-ass, punk. He smirks as she answers Decker, doing a double-take as Decker continues to stare.

"Fuck you lookin at, Deck."

Youthful testosterone, full moon, or careful calculation to allow Doctor Imogen [..Medicine Woman..] to hear. Luc isn't stupid, but that kinda shit ain't kosher. Off to get SOMEONE a beer, "Anyone wan'anythin?"

(sio)
She coughs to get his attention and tosses the green bic towards Decker.."heads up"
Taking it upon herself to step in and close the door...No one had sent her away, and she wasnt expecting an invitation...not from this pack..
Eyes move to the wounded...."whats the other guy look like" a few short words...figuring whoever Decker had fought, was probably worse off then he was..
Eyes slowly move to the others...stopping on each one, trying to place who was who, she remembered the guy with the dreads, and Dire...that was all...

"naw not yet" she smirks...

Still standing in front of the door...

(dire)
The other guy is sitting right beside decker eating a sandwhich. His brows rise and he stands. and stands and stands. 6'6" lanky. But still built with mussel. Jean shorts, no shirt as his shoulder and arm are still healing. Get tattoo over hs left brow. He advances on Siobhan. Stops and looks at her a bit. Leans over. Sniffs. Blinks. Strightens up. Sniffs again... then a third time before returning to the couch and eyeing decker.

"She stinks same as you?"

(decker)
Grey eyes slide sideways to Lucian, narrow. Smirk crooks a little more. "'S what I'm tryin' to figger out."

What is that, anyway? Did she have ropes comin outta her head? Oh fuck...he was flyin. Shut eyes. Open eyes - green bic incoming, slow motion - whisksmack - caught.

Grunt of thanks. He lights up. A pause. A jerk of his head at Dire. Like that. Another pause. "Went a l'il. Nuts."

(james)
by the time Luc and Eva finish their.... introductions
James is already rooting through the fridge
(mun. chees.)
blindly passing back a couple beers to the younger of the pack's pair of lanky Skalds
(what the hell do they FEED them when they're pups?)

(eva)
Eyes slide over Luc as he walks away, cigarette returning to lips for drag taken, exhale adding more smoke to the already heavy air as she slips from her leather jacket. Tight. Ass. S’getti strap maroon tank top tight enough to show the outline of matching set of nipple rings… Leather studded cuffs on each arm – three on the left wrist, two on the right, bracelet around left bicep, choke chain around neck, with one end sliding into cleavage. Coat is dropped at her feet until Luc picks it up later (oh and he will.) returning to her reclining lean against the wall, thumb hooked in her pocket.
and dare we begin to talk about the piercings? Both ears – 15, 8 in one 7 in the other. Eyebrow, nose, lip and nipples, and below the belt. Ask Luc.
Gaze returns to Decker, and slide over him again. “Y’ain’t so much t’look at yourself, man.”

(sio)
Went a little nuts..probably an understatement..but she says no more bout it.
As she gets sniffed her eyes remain on the guy...
"hardly a compliment" she replies to the 'stinking like Decker' comment...
Considering if she remembered right, he could work up quite a stench...

Now she moves towards the couch and sits down so much for waiting for an invite...patience wasnt her greatest quality

She was about to introduce herself to the rest who lingered in the room...when the girl speaks....

And so the introduction is held off..she just quietly watches the others..
She just wasnt one for a whole lot of words..and especially where she is the stranger.

(dire)
Dire pauses in mid bite as Siobhan joines Decker and he on the couch. Looks over her heead at Decker and back to her. Blinks and mutly offers her a bite of his huge meat and cheese sandwhich. Mayby if he fed her........

(decker)
Lazily, Decker flips Eva the finger and then is distracted by the huuuge sandwich floating across his viewscreen. Weedsmoke wreathes out of his nostrils on the exhale. He passes the joint to Siobhan (or drops it on her lap if she ain't interested) and grabs the sandwich instead.

"Fuckin' starvin'." Sudden realization, this. And another one: "Where's Billy?" He doesn't remember killin' 'im, so there's still hope.

(luc)
Oily mass of blonde hair is hidden under the green-striped black woolen cap, steel-link dog-tags clatter in the same hue as steel colored eyes. Apparently no one else wanted a beer -- shit more for them and spots James...

There's a certain kamikaze look that German's have, particularly skald. Like thier hovering between happy and pissed continually. The grim line of set lips cracks into a wiiide [..a charmer, huh?] smile. Taking the beer from James, "Concert was Slamming--two guys had to be carried out man--" James who understood his affinity for music like few others...

But the teenager was already out of the kitchen shouting back to the raggedy man, "Lil'Eva kicked this bitch-dude in the head and he SANK like the fuckin titantic.." Already lomg strides is taking him to the LAST fee arm chair, both beers in hand.

(james)
"Who was it this time again?"

the Skald probably told him
but at this point we're not counting on long term memory for anything
the Ahroun's looking up with a grin
he understands the affinity for music allright

even with his head stuck in the fridge
(that chilled air somehow quite fascinating)
he can hear the jacket whoomph onto the floor

"Forget where the hangers are again, Eva?"

murmured, basically
(sluurrrred)
but it's loud enough to hear
(he's had a talk with her about that before....)
though not interesting enough to take his attention away from the fridge
he's made a sandwich several times over in his mind
now it's getting the rest of the body to coordinate a full scale attack
then we're good to go
(okay. more. than. a. few. joints.)

(dire)
He pulls the sandwich back from Deckers grasping hand and wacks him.
"Get cha own you nippyu little Bitch.... I wasn't offerin' it to you."

(decker)
Decker takes offense at that.

Fuckin moon ain't the only source of rage around here. And that Dire's messing up his carefully preserved zen vibe is just pissing him off that much worse. As Dire tries to grab the sandwich back, Decker hangs on with an iron grip - and the sandwich rips. Spills meat and tomatoes on Decker's lap.

Pothazed grey eyes are sudden very hard, very sharp. And he's suddenly very quiet.

"Don't think I like yer tone, boy." Deliberately, a tomato slice drawn up from his lap, flicked at Dire with a snap of the wrist. "'N don't you think I fergot 'bout yer mouthin' off last night, neither."

(sio)
A nod to Dire, although she wasnt hungry...perhaps ore of a silent thanks...but Deckers interception is fine with her...
Taking the joint she pulls the smoke into her lungs and holds it while passing it back towards Decker...he certainly had the talent to manhandle a sandwich and a joint at the same time...

Now another joined the room..or was it two..probably a good time for some sort of introduction
"Siobhan" (Che-Vonne) She says out loud to the room...
Merely watching the different personalities mesh together in the small (assuming) room.

(dire)
He flickers hte peproni back at Decker and growls deeply. (( meat and cheese,))

"Good. Hopfully you'll remember it all. Now leggo my sandwich."

He takes a vishious bite of what remains in his hand. Almost pointedly.

(eva)
“Little? I’ll show you little, ya bitch.” Smirked in some sort of amused affection kinda as she pulls from the wall and steps over her jacket with a snapped look toward James, and the ever universal roll of dark lined eyes before yeah – she sweeps down and grabs her jacket, and hangs it over Luc’s shoulder. “better?” snorted as she grabs her beer and drapes over the back of the chair Luc’s claimed. Nails slide into Luc’s hair, pulling that cap off to let crimson sharpness play over scalp, idly. “Someone had to drop kick that fucker and teach him some manners.”


(luc)
"Hell yeah he did, but he didn'spect no bitch, t'do it." High praise, indeed. To be sure Eva was prolly once of the toughest chicks on the scene.

Reap the whirlwind, baby.

His head is leaned back as her fingers play against his hair the beer pressed to his lip and lowered into his lap once more. Long-long-long legs stretchout before him--one foot balenced on the coffee table. A brow lifts as he hears the awesome-twosome argue again.

"Y'all are like fuckin heckle an' Jekyle." Eyes still closed

(decker)
Decker's stare is hard and steady beneath goldlashed lids. He's silent as a building storm. The sandwich is still held in his hand, and as Dire watches (...because the Skald at least knows not to be lookin him in the eye...), another slice of pepperoni slides out and splats.

"You been pushin' my buttons on purpose, Dire." There's a slur on the name: Di-ah. His chomp into 'his' half of 'his' sandwich is decidedly pointed. "You been pissin' me off but good, 'n I'm 'bout through puttin' up with it. Fuck's up yer ass?"

(dire)
"You fucking pissed me off the other night you motherfucking asshole that's what pissed me off. You shit sucking fuck!"
He stands up and throws the other half of the sandwich at deckers noggin and heads out.

"Fucking thought __I__ would do tht shit!"

(dio)
Nothing like drama...
and she wasnt involved in it,
even better
she had offered her name, to those who may have wanted it, didnt seem like it was much of an issue anyways...
The battleing men on the couch seemed to be the object of interest. Leaning back into the couch, listening...and waiting to end up in the crosswind of some sortt of brawl..which was fine..shed remove herself from the sitation when the time was right...

And alas..the one get sup with a tantrum of some sort and food is flung through the air...
waste of a perfectly good sandwich
And so she watches..
like a tennis match...back and forth, back and forth, and think, she just got here...

(eva)
“See the look on his face man? Fuckin priceless. Last time he grabs some girls ass like that I’d wager.” head tips back (finger.tighten.in.hair) as beer slides down throat. One gulp. Two. Three. Back down again (re.lax back into idle play), long arm sliding down to drag the beer bottle over Luc’s chest draped like some feline caught between that rest and play moment, knowing she could purr and sleep, or attack with nails and teeth at a moments notice.

(decker)
"Sitcher ass down, Cliath."

It'd be laughable: Decker, stoned (...though that haze is burning away awfully fast in the face of his mounting rage...), bandaged (big bloodsoaked white thing wrapped around his bare torso), and now wearing slices of turkey, ham and beef. It'd be laughable if it wasn't Decker, with his motherfuckin rage quotient flying through the roof.

Sparks are flying from his eyes, and they sure as hell ain't the healthy proliferative kind. He waits til Dire sits his ass down.

And waits a little longer, sneering grey gaze drilling holes.
"Do what shit."

(dire)
He spins and points "THe girl in the alley! YOU thought I Raped her!" His finger pointing. Pissed himself but like decker out of rage.

(james)
by this time, the Gnawer's finally foraged enough to make a sandwich
(or four, knowing this crowd)
bread, two types of cheese, ham, turkey, pepperoni, mayo, mustard
fuck the greens
they are Garou!
they are predators and warriors!
(rar!)
lettuce is rabbit food and they exist on the green of weeeeed

"Well, most assholes don't expect a chick to be able to beat the fuck out of them."

there's a grin tossed at Eva
(yeap, 'preciate that)
cause the chick that owns the condo is one that could whoop most of their asses
and since that's not Eva, she's not the one with rights to fling clothes around
(except... in... Luc's room.... but we won't go there)
he doesn't go near Dire and Decker's conversation, either
just quietly going about making that sandwich (or four)
wondering if he should sell ringside tickets for this

(luc)
"Fo'sho."

Despite the yelling carring on his own side conversation. Interesting is the occasional fight.

Its this everyday shit, the daily re-run-ran over-again. [...and HOW MANY TIMES can you watch the odd-couple before 'classic-status' looses its lustre.] And at Dires last comment he just smirks head rolling back and up to Eva.

"--you said you LIKE hanging out here?!" She can feel it the heat-wave exhaust of his rage, couched so cleanly in his own -controlled- manner. Still screaming its presence in the vaccum of rage Felix & Oscar provide.

(sio)
Wasnt that the truth..
most assholes dont expect to have their asses beat by a chick
That makes her smirk...how true that was..
Sometimes just that premise alone was a reason to go out looking for trouble..usually on nights like this, when the moon was full
She cant help but give him a nod, whether he catches it or not...
Eyes move to Eva and Luc who seem to be enjoying the show as well..
This show would be so much better if she had more of a clue who everyone was and what the hell the story was, oh well, she was notorious for being able to come in the middle of a tv show, and catching on pretty quickly


(imogen)
Party time at Rune's Condo, it would seem. The smell of weed must harrass the neighbours, particularly those that are unfortunate enough to live beneath them. Next door, considering how often the door has been been open in the last ten, fifteen minutes, and since it's still open now, the smell is certainly discernable.

The stink of weed hangs in the air, even outside, and mixes with cigarette smoke as she follows a relatively simple pattern, inhale, exhale. By the time the cigarette has been consumed to a final rim of white around the filter, the beer is equally finished. The glass clinks softly against the faux stone of the balcony floor, as her attention flickers toward the condominium and its open door before her hand runs through her hair, a quick sharp movement. The yelling, too, Dire's words not understood, but heard clearly now.

Eventually someone would call the cops.

The cigarette is stabbed out in the ashtray, on the way down the stairs; the bridge that can be put down to go between both condominiums is ignored as she takes the steps to the ground, crossing the greening brown of the lawn between the two seperated buildings and starts up the other side of the steps.

(decker)
"Made a fuckin' mistake." One thing about Decker: he ain't afraid to spit the truth out. If pressed. Picking meat off his shirt and flinging it aside, then, "Heard screamin', went red. Fuckin' accident."

Their respective rage might have been depleted, but it sure as hell was coming back now - crackling through the air. "But you." Decker's on his feet then, throwing his half of the sandwich down on the coffee table. "You little shit. You fuckin' tried to bait me to a fuckin' frenzy with Imogen standin ten. fuckin. feet. away. Fuck's the matter with you?"

He was gonna save this talk for after the full. Really, he was.

(eva)
The chuckle that falls is from somewhere deep in her throat, her beer bottle tracing over his chest idly as she arches a brow, killing her cigarette with a final drag and handing it to luc to find an ashtray to extinguish it in… “I said” pauses, eyes flickering over to Decker and Dire even though James gets a wink (yeah, yeah, yeah. Just make sure you don’t go there tonight) before she finishes her comment. “It’s a fuck of a lot better then my place.. even with the bobsy twins over there.” His rage crackles over her skin, close as she is, and it’s what drew her to him in the first place… dwarfed as it is by the Twins over there snarling insults over some poor woman trapped between them. “Laugh a fuckin minute.”

(dire)
He waves his hand "We all make mistakes Rohl. We all do. ME more than most of you because I don't know all the HUMAN shit yall do. But I say I'm sorry." He grunts and throws his hands in the air and then growls at the pain in his right arm.

"Yeah I pissed you off because you pissed me off. And after she left I took the rage out of you. I took the ass whupping because it was my fault. You think I like getting bit by your nappy ass?"

He points to his own wounds

"I KNOW where your moths been. If I was an ASSHOLE I would have let you go HOME like that..... "

(james)
one Gnawer
four (count 'em. four) Get
(five with Siobhan, if he knew, six with Imogen, if she was here)
after he makes that sandwich?
he settles on the stool behind the counter
(ready to duck. and. cover.)
siiiiiilently inhaling that food
last thing he's gonna do is step in the middle'a that

(sio)
Like sands through the hour glass..so are the days of our lives..

Only this was more a mixture of The Osbournes and Jerry Springer..she was waiting for the next guest to be introduced...

She had definately been missing out on entertainment..

(luc)
Since WHEN did he become the peacemaker. [...never expect with teenagers.] His nose wrinkles briefly and he grunts. "Wanna settle this one, too?" Its a joke [...sure.] no really he SWEARS its a joke. See, he's getting up, vacating much vaunted -armchair- status to the girl.

[...don't think about it.]

And running a hand through the oily mess of blonde tips his head as he stands to his full height. standing in a strange blend of intercept [between the two blades of DOOM.] a look off teenaged-brand annoyance.

"--why don't we fuckin talk 'bout this shit next week. I'll bring the bats y'can bring yer asses."

From the mouth of babes.

(imogen)
If she was here. Five Get (one ex-Fianna)

Up Rune's steps, mostly the idea of shutting the door being the best plan. Angry Garou. Full. Fucking. Moon(s). It's a wonderful breed, great mixture. She must have heard her name as she reaches the doorway, and pauses before shutting it. Instead of completing the intended motion, her eyebrow lifts faintly, a slow arch of a coppery brow as she pauses.

It could be because it was her name used in the arguement (she's not the source, but she was there), or simply that Decker was involved that keeps her from simply shutting the door. It could be she flat out refuses to walk away from conflict, not because of who she was, or who they were.

Breeding here, so even Siobhan, who has never met her, can recognize her as one of the Blood, the song of heroes, the memories of deaths. Someone had done great things, in her family. Someone with red hair like hers, perhaps, like a flame caught in the strands, all the colours of autumn sunsets. She stands, now, sideways, back against the still open door (room for others to leave, room for her to get the fuck out of the way), fingers sliding through the burnished strands, pushing them back from her pale cheekbones, away from her dark night blue eyes.

(eva)
There’s a smirk as he starts to get up.. “Between them too? No fuckin way, get my ass handed to me for sure, and I’m on a nice pleasant high…” beer bottle and nails drag over him as he stands and she contemplates stealing his seat…
…or getting a sandwich.
…or ordering a pizza.
Hm.
She pushes to a stand then, stretching, before her jacket is pulled from where it fell to the chair, draped over the back, smokes found and to the kitchen long legs carry lithe frame in teenage saunter. James is munchin – gotta be something good right? Naturally he made extras too… fuckin Gnawer’s always do. If not, well – we all know Luc can’t make anything for shit… she’ll have to fuckin feed his ass again to assure he’s got the energy to last the night.


(decker)
CRASH. Decker's foot - bare, we might note - goes right the fuck through Rune's expensive artsy coffee table, shatters the glass, catches on the frame and flips it the fuck over. Luc: ignored. Siobhan: ignored. Eva: ignored. James: ignored.

"You think you know my rage?" - so very quietly, while blood begins to stain the floor from his foot. "You think you kin play with it?" Every sentence gets a little colder. "Jerk it around fer fun?" A little quieter. "You think it couldn'a possibly gotten outta yer control." A little harder. "With you tellin' me Imogen's gittin' fucked by Billy. While Imogen standin'. Ten feet away.

"You really think you coulda stopped me. If I went red. Turned the fuck around. 'N went fer her throat, Dire?"

Imogen: entering. Not ignored. Grey eyes flick over, back. Are cold. Decker - with an obvious effort - sits down again, picks up his battered half-a-sandwich, and aims it for his mouth.

Stops. Nails Dire with another glare. "When the full's past, Dire, you 'n I're gonna have a good long talk."

(dire)
He points "You didn't listen to what I said. I didnt say she was. " He waves his hand. "You can kick my ass any time. I think we both know that. What's the point? I'm going outside for a while. If you want to TALK, let me know."

(decker)
Teeth gnash, but the Modi keeps his quiet - and his now dubious cool.

(luc)
Imogen.
[Mmmm.. Imogen-Imogen-Imogen.]

But Eva is in the Kitchen so hooden glance is -not- caught, exhale as Decker sits down but he remains RIGHT th'fuck WHERE he's standing steely eyes flickering back to Dire.

Decker was only half the equation. And he's already gnashing, Dire's going outside and--maybe his country-uncles weren't so dumb fer livin in the woods anyway.

Hot.

The temperature in the room is dangerously hot, he crosses to open a window, a gust of chilled night air crossing the room.


(james)
Eva saunters over in her lithe teenager way to grab a sandwich
there's a grin (how do)
Imogen (there's five!) enters to stand by the door
there's another grin (howde do)
but right now there's not much that can tear the Gnawer away from food
not even the two Get (crash! wince) bristling in the living room like some sick Shakespearean tragedy
either he's too focused, or too fucking sedated (good. damn. drugs.) to get his own hackles up

'sides, it's between Decker and Dire
he's got no place to get into it anyway
no matter that they're pack
Get way to settle it amongst themselves

but by then he's finished his own brand of munchies, fingers licked clean
that last plate's picked up on the way around the counter towards the living room
holding one veritable stack of bread and meat and cheese
it's handed off to the Modi as he passes by - and keeps going right on out the doors onto the back balcony

(dire)
Stomping out he sits on the rail tryng to calm down. Grumbles and pushes the Goblins that come too close over the rail

(eva)
Fortunately for the lanky skald that glance was –not- seen, because her eyes are for the food (food!) and a returned grin for James as she snatches a sandwich, and steals his vacated stool and makes herself at home. Imogen gets a glance, slight nod, then dark gaze under smoky lashes watch Luc slam open that door, smirking around a mouthful “Laugh a fuckin minute..” before bite is washed down with beer, clatter of bottle on table, and nother bite taken.

(sio)
Yeah...tonight wasnt the night for any dysfunctional family reunion...
obviously..
hey cant say she didnt try..
Getting up she takes one last glance around the room...she still didnt know any of them, didnt get anyones name, wasnt even acknowleged...
wasnt a big deal, less names to remember..
Smiling at Decker she heads for the door..."keep the lighter..." She heads to the door, no more words, not angry..
it was just time to go...

(dire)
He looks up as SIobhan comes out and nods
"Sorry about that.... issures..... I'm Dire."
(decker)
Fly-by sandwich grabbed with a grunt that might've, in another life, been a thanks. Fuckin' great. Rage back up and running. Fuckin high worn off long ago. Hungry and thirsty, and pissed off. Foot's all fuckin cut up too.

Old tattered sandwich discarded. One hand clamped over the new sandwich, he leans down and starts yanking glass out of his foot. This endeavor takes a few minutes. Afterwards he slumps backs and stares moodily at the shards of Rune's coffee table exploded all over the floor. Modern fuckin art: the ultimate in self-expression.

A bare flicker of a glance up at Siobhan as she heads on out. "Yeah, whatever." Lighter? He looks around. It's still in his palm. And he makes use of it now, picking up that half a joint Siobhan left stubbed out in the ashtray, lighting up again.

Nearly growled as Imogen's nightsky eyes fall on him and his bloody bandage, bloody fuckin foot, "Fuck you lookin' at?"

(dire)
He looks up as she comes out. SHoves another goblin off the rail and nods. "Sorry about that in there.... I'm dire."

(luc)
Luc: Defender of lost kin.

Maybe the kin-duty is just imprinted on his head, the glass in the window cracks as she pushes up-up-up [--WAIT! it doesn't go THAT high.] and the snaps turning around. "--don'chyu' fuckin talk to her like that." Getting between Decker and Imogen now? Bad place to be--

"Lame. Ass." And he stalks across the room, the oversized lampost of a boy, plack shirt stretched across broad-boned frame. One day he might have muscles to fill the concave [..steely..] form out--now its all bones and gristle. TV is kicked off with his boot, the flickering image fading as he goes to the CD player.

(imogen)
She watches the arguement, and what she hears, what she sees in dead silence. That she is subject of some of the words, some of the sentences, would be almost indiscernable, at least to those who are not familiar with the redhead. The slam of a bare foot through the coffee table hardly warrents a flinch. She steps aside so Dire can get out, and she watches him as he passes her, dark eyes shaded by brown hued lashes, eclipsing any thought she may have.

The opening window and the still open door causes a breeze to begin to lighten the miasma of marijuana the air currents casting the scented air to be replaced by cooler, clean air. The air within the condo lowers a degree or so. It might be a relief for all within.

Her eyes pass across the room, quick. Familiar, some. James gives her a smile, and it's not returned, but at least a flicker of attention might serve as a greeting for her. Siobhan is really the only unfamiliar person in the gathering, and now she's leaving, a flicker glance of the small woman, as Decker's sister passes. Eva, smiles, too, and it's only really when she's taken stock of everyone in the room before she glances at the Fenrir Modi, a quick sharp passing of dark blue eyes across him. Bloody foot. Bloody bandages. Storm grey eyes. The movement of her eyes flickers away, in some vague turn away, perhaps to some point, tell someone something. Who knows. Look where James had left. Turn to look at Dire as he speaks to Siobhan.

In either case, Decker's snarl of words draws her back, those same nightsky eyes narrowing faintly into blue triangles. The space of time between her eyes moving away, and returning is brief, but the space of time before she answers is longer. "Nice to see you too, Rohl," she answers, mildly, soft british accent, european coloured words. Her words however, are lost beneath Lucian as he speaks, coming to her... defense, of all things. Her head turns to look at the tall lanky Skald and simply regards him for a moment, dead. stare.

(decker)
That's fuckin' it. Decker gets the fuck up off the couch and stalks off down the hall. A wavering trail of smoke marks his passage. The wall-shaking SLAM! of the door marks his destination.

(eva)
Concentrating on inhaling that sandwich, downing that beer, and the look had been missed before but the crack of the window and whipsmack of his voice brings head up in a lock on dead on glare at the lanky skald. (fuckin talk to her like that…)
Eyes. Narrow.
The difference is slight but the bristle between shoulder blades that causes her to stiffen is not. He would recognize the look if he wasn’t facing the CD’s. it’s the look that fucker got half a second before she dropkicked his ass. Eyes slide to Imogen (red-haired goddess of someone’s wet fuckin dreams apparently) and then back again. Last bite of sandwich taken and chewed carefully (Snap of teeth. Rend. Tear. Shred.) before bottle is tipped back and drained.


(dire)
He grunts and heads down the stairs with a muttered "Asshole!"

(luc)
Dead. Stare.

He's fiddling with CDs [..rage against the Machine.. NO! Uhm..Yanni?! --Radiohead gets popped in.] And the Vollume turned WAY up. He can feel the prickle of the red-head's stare on him...

Moreso his own bitch [...fear Eva. FEAR HER.] a few yards away, and he's still fiddling withthe damn CDs he's learned his damn lesson--don't mess with Get-chicks.

Kin or no.

(eva)
He’s fiddling with the CD. Radiohead gets popped in. Volume turned way up. And still the stare is leveled on him with an intensity that she knows he can feel. Empty beer bottle clatters to the counter, lighter grabbed, cigarette propped between painted lips, flame set to end and inhale sends paper and tobacco crinkling red to pull poisoned smoke deep in her lungs.
Lighter lowered, plastic bic now tapped lightly on the counter in tattoo to her rising ire (Best fuckin look at me boy. Getting me another fuckin beer might save your fucking ass…)
Imogen? Ignored.


(imogen)
Decker stalks off, and while she doesn't glance at him as he walks past her, her head does turn to watch him go, leaving tracks of blood in his wake. An exhalation, quick, sharp and frustrated, before she steps further into the condo (Lucian forgotten, or ignored for now), shutting the door behind her.

Further into the condo now, not toward Decker and the hallway, but instead toward the back porch, skirting easily around the mess that was made from the remains of the coffee table. Back porch, James smoking a joint. Possibly the safest, considering the circumstances. Or maybe she had something to say to him.

"Still high?" she inquires as she pushes open the screen door, pressing her back against the door jam to look at the Bone Gnawer, a hand sliding quick and sharp through her hair.

(james)
the screen door slides open - smooth and quiet compared to what just happened inside
dreads slide over muscular shoulder - just a wifebeater, scars showing on his back from under the thin fabric, his Rage keeps him warm - and the Gnawer turns to look at whomever's come out to join him
and a grin slides lopsided to see that it's Imogen
she may be able to peel skin with a patented glare, topple tall Modi's with a single look
but she's still his friend

"Fllllyyyyyin'."

looks like he's more than high
probably sedated heavily by..... something
one long arm stretches out to offer the joint
balance precariously held by the press of boots on the balcony railing
that chair's probably tipped back a liiiiiittle too far

(luc)
Blonde hair tousled [...by her fingers.] and that square lined jaw-tensed, can you feel the moon. Stretched into another wiiiiiiide smilr as the crouched figure looks up at the punk-rock-girl [..you look so fine..] and he rubs the back of his neck..

"Got food?"

(imogen)
"Good." Few things she has send in maybe a hundred conversations have sounded as heartfelt as that single word as she finds out the Ahroun is still flying high, and what's more, he's offering her a hit.

The fine tension to her jaw is truly the only outward indication of her ... whatever it may be. Frustration, tension, annoyance. That and the fact she takes the offered joint without a bit of hesitation.

She steps outside completely now, the screen door swinging shut behind her. For the moment, not bothering with conversation (though she might have a reason to have come out here, other than simply getting out of the den of rage), as she takes a long hit on the joint, before extending her arm to offer it back to him, trapping the fragrant fumes in her lungs.

(eva)
Blond hair tousled by her fingers, square jaw tensed, and finally he looks up to meet her gaze and she just stares at him for a Long. Ass. Time. (fall from grace) “Depends..”
The word draws out, eyes fall from his to give cigarette careful consideration as she flicks ash off in the nearest tray, watching it travel most of the way to her lips before dark eyes snap to his again, and lips curl into a half smile (caught by mercy) and pierced brow arches.. “Got beer?”


(james)
he can hear the genuine tones in that single word
and that he has inspired it, for whatever reason, widens that smile
(others need, Hoods provide)
while she's taking that glorious hit
using their cure-all to lessen some of her own emotions
he's leaaaaaning that chair forward
metal legs spanking the terracotta tiles
weight rising to shift over a chair
offering a place to sit and stay awhile that doesn't include having to navigate around his precarious balance
finally stretching to take the joint back and refill his own lungs
he doesn't say anything either, knowing her well enough by now, if she wants conversation, she'll start it

(luc)
Wiiiide Smile.
[..did we mention that?]

Long rows of white teeth [..all the better to eat you with.] grows as one edge of his mouth turns up in a smirk. Its a hard thing to describe, is quietness and the feeling that he might [...on a full-moon? Bash your brains in.] not be the human skin, that curves so neatly about him. We all wear masks...

He shakes his head at her and leans back against the carpetting bit of glass cracking under the weight of his boot--and extended leg. "Yeah ah'm hidin it wanna find it?"

(imogen)
Silence can, at times be pleasant. Spend five, ten minutes with her, and often one will find that she dips into silence more easily than she can compel herself to speak. Her head turns toward him as he shifts, offering a chair, a shake of her head slightly. "I'd rather stand," accented voice altered by the hit still held in her lungs, expelled now in a slow exhalation, a blue grey spill from her lips.

He's got his feet up on the railings and after a moment, she leans back against them, resting her elbows on the railing, eyes flickering upward to look at the sky. Unlike them, she can stare at the moon without consequence.

It's not a conversation, really, that she starts, but a comment, "I've room numbers for those in th'hospital? From the labs. We'll need t'go sometime durin' visiting hours; preferrably soon."

She'd rather not visit them at home.

(james)
there's all sorts of silences
some are the electric ones before the storm
some are the uncomfortable ones that cling and linger
some - like this one - are rather comfortable
he doesn't take insult to the decline of his offer
he'd make it regardless
that's one loooooooooooooong drag before abs buckle and he's leaning forward to make the next in the line of selfless offers
nodding rather.... thoughtfully
(more than likely shaking the information into some semblance of sense)

"Whenever you think is best."

not exacty "whenever you're ready"
ready equals now
and perhaps the weight of his rage, however magically sedated, may not be helpful
but he's leaving that decision up to the Kin

(eva)
Wiiiiiiiiide smile. (We mentioned that.) And she? Continues with that little half smirk that watches him. Dark eyes under dusky lashes slide over him slowly… missing nothing, not even that crunch of glass… (…shatter…)
Movements are deliberate. Smoke inhaled, held in lungs before flowing free in exhale that follows the fall of arm and kill of butt in tray. The push away from the counter that leads to the drop of feet to tile that leads to the flow (feline) of lithe frame to stand. The first step as eyes meet his dead on (…dare…) as she moves around the bar and toward him. Slow. Stalk.
Until she’s joining him with crackle of glass under denim covered knee, hands on his shoulders, pushing him back to the floor with a (mock) growl low in her chest… “What did I say about hiding my beer, boy…”

(luc)
Rage. You hear it spoken of all the time, but what does it MEAN? [...she growls HIS chest rumbles as he leans back] glass crackling, under the weight of his shifting posture. To some people its like mace, the weak always run. To some people its like heat--burning up.

To some people its like magnetic waves. Thrillseekers, baby. [...lets play a game of Russian roullette.] six to one, you get get a smile. His hands slide up the sides of her arms and pulls her closer..

Vice-like.
[..that -one- its a killer.]

(eva)
Rage..(Against the dying of the light)
Glass crackles under shifting weight and she flows against him with a sharp inhalation as vice-like grip settles on arms… the exhale falls across his lips as she arches a pierced brow, braids spilling over shoulders to tickle along his cheeks, slide along jaw, fall to the glass below them as she chuckles… deep and dark.
Rage. (do not go gentle into that dark night…)
Some would say she’s crazy, some would say she’s one smoking bitch… bad girl to the extreme. She? Just. Smiles. Nails drag up his sides, pulling shirt to bare skin to her wicked whim, sliding under his shoulders to dig in along muscle to pull herself closer, pressing him into the glass to bite at his back as teeth snag his lower lip and pull it free…
(R.A.G.E.)

(imogen)
She takes the offered joint, plucking it from his fingers, and turning it around to set the hand rolled joint in her mouth, the irregular circle of burning ember flaring briefly as it eats into the paper, and she takes another hit. Her weight shifts, and she straightens, leaning forward to offer him the joint back.

He's taking another hit, and she's exhaling before she speaks again, a small lift to her mouth, strangely wry, absolutely mirthless, "Let's wait until the full moon is well and past, shall we?"

(james)
that strangely wry, absolutely mirthless lift to her mouth gets full on laughter falling out of his
just -too- amused by that
hand wiht the handed back joint waving around like some grand conductee

"Nooooo worries. Any clue on how we're going about this?"

(imogen)
A faint snort, a half smirk, near smile, amused somehow, if only distantly, "I'm going to go in and lie to them. Provided y'don't scare the bloody 'ell out of them," her accent is, often slowed and made more precise because quite frankly, the majority would not quite grasp her country tones (and someone once told her that she spoke like she was uneducated, and she vowed she would not hear it now), but it thickens slightly now, the candences of her tone beginning to slur together. Three words can just as easily be one. "... You should ask any questions y'think of. And perhaps be sure they dint survi' because the wyrm want'd 'em to."

(luc)
...I had a dream last night.

Mercy, Mercy [...I'm made of parts..] steel grey fixate on confection of pierced-pain and hunger. Her teeth-his lip, and who IS the predator here? ...its her. Eva is pushed [--only means i want to PULL you closer..] backward with than same grip ..c.o.n.t.r.o.l...i.s.. even as Luc moves forward unfolding-unfolding-unfolding- endless length of bones and muscles pushing, weighing, pinning...

she was on fire last night.
..and I was breathing gasoline.

Tension, clouds every muscle, every tendon, every nerve. [..snapses firing away--] instinct. instinct. instinct. And he shoves her back "Fuck man..." Teeth gritting as he scrambles off of her

--whats up his ass?


(james)
he can't help the brow lift
the Good Doctor?
Lie?
oh this'll be rich
just.... rich

her tones begin to slur together
his have been slurred all night
Imogen and James
Kin and Ahroun
grunts for the pack
what a pair they be

"Allright, I'll try to think of what I can to be helpful."

foundering a bit on this one
he's got brains to back the muscle
but interrogation isn't quite his forte
at least with the moon thinning next week - it won't be the damned inquisition

(eva)
She flows with the backward push, graceful and lithe as if the music itself slides under her skin rather then from the speakers somewhere above them. (…lose.control…) pushed, weighed, pinned..
(…inhale…)
nails slide teasingly along skin, holding him close as tension bleeds through him, before instinct makes the decision and shoves her away, lanky frame scrambling away.
The growl this time is nothing close to what it was before (seeing red. Flaming curls of crimson hue. Red.) but something altogether feral and frustrated as she pushes braids back from her face, and simply lays there, staring at the ceiling. Counting. Backwards. From 100.
She may not have his rage, she may not have his gifts, but goddammit she has the same fury of any woman scorned. (Hell. Hath. No.) finally through gritted teeth “th’fucks wrong with you.”


(imogen)
The smirk widens faintly at the arch of an eyebrow, her head canting slightly to one side, as she considers the expression. After a moment, she doesn't comment on it, quite, instead answering perhaps the expression of foundering, the thought in it.

"I know wha' t'say. It's jus' if y'hear anythin' they say? An' somethin' comes to mind." Her shoulders lift, a slow languid lazy shrug, "I don't know everything that you do."

Ahroun and kinfolk, on a reconnaissance mission. It shall, at the very least be interesting, and will put to test his skepticsm as to whether or not the good doctor can lie.

(luc)
She can feel it. His frustration and the half finished beer swept up as he moves to his feet pacing the length of the livingroom in GIGANTOR beanpole steps. His eyes shift from left to right and back again.

"Bad Night, Eva." Ooo he used her name.

(eva)
Muscles crunch and pull lean form upright. “Seemed all right before that fuckin redhead showed up.” All the way to her feet and her leather is grabbed from the back of the chair, glass crunching under the soles of her boots. A pause, and when he paces near her she spins and grabs his shirt and shoves him against the wall. “Next time you ask me t’find something, ya better be damn fuckin sure I’m what you want looking. Got it?” And she’s pushing away, stalking toward the door. Bad night indeed.

(james)
there's a nod, he can dig that
and it's not that he thinks the Good Doctor can't lie
this'll just be something to see, that's for sure

by then, the joint's been smoked down to nothing
only enough to sacrifice to the almighty Roach Gods
and his feet are recoiling from the balcony to reach towards the tiles again
long body unfolding from the chair in leeaaaaaan stretch
heavy sedatives catch up even to the strongest of Garou
(the fuck was it.... 10cc of Ketamine?)
hands scratch through tangled dreads
and that's about when he hears the snarled phrase inside
(muffled through the glass as it is)
brow lifting a bit to look towards the balcony door

this.... can't be good.

(luc)
He's rubbing the back of his neck, she standing in the doorway-- (Got it?') and for a minute [...never. Ever.] for a moment she feels this rush-crackle-snap of heat that shoots across he room and affixes to every nerve in her body.

RUN.

And its gone just as quickly, really he [..the joker..] is not smiling right now, not in the FUCKING least. Not that it was a bad idea for her to leave --it only makes me want to chase you. Raw Heat that proceeds her exit and his velocity toward the door one hand slamming on the doorway beside her head. His neck muscles slackened to allow head to hang just above hers.

So close he can TASTE her breath.

"--then git." Don't ARGUE with Get-women.

(imogen)
The snarled sounds from within, muffled through the glass of the outer door, results in a sharp turn of her head (So out of contrast of the slow movements of only seconds before), her eyes narrowing toward the sounds, her head tilting faintly to catch perhaps words. The girl is still speaking, so it's none so bad as it could be.

Her head turns slightly, the path of dark eyes making their way back toward James a quick glance, perhaps to see if he intends to do anything, before her attention returns toward the sounds within. Listening, in quiet silence, a bare frown creasing her brow.

(decker)
Grriiind--BAM.

Window opens hard, letting the cold night into the (too-)warm room. Decker climbs out a beat later, barechested bandaged bloodscented Modi. Unfolds up, grabs the rain gutter and swings over to the back balcony: like Tarzan on a vine. Whomp. Feet hit the deck. Nod up at James. Glance at Imogen; not quite a nod up; helluva lot more in his eyes. What? Who knows. Sandwich and joint both disappeared some time ago; washed the blood off his hands, too, and a quick shift took care of the sliced-up feet. Too bad it didn't take care of the coffee table out front.

Speakin of which...the front of the condo faces west. The moon's sunk into the west now. The back of the condo faces east. Any guesses to why he chose the back?

(...other than the obvious, of course.)

Leaning back against the wall near James, he filches the last of the joint away for one last long drag. Then the roach is flicked burning over the edge of the balcony. His eyes follow its arc. He rubs up, hand curving from the back of his skull up-up-up over the bristle of his hair, dropping off his brow where his hairline ends.

"Fuck's Luc doin'?"

(james)
attention swings the other way when the window grinds open
he doesn't seem all that surprised at Decker's choice of approach
just a simple nod up
then attention swings back around again
absently waving off the filching of the remnant joint
as if he'd ever argue giving over the last drag anyway

"That's....... what I'm not sure of."

though by the way it actually has the mellow and sedated Gnawer's attention actually narrowed and focused on a singular thing that isn't food...
that can't be good
he isn't actually staring back through the glass inside
that would just be rude
he's just got a bare shoulder against the doorframe
umber eyes watching the ground - listening, feeling, some things just don't need visuals
(and remembering how he was as a teenager, probably better not to look)

(eva)
There’s a moment A moment. That every nerve sings in reply to the sudden wipsmack of heat that begs her run. But she. Never. Ever. Runs. Even as quickly as it is gone and as quickly as he is slamming a hand so near her head.
She doesn’t flinch.
(Chase. This. Motherfucker.)
And his head is hanging over hers, near enough to taste her breath, near enough to discern the smoke laced sandwich that passed over tongue moments ago, near enough to know the get woman is damn. right. pissed. off.
“If I do. I ain’t comin back.”
Until he asks. Until he begs. Until he is damn well fuckin sure where his loyalties lie. Speak now, boy – or forever hold your pieces… (gonna hand ya your package, boy.)


(dire)
He comes meandering back twords the condo. He doesnt 'go home to Carmen or Danni like this. H'd bumped into Ligingstone higher than a kite and 3 sheets to the wind a while back and he'd been healed. So he's feeling better in that reguard. In other's he's still pissed. Approaching the condo he heads up the staris.

(imogen)
From her angle, she can't actually see through the glass door, leaning against the back railing, elbows supporting her weight easily. Her attention swings, like James toward Decker as he takes the unconvential way to the back porch (who can blame him, with the moon setting in the west and Luc and his girl in the living room?), a moment's regard, before away, finding a new spot to set her attention, as her hand slides into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out a package of cigarettes. Silence again, as her other hand tucks back strands of hair away from her face.

(dire)
Up the stairs pausing to stomp a goblin into paste and then up to the deck Across the deck and he pauses seeing Luc and the girl. Takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. Luc didn't do anything to him. Girl was kinda cute in a fucked up weaver sort of way. He'd wait.... a bit.

(decker)
Fuckin' ask him-- cut off before it's born. Decker cocks his head and listens for a moment. No roaring. All quiet on the western front.

(Quick check on the totem...good.)

Shifting bare shoulderblades against ass-freezin-cold stucco, the Modi shakes his head. "Livin'ston still got Eagle's Might." The pack worked this out beforehand. Livingston, lowest-raged of them all, is the official Eaglekeeper when the moon rounded to its zenith.

Moon's setting in the west now and pulling in his blood; blood the salinity of the tide; tide pulled by the moon. Full circle. Full moon. Night wind is cold on his skin and colder on the bloodwet bandage. Wound's been weeping blood and lymph all fuckin' day.

(luc)
He sucks in his lower lip. Measuring her words [..each with the weight of sonic boom.] the twisting of tongue against the surface of lower teeth. "Fuck it, E." His eyes widen briefly somewhere caught between the -need- to explain himself...

And the need to flip her off.
"Th'hell I been pissed off all night--you WANT me to take out on you?" His words are a heated whisper, wrack the tendons that hold lanky form in one piece.

This singular moment is the end of the goddamn world. Every single injustice rolled into her stubborness and way colored 'ropes' hand from her head. A heated exhalation and he walks across the front porch, to grip the rail. "Why y'gotta make shit HARD?"

(dire)
A growl from the door. "You wanna get it out? You can take it out on me..."

(james)
no roaring
no smashing
no leaving the kin alone on the balcony now that Decker's here
(it's that just in case clause that Ahroun has developed)

"Good."

about all he's gotta say about that
Gaia help them all if one of the fullmoon's got hold of Eagle on a night like this
already pack's been tearin' at pack - literally
he's no worries about the Theurge tokin' it up with the totem for a few days
there's a bit of a nod towards the two
apparently the good also doubled for good night
and he's braving the teenage hormones (can't you SMELL it??) that waft out on the staling smoke when the balcony door slides open
luckily, seems they're out front now
seems he might get upstairs and to sleep before the screaming starts
that tranq's hitting him hard, the stairs seem to be leaking away but he's diligently chasing after
(piiiilllllooooooowwww)

(eva)
“th’ell you asked me to come to you then, asshole? Fuckin’ell Lucian – I ain’t the one sending fuckin mixed signals here. Ya know damn well what I want.” Caught between the need to kiss him – and kill him. Right here, right now.
Every moment rolled into his and he walks across the porch and she snarls a growled frustrated sound from somewhere within. Hand slams against the doorframe and she turns to press forehead against it lightly before growling ”fuck.”
Bloody. Fuckin. Hell.
She turns and flips dire off “mind y’own fuckin business man.” Before she’s stalking to the other end of the porch and falling into one of the chairs and lighting another fucking cigarette. Feet stretching out to cross ankles on the railing.

(decker)
No particular visible acknowledgment as his packmate leaves. They seemed to have a sort of familiarity with each other, the Eagle pack, that can preclude such things as hellos, goodbyes, words.

Acknowledgment of the unspoken goodnight is present in his very presence. It's there in his form, in the texture of his skin and the air he breathes out. James goes in and Decker passes a slow thoughtful hand over his bandage. Pulls it out a distance and looks in at the taut, torn flesh beneath. Gettin' there. Not that it was making any progress whatsoever in his form.

Door shuts as James leaves. Like iron to the lodestone, Decker could probably point over his shoulder and through the condo, unerringly in the direction of the sink moon. Could probably trace its path with his finger through the starbright sky, even having never once seen her face tonight. Children of Gaia and chosen of Luna, the wolf-shifters, and to deny their chosen moon costs dearly.

It's worth it.

Slow breath in, and out. She ain't pack, so she can't be acknowledged just by presence alone. He flicks his gaze toward her eventually, skating over features remembered and known and, now, seen.

Faint smirk. "Been hidin' out here all night?"

Posted by james at 12:00 AM
April 12, 2003
.04.12.03. - i'd be more worried about the counter... [rune]

[noje]

(james)
the sun's falling
closer and closer to that inevitable death on the horizon
only to be reborn once more come the blessed kiss of dawn
but that's hours from now
he doesn't even think about what's going to happen between now and then
for now? he's enjoying watching the blazing orb drug by invisable hands to the darkness below
the way the orange blaze streaks through the budding trees across the manicured lawns of the compex
the reddened gleam that bounces reflexive off the terracotta balcony tiles
the yellow glow that's filtered on the gauzy drawn curtains - you know, the ones that block the heat but let in the light? he's got them parted like a whimsied frame about the big glass doors, the heavier insulating curtains set aside because the days have finally fallen into the consistant pattern that herald's summer's claim on the lands, but right now, there's just spring in the air, the easy awakening of Gaia after the long winter slumber

whether he's watching the sunset itself or the play of light on the half-full beer bottle is yet to be discerned
half-curled half-draped on the couch sideways
upper body weight resting across one arm across one plush leather almost overstuffed arm
that bottle dangling precariously between lazy finger's grip above the thick carpet
the rest of him just spills down into the cushions
one leg tucked beneath, the other trailing down onto the floor
toes dragging in the pile as if they were errant waves
the couch becoming a raft for some sailor's dream voyage off towards the horizon in the mysterious seventh sea

wifebeater clings to curved torso - spring outside, it's still Southern California summer inside
finally down to one layer of pants, just the old BDUs, blessedly airy without the layers of thermals beneath
dreads layered tangled jungle vines down his back
Tom Petty's quietly crooning from the expensive stereo

yeh... s'agood evening, isn't it, Jamey-boy....

(rune)
Spring is something of a surprise to the Glass Walker. Just when she got used to winter, the world decides to change things around again, and now it means that instead of snow and ice, one has mud and puddles to deal with, and every curb is treacherous with swift little rivulets of runoff, refuse bobbing like flotsam atop the current. And then there's the changeable weather: sun and storm, and now and then, the threat of snow of an evening, the temperature that changes on a dime, blissfully warm beneath the sun drops to fucking nothing in the shade, or even worse, then the sun goes down, which makes it hard to decide what to wear.

Maybe that's why - even though she wears, usually, variations on the same damn thing every night - she spent an hour in front of the closet before her shower, studying it as if the decision were a matter of state, something important in the balance of the war.

Only the third stair from the bottom creaks beneath her weight as she descends, though the Gnawer does not need that aural announcement to be aware of her presence. He can feel her here, just as he could likely feel her moving around upstairs, a faint pressure in the back of his mind, a subdural awareness of her restless presence. Her hair is still wet from the shower, pushed back away from her face, though a few strands fall forward across the sharp line of her pale cheek and cling jealously to the smooth skin. The black silk camisole she chose - edged with a scallop of lace at the hem - shifts liquid with each movement, skimming rather than define the lean line of her torso beneath, and the subtle rasp of denim rather than leather accompanies each step.

The Glass Walker pauses at the bottom of the steps, framed in the doorway to the living room, one hip resting easily against the frame. "'Morning, glory," she says, her voice quiet but sardonic, the usual caustic edge, mildly self-mocking, as she breaks her rules and lights a cigarette inside

(james)
he doesn't need the step to alert him
he could feel her prowling around upstairs just as if she were in the kitchen behind him
and maybe that's what's kept the ghost of a smile on his lips even as mind drifted
just to have that presence near of the pacing beast so frightening to others yet so dear to himself

there's a deft shift of beer bottle in fingers
allowing for his other hand to reach down and grab the new bottle resting beside his trailing foot
it's carbonation escapes with complaining hiss when the cap's twisted free
already held out to her even before he tears his eyes away from the personal movie he seems so enrapt with

"Mornin', beautiful..."

there's a blink over umber eyes, and finally his gaze shifts away
the condo is empty but for them (which would be why he has control over the stereo) and perhaps that's why he lets the wall slip, a little, indulging in the verbal affection so rare between them - because the others watch, because she's no need for such compliments, because of a thousand reasons that keep what would be so normal between couples at bay between them, two warriors caught in a war that makes romance a thing of dreams and wishes

sometimes you just have to dream a little

affectionate grin rakes lopsided over features
brow lifting a little at the silky camisole paired with rugged denim
he never says everything he notices about her
every. little. thing.
but in the way he looks at her, and the way he just smiles
he doesn't miss a thing
(just her, always her, whenever they're forced away by duty)

(rune)
It's a raw, half-grin she offers him as she pushes away from the door frame, movement centered low in her torso - the center of balance somewhere hip level, just lower - without the need for a stray hand to balance. Sauntering across the plush carpet (swish-swish, swish-swish, the quiet, sighing song of her footsteps, weight depressing the thick pile) she takes a long, slow drag on her cigarette, then allows her hand to fall to her side.

The Glass Walker holds the smoke inside her lungs as if she were smoking a joint, the sky-blue paper stuffed with fragrant marijuana. Her first poisoned breath of the day is a blessed one, and her eyes lose focus for a half-second as the woozy jolt of nicotine hits her system. Only the first breath of the day is like this. It's like the first time she smoked, the strange, displacing headrush, though compacted and deadened by long addiction. Only the first breath, and no other.

"Flatterer." Dismissive, the word, caustic, even, though accompanied by the other half of that earlier, fading grin and a brief snort, smoke spilling twin streams from her nostrils. She accepts the beer with sure avidity (breakfast of champion), hand curving around the cool glass, fingers tracing an absent line along the edge of the label as she tips it back and drinks. "...and that'll get you nowhere."

(james)
"I didn't expect it to."

no
to get somewhere with her? he could throw down a challenge
to get somewhere with her? he could say something that would raise her ire, something that would leave him aching and bruised and begging. for. more.
to get somewhere with her? he could damn well just explode off the couch and take it and leave her be..... panting.... for more
but he doesn't go anywhere
he just looks at her with that lopsided grin
some deep amusement glittering in the darkest parts of umber eyes
his own bottle tipped as if to make a point

"I was, however, aiming for that smile that you almost gave me."

he knows it was there in completion
seems while some dream they also play
she exhales the twin streams of snorted smoke
he stretches to let the plumes perfume his dreads
outright stealing the sky-blue smoke from her fingers
(when in Rome...)
claiming a drag for himself with a grin that may well be rogue

"You want some breakfast with your beer?"

(rune)
Some other woman might shriek out a playfully wounded hey! as he sucks down a stolen drag from ehr cigarette, and plant her hands upon her hips in mock anger, attempting to compose her features (sliding into a grin like a glacier into the sea) into a suitably serious expression. The Ahroun merely utters a faint, warning hiss that he may well take for invitation, and reclaims her cigarette a moment later by plucking it from his thieving hands.

"Careful, young grasshopper," Rune smirks (it was the Kung Fu marathon, late last night), "you're just asking for a lesson in respecting your elders, aren't you?"

Denim drags against the smooth Italian leather of the couch as she shifts position, just enough to keep the cigarette out of his easy reach. He going to have to get up, at the very least, if he wants to steal another drag. "I don't usually like to dilute the effects of my alcohol with food," she continues, her red mouth still curled into a certain smirk. "...but if the offer means you're cooking, I'll take you up on it."

(james)
she offers a faint warning hiss in retaliation
he? well. by that grin?
invitation duly accepted
some grins slide glacier into the sea
the slow slide then crash into blossoming explosion of expression
some grins creep and crawl and stalk
smoothing out from pleasure into sheer. deviant. bliss.
and the urban primitive rises like smokey spirit into the realm of her presence
muscle coiling and contracting to lengthen from lazy slouch this cobra flared defensive before sculpted goddess
there's no condo surrounding them anymore
suddenly it's disappeared as time reverts and draws them into the black hole of the past
support beams and drywall becoming the crafted stone columns of some ancient temple
there's nothing but the blazing preistess and this dreadlocked monster conjured from the deep realm of mystical ancestry

or...
one taunting Ahroun
faced with one playful Ahroun
stretching as if to chase after that that out-of-reach cigarette
though fingers seem distracted their journey and hook into the silken scoop of camisole front and center
(the creature reaching in yearn for the etherial goddess)
slowly pulling fabric towards him until she's no choice but to follow or silk rips
(the rabid animal stealing lecherous glance over exposed sacrificial skin)
rather than stealing the smoke, he steals, raids, and outright claims good morning kiss
(wicked wicked red red red lipstick smeared as bloody spoils of war)

"Well..... I could think of something that doesn't even involve cooking."

whispered treasonously across those smirking lips
lush swell of skin suddenly caught between the hard enamel of challenging teeth

"But you'd probably smack me for such a thought."

is it.... really.... a punishment?
his smile doesn't think so
though body removes itself from smack range nonetheless
already the pillows regain their shape from the insult of his weight
bare feet crossing carpet then linoleum tile stopping only before the great aluminum altar of FrigidAire

"Though I should probably feed you something sustaining before I ask such strenuous activities" as if that has ever stopped him before "Whatcha feel like?"

if that isn't an open ended question....

(rune)
"I'd do more than smack you - " no longer breathless, not after a long, stilling drag on her cigarette, smeared lipstick now staining the filter unevenly. One arm falls, and one arm rises: the cigarette smolders at her hip, while the beer bottle obscures half her face, as her thumb traces the line of her bruised mouth with some heavy pressure, restoring the defined edge of her red lipstick to some semblance of order as the corner of her mouth quirks upward in a familiar, hungry little smirk. "...and I think you know that."

All this, as he makes his way across the expanse to the fridge. When she's satisfied that something of her favorite mask has been restored, the Glass Walker pushes away from the edge of the couch, and saunters in his wake toward the kitchen. She settles against the breakfast bar, this time, stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray on the breakfast bar as her dark gaze crawls up and over him, eyes half-narrowed in thought.

"Is there some reason you think I need sustenance?" she askes, eschewing the question (and all its many undertones). There's amusement on the pale swath of her face, and something darker beneath the surface of her voice, not quite suggestion, not quite challenge, not quite riposte, but some graveled combination of the three, undercut by something else, more difficult to name. "I'm perfectly capable of holding my own."

Her elbow is flung casually onto the tiled surface that supports the weight of her torso, and the beer bottle rests against her hip. Dark lashes fall to half-mast as she lips the bottle and takes another long drink, alcohol hitting her empty stomach, but not quite going to her head. Not yet. "Can you?"

(james)
so far it's the contents of the fridge that get the wicked little grin
oh. he. knows
(oh. he. craves.)
though surely the lowly purred chuckle makes its way back towards her
(the sound of predator's breath reverberating near silent in barrel chest before pouncing upon prey)
he can feel her sauntering approach
now that her perfect, favorite mask has somewhat been restored
now that she closes in behind him
and just like the prey, he can feel it at the small of his back
lumbar muscles twitching to life beneath the thin wifebeater
pulling his body from studious curve to that alert stand
(the deer stretched tall and wary with senses radaring to pinpoint the lion)
her weight casually drapes across the tiled counter
his weight pivots on axis to turn towards her
(face the attack, defend. your. self.)

she's taking another long from the bottle
he's casting that (suggestive?) little grin over muscular shoulder
dark eyes just watching her from the imagined shadows cast by the remnant cigarette's stubbed out smoke
and a brow.... lifts.... at that question

then things begin to happen in slow succession

the soft sigh of forsaken fridge swaying closed
the hollow clunk of his own near empty bottle settling on the counter
the near-silent press of sole against linoleum in crossing the divide between fridge and counter
the absolutely silent stretch of honed body in reaching across the counter
the scrape of blunt nails over rough denim as fingers wrap in waistband of jeans
the plaintive sigh of weave agaisnt tile's curve as her weight is lifted and drug across that bar that dares be between them

and suddenly, when they were so far apart, they're now back within close quarters
where the sun set in blazing glory just minutes ago
now there's that final flare of brilliance before the darkness solidifies its claim in dusk
the light the silhouettes her for his own, private mental photograph
the final, fatal embers that dance and weave in the liquid pools of earthen brown reflecting such things back to her
(everything I am, it is nothing compared to what I give to you)
his senses filling with her scent, his mind filling with her presence
(I would empty everything to make space for but a single blessing bestowed by your hand)
the wandering prose of his thoughts writ in the quirking smile

"I'd..... be more worried about the counter holding up......"

fuck breakfast... Luna swells in the sky....and it's been a week.

Posted by james at 12:00 AM