June 27, 2004.06.27.04 - ties that bind [tristan][riverfront]
(tristan)
At the garage. All the Eagles know where it is, as well as how to get ahold of him, and after the brief visit earlier, it’s not really surprising that he’s stayed close to home since then. After a bit of cleaning, he stretched out on the bed, the television playing some fuzzy story or another, while the pretty boy dozed.That was hours ago.
Now, he’s stepping out of the shower, toweling off, cursing the fact that the pattern of bruises down his back did not make his shower a very pleasant experience – nor the contortions one normally goes through while toweling off. The bruised rib isn’t helping either. Swears there is a big. bright. red. bullseye on his torso that says “oh! hit me HERE!”
Dustin is still sleeping, and after a brief kiss, he steps into his jeans, and pulls on a t-shirt, before stepping outside to settle on the stoop. 3am and the riverfront is relatively quiet. Pack and lighter materialize, and he lights a cigarette, exhaling slow, easily, while generally enjoying the coolness of the night air, vs. the earlier sweltering heat.
(james)
3am and the Riverfront is relatively quiet
that's what makes the soft query crack like a sudden gunshot"Gotta ligh'?"
words spill past lips in nothing more than a murmur, really
but this far removed from Chicago's more populated streets
they're ringing clear as a bell in the moist chill of early morning
unmarred by the constant background of civilization's whitenoise cacophany
out here? here that's only a distant hum of engines and neon
granting one raggedyman Bone Gnawer the chance to relax, if only for a few, rare momentsstucco'd grains bite into the curved muscle of arm pillowing his lean
dreads spilling haphazardly across the yoke of his shoulders
the garage walls did little to cover the sound of pipes channeling water within
so given the time..... James bided his until someone made an appearance
rather than disturb sleep (.... more like interrupt) with knuckles hammering on the doornot everybody lives on Eagle Pack time, after all
(tristan)
Yeah, he jumps a little (...ow.) before the voice actually filters through and is recognized. Sometimes the gift of Totemphone would be nice, but as always, the pull of brotherhood is tighter then anything else.Well then. There’s an easy grin as he chuckles. “Don’t I always?” and hands over the lighter, letting the neon pink (strippa pink!) lighter rest in fingertips outstretched by long arm toward his bro. “How long ya been waitin?” also known as, how much did you hear [and why didn’t you just join in......]? There are few reasons for taking a shower at 3am in the morning other then simply because one is awake and rank, after all.
And Tristan, he still lives on Eagle time. Always has. Maybe it’s the Eagles that live on fagboy time. Wouldn’t Decker find that amusing.... nah. probably not.
(james)
it probably wasn't Tristan's beauty sleep that stayed knocking hand
instead, perchance the thought such a shower was probably highly necessary
given the aftermath of the last time the Ahroun knew Dustin was around"Noh long." a pause, filled with ficked bic, well, flicked to set spark at the tip of Camel already clipped between straight lines of white teeth.... lengthened by the ambience wrought in exhaled smoke mixing with the hour's decorative sulferous streetlamp just down yonder way "Tha' rough, 'uh?"
brow cocks curiously towards mop-resembling mane
he saw that wince, allright(tristan)
He runs his fingers through curls, and settles to some reasonable amount of comfortable slouch as he contemplates how exactly to answer that. The last thing he needs is to give James a reason to go at Decker again, and be the cause of some riff there. Sober now, the reflections of last nights folly are a bit clearer. And while he doesn’t regret a damn thing he said – he’s rather certain James won’t take likely to Decker manhandling his kin.Could go the easy way out and simply say yes. And in fact, that’s what he does. As long as the bruises aren’t seen, he may not get caught in the untruth. “Pretty much. But worth it.” Though that – is the exact way to word it to be true for both situations.
fielded that ball – let’s see where the next volley heads.
(james)
surprisingly, the return volley doesn't really head anywhere
chin dipping as the Ahroun nods acceptance of the rather... vague.... explanation
doubting there would have been any fallacy from the kinsman in the first place
there's little reason for James to push the issue into detailed accounts of the last twenty-four hour's exploits
content instead to blow smoke rings at a fairly clear spot of curb just over there
seeming to do nothing more than simply enjoying a quiet moment in good company
the way the moon's swelling in the sky above.... these peaceful moments won't be so easy to find all too soon"Fig'red I'd stop by... s'on th' way back a th' fac'ry a work." doubted you'd be asleep the unsaid portion "See if y'r settlin' in 'gain allrigh'."
strangely idle conversation
which is, also, the unadulterated truth
but deep in earthen umber eyes - it shows
James got too comfortable and familiar with Family being so near
even if he hasn't been the most common of faces around the old building
and it takes a certain period of adjustment once these things change
happens when you're the only Gnawer in a pack full of Fenrir(tristan)
He knows the feeling. Though he loves being this close to Dustin, to having his own place, it takes a certain period of adjustment to realize you can’t simply yell across the room to pull you’re family member over and show them some strange little thing, or relate some tale, or just thump them on the shoulders for being your brother. No other reason ever really needed.He well remembers just –how- much time the kin spent at the Condo after first moving into his own little apartment. And how often James was a fixture in said apartment. Periods of adjustment always necessary. He looks up and meets that gaze, and it’s all writ in the soft little grin that plays over his lips. He knows. He understands.
“So, pull up a piece of cement and let me get you a beer. I –think- we might have a slice or three of pizza left too if your hungry...” only left over because they’d already eaten their way through one and a half pies themselves. “Settling in alright – even got us a real bed this time around. T-bone, he’s discussin with Dustin our renting the whole building. Not very big, but fits just fine for us, and rooms for the kids.” grinned, playfully.
(james)
"Alrea'y plannin' a more kids, 'uh?"an amazing amount of levity in his tone for how close the Full is
(working off steam slinging freight and feed around for several hours helps, too)
cock-eyed smile speading easy tease above rugged jawline
one brow lifted for good, method acting measure before weight shifts
pulling the lanky Garou of the wall towards the stoop's more comfortable reclinetwo steps down from his brother, James leans back to triangulate his weight on elbows
stretching out the kinks physical labor stiffened around long spine
BDUs extending ankles to cross lazily quarter way across the walk"Beer'd be d'vine." frown appears, staining this oddly wax of poetic phrase, and torso twists so a hand can reach to brush away smear of beige dust shadowing thigh somehow missed in shift-end cleanup.... though given the patterning of sweat-glued grime across tanned and inked flesh of hovering arm, the attention is not particularly successful if making a difference in tusseled appearance "Though.... hard press a b'lieve two Gnawers'd leave pizza sittin' 'roun' all d'fenseless...."
(tristan)
He chuckles, and watches as his brother sits down, and shakes his head. “Well, Dustin did say if I keep bringing home strays I’d best get a real job. Gonna break the garage into two rooms, Kemps, and one for Rumor too. Take the rest of the building for ourselves, and the kids have their own entrance, and don’t feel like I’m ‘Mom’ing them too much.”He takes a final drag off his cigarette, and flicks it off into the gutter, nodding as he agrees to the beer, and then outright laughing at the last, hand sliding to press against skin above sore rib, behind the gaze of James, especially as he plucks some bit of grime from BDUs.
A moment, a wicked little grin, as he leans down, and murmurs... “My mouth was full.” as reason for there still being some pizza left. He chuckles, and pushes to a stand with a small grunt of effort, before slipping inside to retrieve beer, and what’s left of the (2nd, mind you. When Kemp’s home, they order three full ones, sometimes four.) pizza on the table.
A few moments, and he’s back again, settling down, chill of beer well iced in cooler inside resting against his brother’s shoulder to take before handing over the poor defenseless pizza too.
(james)
and even though animal senses clearly note the door swinging back open behind him
and even though James should clearly know better
the Ahroun just about comes. out. of. his. SKIN when the iced bottle hits warm flesh
lingering heat of exertion in muscles beneath suddenly twisting protest's offense
wifebeater exposed tan and ashen scars literally craaaaaawling in situpsquirm to get away"Hey." outright snarled as the Fostern outright snatches offered, defenseless, pizza... and just as quickly the mood shifts again, snappish outburst tempered into that familiarly easy and lopsided grin "Thank'."
note the deliberate lack of comment to the current versions of explanation
(tristan)
Oh. So noted.He just laughs, because truly, James knew it was coming, or at least should have, as the taller, lankier kin slides back to reoccupy his step, opening his own beer as he just.... grins, and lifts his beer in mischivious toasting gesture that matches that dancing look in dark gaze.
“Welcome. I lied though.”
Oh! True confessions of the Pretty boy Kin!
What is it now? The truth of the past 24 hours?
Some long lost love come back to haunt him?
What is behind the lazy gaze that slides over the resettling form of his brother?No... it is something far more terrifying, far more heartbreaking!
it is...
“There’s only two pieces left, not three.”
(james)
shoulders flex and roll the chill's offending memory from surface flesh
a scowl that should appear getting lost somewhere in the translation
the wonderful affect of food that.... disappears.....
the two slices sandwhiched together for ease of consumption in all of about six biteslo, the Ahroun does not chew, instead he simply inhales and swallows in true Bone Gnawer style
then cracks open the beer
(tristan)
He chuckles and shakes his head, tipping the bottle back and swallowing several times. At least by now he’s lost hangover’s edge, and is able to laugh and relax. Unlike earlier visit to the factory.“Shoulda seen Kemp earlier. All decked out – found himself a kiddy pool and lawn chair. All decked out for sunbathing, ghetto style, complete with drink in hand, styrophone cup with a little umbrella and everything. Kept trying to get Imogen to join him...”
Casual the conversation. Easy shift of telling all to telling nothing, to telling all again. Brotherhood is like that.
“Decker did instead. Was rather amusing in a somewhat disturbing kind of way...” wry chuckle.
(james)
instead of coming out of his skin at the latest turn of convesational events
James practically chokes on the mouthful of beer
coughing his interpretation of a laugh"Jus' somewha'?" reaching to wipe away drops of amber with the back of his hand, gloriously ignoring the transferrance of dusty grime leaving smeared trail slashing across the lower half of features, simply because at this point - it doesn't make a fucking difference, now does it, just as desperate for his own shower if for an entirely different reason... and procrastinating grandly by allowing the hand to continue it's journey and raise bottle in victory's cheer "Th' South sh'll rise 'gain.... 'n this time w'th a grea' tan!"
(tristan)
He can’t help but crack up, thumping his bro helpfully on the shoulders as he near chokes, grinning as arm wraps around belly, hand pressed across spread of back, so as to minimize the ache from continued mirth. He leans over bent knees, beer dangling from outstretched arm, the other pressed between chest and thighs as thin white cotton stretches over back and shoulders.“Here, here!” Beer lifts in salute, still laughing. “It was somethin, alright. Justified by the fact the Modi was in the somewhat suspiciously murky water legs stretched out under Kemp and the chair he’d sat on. Either way, it was quite.... frightening. I think even Imogen managed something of an amused grin once or twice.”
Justified, because heaven forbid the modi be that close to another man, even a kid, without some sort of explanation. He doesn’t mention the continued grime trailed over James’ face, because it just doesn’t matter. Unless he could get him into the shower..... behave pretty boy. Behave.
(james)
and for a moment James just staaaaares
in part, morbidly curious about the frightening amusement of the situation
in part, divinely thankful he was otherwise detained in the Stockyard's warehouse
it's one of those times you just don't know about
and as much as you want to find out more to appease the rising curiosity
logic and self preservation prevails to merrily continue the conversation on it's way
(carry on folks, nothing to see here, just move it along....)
head shaking the remnants of his laughter
lubricated by a few healthy (....?) swallows from the bottleif his eyes stray in glance that notices the protective posture or dark shadows beneath thin white cotton
he doesn't outwardly betray the observation or whatever thoughts it may subsequently induce
not until he's drained anouther inch and a half of liquid gold from sweating glass"Need me a bine it?"
chin lifting in gesture towards oh so protected ribs should his brother look over
(tristan)
He laughs, shaking his head as James Stares. “I’da given anything for a camera man. It was really priceless... and then Decker started plucking at the duct tape holding the whole contraption together, and Kemp was scolding him in a very mom like way, and he jerked his hand back as if he was caught in the cookie jar.... I’m telling ya, I’d make millions on Funniest home videos if I’d just had a cam...”nothing to see here, at all. he’s tipping his bottle back, and drinking down several healthy swallows, as it’s still on the healthy level and not where he was last night. Surprised Kemp didn’t lecture him on drunkeness. again. heh.
Then it’s noted, and part of him considers just ignoring anything was said at all, and another was wondering how long it would take, and partly he’s been concocting a story that would keep his brother from going after his packmate. But mostly he’s remembering Kemp in his shorts flopping around happily in the murky water of a kiddy pool.
Finally, as he glances over, he just nods. “Would ya? Trying not to worry Dustin much – and he can’t quite get em taped tight enough.” chuckles. “too afraid to hurt me.”
(james)
appreciation lingers in the wayward curve of remaining smile
but attention shifts gears to concentrate on the injury obviously more than originally surmised
lanky guttermutt stretching to stand, so that he can offer a hand down to his brother
nodding a curt acceptance of the task, even if such cut and dry response is flavored with the shades of devious smirk"See.... dunn go' tha' pro'l'm." in fact, that might even be a leer "'cuase I know ya like 't when I rough ya up."
payback for that mouthful comment a bitch, isn't it
(tristan)
He takes the offered hand, and then growls somewhat convincingly, even as he’s chuckling and shaking his head, gaze lowered as he grits his teeth through that lift upwards, flex of jaw hidden behind slide of corkscrew curls. “Tease. A fuckin tease, that’s all you are....”Like he’s any better, of course. Upright, he lifts his gaze and grins, before heading to the door. “Don’t worry bout waking him up. He’s exhausted and sleeps through near anything anyway. Got a kit in the bathroom.”
He opens the door and moves inside. Same old garage, with beat up lumpy (comfortable) couch, the mural they’d worked on still on the back wall, including the bottom left hand corner obsene contribution by Kemp, bed in the far corner with a lump of blankets that is, presumably, Dustin. “S’more beer in the cooler by the couch...” offered, easily, as he goes to the bathroom for the medkit. No Kin in his right mind would be without one, after all. Inside some rather.. expensive.. things in there too... pays to have another Kin with access to actual medical supplies. How else would he have his own stitch kit? But it’s the tape he paws through and finds, before returning to the ‘living room’ and his bro.
(james)
another series of nods follows the kinsman inside
James responsibly locking the garage door behind him
(Paranoid are ya, Elderman?)
by the time Tristan's coming back out with the taping supplies
the Ahroun's waving him back towards the bathroom with two beers in hand"S'better ligh'." excused with yet another playful smirk "'n common, you 'spect me not a tease when gift'd th' perfec' opp'rtunity a getcha in th' bathroom 'n barkin' orders a strip?" one slightly longer step forward and the Full Moon's acting as if reaching out with one hand to feel the prettybio's forehead "You runnin' a fev'r there too, Tris?" chide concluded when wrist twists to instead offer the new bottle
(tristan)
.....blink. and flush. Yes, he managed to get the pretty boy to blush as he leans into what would be a touch across his forhead, before reaching up to snag the beer and just shakes his head. “you’ve been hanging with me too long. Stealing all my best moves.”Grins. “gonna kneel before me in the shower too? I’m told that’s one of my best moves.....”
And he turns and makes his way right back toward that bathroom, and he doesn’t even start to strip until that order comes. Only when it does (...ooooooooh like the forceful command stuff...) does he finally peel off that shirt while facing James. Prolonging the sight of his back, perhaps, though there’s the mirror right behind him. He hooks a thumb against the button of his jeans and arches a brow. “Want I should take these off too?”
(james)
the prettyboi flushes
the guttermutt..... smirks
as for sure, he knew... he. KNEW.... what the response would be
probably just as Tristan could have expected the sudden silence responding instead of the readying quipJames..... just didn't have an answer for that one.... not even a word
saved by the bell, or at least the substituting strip at which he can get away with grinned commentary
beer cracked open during this verbal spar intermission
which has his head tilting back down from swallow at juuuuust about the right time to see bruised reflection over Tristan's shoulder
brows furrow, frown begins replacing that grinned commentary at the latter parts of slow swallow, arm lowers to set bottle on the counter
fingers still chilled by clinging condensation slide over the top of his brother's shoulder
for all the strength the Ahroun has beneath his human mask - the touch is light enough to suggest a turn without adding further insult to existing injurymedical practitioner James is not, however even he can tell these bruises do not come from previously assumed activities
and having been in more than his fair share of brawls
the raggedyman is pretty damned sure what did cause them, if not who
(..... rage flares....)
switchstance demeanor clicking into gear again so that he can devise a response for this round
highlighting it with scythe slash of that forever crooked grin"Depen'...." the touch of calloused fingers against Tristan's flank completing the turn which puts his back beneath the best of available lighting so that the Fostern can properly summise what he's about to deal with, just as pointed misdirection of sight from the hardening lines of his jaw or the flickering storm brewing in dark earthen eyes.... though... there is that mirror ".... 'e try a break y'r hips, too?"
(tristan)
Rage. flares. And he knew it would. Part of him cheers the fact, but it is mostly overshadowed by the flicker of worry in his own dark gaze though the slide of chilled hand, caress of fingers over shoulder that beckons, amazingly gently, a turn to better see under the brightness of bathroom’s lighting.He knows there is a tightening of jaw, he knows that he’s being pointedly directed away so as not to see it, or the brewing storm, even through the little quip at the end. There’s a chuckle. “depends.” answered in kind... “which answer will have you getting into my pants....”
A fair share of brawls leads to the knowledge of what would cause such bruising, just not the knowledge of who. dark gaze lifts to meet umber in mirror, to watch the blossoming cloud that threatens to take over earthen tones, and there is a clink of glass as his bottle is set on the sink, and he completes the turn, a full 360 degrees to face James again. He slides his hands up, until fingers caress across mismatched jaw, head dropping, tipping, as if he might break through all teases and kiss him, though it stops with his forehead resting lightly against James’... “...don’t. Just... don’t.”
For a moment, that’s all he says.. and then it’s very soft... “I’ll fess up the whole story if you want me too, but you have to swear, swear not to go after him about it first. It was my fault.”
After all. It is always the Kin who are blamed....
A pause, as thumb, callused from years of playing and pulling music softly from wood and strong slides lightly over James’ lips (this close – this close it is a burning agony of sudden need...) before he manages to pull away, and meet his gaze evenly, and turn back around, finding safety in reflections gaze, rather then the burning heat of facing it dead on.
(james)
don't.... just.... don't
(please)
and for the moment, the beast stands silent beneath kinsman's halting touch: as if whatever burned primally subdermal within them communicated through the thin barriers of skull and flesh remaining between their minds and words, so clumsily vulgar, were no longer necessary to illustrate the complexities of animalistic impression
ancestor's body language transcends the limitations of defined, modern phrasesoft stroke across the Warrior's mouth quelling sideblast avalanche of need
it would be seen as nothing more than one shushing away the other's livid nightmares
even if it is the nightmare itself that lurks behind the surface of steadily returned gaze
shortened distance warmed by the controlling exhale spilling humid breath cascade crash onto musician's knuckles instead of venomous demands
affection accepted, request granted, invisable energy crackling fiercely against the silence
molecular war brewing storm in the silence that raises hairs bravely guarding exposed, damaged skin
limitless the possibilities of what would break right. now. should the distance close by pushing aside playful tease for the sake of fatal temptation
the human closes his eyes as the wolf rumbles sighing protest by swallowing instead urges fueled by wrath
fingertips that should bear claws dragging lucid trails through bodyheat's change in escaping turn
for the moment..... he will not"Think it'd be th' firs' thing we brawl' ov'r....." rhetorical question escaping through stating sigh, James not needing the second and third guesses to narrow down the possibilities of who possessed the strength to cause the damage, as well as the position to warrant terms of oath regardless of what motivated the assault - Tristan doesn't have to worry about finding the courage to meet James' burning gaze, it's cast downwards to follow explorative trails of fingertips across darkly swollen skin "Maybe I shoul'n' know."
(tristan)
battle won for the moment, for now, he will not.Eyes close, however, as rhetorical question escapes, lashes falling over darkened gaze that no longer tries to meet that in the mirror, whispered kiss across cheeks as they seem to lead head to fall forward, to sag, to hang. Perhaps in shame, though it’s unlikely. No matter what has happened, no matter what he’s done, he’s rarely, if ever, been shamed by it. Unless it involved not standing up for what he felt was right – or he’d hurt Momma Grace.
This doesn’t fall into either category.
It also doesn’t stop the soft sigh as words filter through, and even softer moan as fingers explore over the details writ in swollen skin... the skin is warm, heated, though next to rage warmed fingertips it may not seem so.... and the shiver that slides through lean frame is countered by tightening of fingers against the edge of counter... though it does nothing to stop the subtle shift of weight into the touch either.
left broken or not, he’d still risk that temptation, the satiation of burning need that sizzles under skin, screams through flesh under the softness of wondering fingers...
he finally finds a voice. Still that achingly soft murmur, laced with continued soft moans bought by trailing fingertips... answering first. “Likely not...” be the first... “but I won’t let it be the last.... not if I can help it.” there’s a little sound, amusement now, as head lifts again, and seeks the soft umber of the warrior’s gaze in the mirror again. Soft, the barest hints given of what went on.... “Maybe, but I’d rather you not decide to ask him.”
Only when that gaze lifts and meets his own, does he continue with the shortest possible version. “Was drunk. we had some words regarding my reclining against Dustin, as well as his pimping out packmates and kin. Then we had some more about my pushing his buttons, intentionally or not.” And he pushed once too far. Twice, really. “That’s all.” And then, even now, he can’t help the sudden slide of that grin, even now he can’t resist the tease.. “You know damn well how loose my lips can be while under the influence...”
(james)
there are many types of silences
some are peaceful, remaining much as the first moments the two Gnawers spent together on the stoop
some are frightening, filled by the sub-audial crescendo of an Ahroun's mounting Rage
some are contemplative, as touch suffices to narrate the phrases for which vocabulary fails
some are expectant, merely placeholding anticipation's measure building the bridge connecting once more the abstract and concrete realms
reluctantly, the raggedyman draws his gaze away from the mottled patterns of tender flesh
wandering touch stilling, rough palms flattening warmly just below the furthest reaches of temper's stain
agitation drawing them away far too soon only to settle in loose coil encircling the kinsman's shoulders
but here they remain, basking in temporary comfort of peaceand still, his silence reigns
jaw flexing against the currents of rambling thought straining to evolve to word
balance sought between the explosion of instinct and intellect
chin drops in a nod that shakes ropey dreads affirming some subconscious decision"Wou'd'n' get far ask'n' 'm." wryly bitter humor tainting chuffed breath, stretching to finally reach for the tape, crackling presence of what heats his own skin rising as the meager distance between reduces to half "Wou'd'n' un'erstan' why I'm so mad a him bruisin' you when I' leavin' marks 'n Im'gen."
the distance expands to facilitate a shrug
and eye for an eye and a bruise for a bruise
dark gaze falls away, excused by the requirement judging length of tape stripped free(tristan)
So many silences. So many ways to say what’s running rampant behind dark eyes, locked under skin, under the slide of fingertips. So many ways to not say anything at all. The easiest, of course, is through touch.A tough he desires. wants. needs. dreams of. craves. He could fuck a thousand men, and never feel what he does when fingers spread, so lightly, palms flattening just below tenderized skin, and it’s written in the way lip is bitten in attempt to hold back that moan that escapes anyway. it’s written in the way his own hands free the counter from tightened grip to lift and slide over loosely coiled circle of his shoulders.
Fleeting, and temporary, the peace gained, but it is with a slight lessoning of tension that reluctant nod brings, affirming the decision that results in crackling of heat intensifying through the reducing distance, only to have it reversed, and a blink lifting gaze to study his brother when that gaze falls away.
It takes all of half a minute, perhaps even less, to put it together. Defenses. “Ah.” and he can’t help the softness of the chuckle as he nods. It would certainly be something that wouldn’t be understood – for several reasons.
This time, when hands return to the edge of counter, it is to brace for what is about to come, for the rip of tape, for the wrap that will likely steal his breath away again.
(james)
"'n you' seen how far we get tryin' a discuss things." idle commentary negotiating the time passed while tearing several more strips of tape, tacked within easy reach to dangle freely from the edge of the counter "Seems only time we get 'long when 'r mouths 'r too busy wi' food a piss each oth'r off, r claws too fulla the Wyrm a have time a turn 'n each oth'r."while the roll of shoulders into another shrug was supposed to be as idle as the previous commentary
it isn't hard to notice that such a fractious existance with his packmate troubles the Ahroun
there are certain things a Bone Gnawer has to accept when willing packing with Fenrir
(men are from mars, women are from Venus, Gnawers are from Pluto, and Get hailed from another galaxy entirely)
but that still doesn't dismiss the man's existance behind the Warrior's fury
made all the worse considering the Modi is perhaps the oldest friend (were they ever friends beyond packmates?) James currently has"Think we las' longer in th' ring dukin' it out th'n tryin a hol' a decen' conv'rsat'n." a wry grin flickers hesitatnt appearance in his reflection, finally looking back to the mirror and at his brother.... curve slowly and slyly widening as it dawns upon the Fostern just exactly what he gets to say next: "Brace y'rsel', boi."
playfulness marginally returning in a wiggle of brow
before the taping begins without any other warning
James plays doctor in the same way he was taught to defend himself on the streets of Albany
finishing the job fast and hard before he has change to steal more than that first breath(tristan)
He chuckles, softly. Often wondered how James ended up packed with the fenrir, as many who meet him do. It’s easily to learn why James is the PR for the group, but not so easy to see why, exactly. But he knows just how deeply that loyalty to pack goes, far beyond the trouble that brews in burnt umber. The oldest friend, is not necessarily the best, of course, but still, the loyalty is there.A nod, understanding, before he looks up to meet that grin brow lifting at the slyly widening smile before he says...
oh, gonna be like that, hm?
But of course, before there’s any chance to reply beyond the parting of lips on the pretty boy, breath is stolen with the down and dirty efforts of the Ahroun playing doctor.... (somehow, playing doctor was supposed to be a much more fulfilling experience...) He could very well be a graduate of the Imogen Slaughter Course of Medicine 101. Do it fast, do it dirty, and be done with it.
Hand lifts from counter, slapping against the mirror with a grunted cry, fingers curling into a fist as he’s finally let go and can bend forward to rest his forehead against cool glass while the other fingers maintain the tightest hold on rim of counter near hip. finally, a wry twist to lips as he lifts his head, and takes a careful breath. “So. was it good for you?”
(james)
Tristan nearly collapses against the counter
quite understandably taking a few moments to refamiliarize himself with breathing
the Ahroun can't help quiet chuckle during the step to the side
comfortably leaning his weight against the remaining free space
by the time the prettyboi's able to look back up
James is holding out a lit cigarette in true post co.... event.... fashion
the practically silly grin what he, thus, does not
relying on the so-called cigarette-worthyness to say it all(tristan)
He can’t help the laughter that escapes, as he lifts his fingers to slide over James’ hand, grasping the cigarette as he leans closer, again, closing that distance, as if he might go all the way, before pausing, and with a wink. “Thank you.”Standing upright, he tests the taping job with an easy slide of fingers and very careful breath. a nod, as he brings the cigarette to lips and inhaling deeply. a nice slow exhale, as he turns to lean against the counter as well. The small bathroom doesn’t afford much space, and others would flee from the press of rage in such close quarters, but Tristan isn’t like the others. He accepts it all, him, completely. “You do know, th’next time you say t’me... it won’t be t’use tape...”
Oh, so confident, that chuckle...
(james)
"T'be hones'...."following admission paused in the roll of softly growling chuckle
James doesn't have to stretch far to steal the smoke back
he doesn't even shift his weight from where gravity kept it against the counter
simply extending an arm in the small, enclosed space
illustrating the comment with absent wave before inhale"Nev'r 'spected a say it th' firs' time 'bout tape."
whether he ever expected to say it at all....
(tristan)
Well then. “ah, so you admit there will be another time...” teased, just as easily as breath, watching the absent gesture that is followed by exhalations plume, body curved in easy slouch afforded now by ribs additional support. A hand drops between them, to rest against the counter, of course, though the tightness of the space gives just enough additional heat against hip to signify the contact, and the touch, is quite deliberate.“It’s tempting....”
to say the least – though he doesn’t exactly clarify what is so tempting at first. But after a moment, his hand slides across to trail down grime covered bdu, fingertips tugging at the fabric before he finishes his thought... “To demand you strip...”Pause. of course. He is a showman – timing is everything.
“so I could at least get you into the shower, and into something clean...”
[and supremely evil fade by wolf, heh]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 25, 2004.06.25.04. - so. fucking. close. [tristan][riverfront]
(james)
23rd Street at the corner of Banner Ave
one nickle-arcade's pinball machine going bugnuts
100 points for hitting this target
1500 points for completing that mission
WhoopWhoopWhoop re-launch award!
lights and buzzers ringing some cacophany of victorious soundfingers snapping buttons to keep the rocketship symbolizing ball in motion
beeps, blips, clangs, and other various sound effects spilling onto the street
concerted with the tumultous sounds clamoring further inside
brilliant display of fractious neon lights bounce off skin bared by A-line shirt
wifebeater clinging to the sweeps and planes of leanly muscular torso
every one in a while, the strobes highlight dark lines hidden by thinly white cotton
matching up bodymod patterns to the swirly inks tribalizing inner right armunfortunately, the guttermutt can't hear it
James' ears are covered by the phones of a discman
which, in turn, are covered by the long ropey strands of his dreads
but he's paying it no mind - it's ALL about "Space Cadet" and whateverthehell is on that discman(tristan)
There’s a little garage, tucked into the backwater streets of the Riverfront, where one might remember a certain pair of gnawers made their first home together, complete with a corner set aside for their boy. It would seem that garage is occupied again, and it could very likely be by one lanky Gnawer stepping out of the door and stretching. It’s just temporary, of course, until they procure another little fixer upper house that hopefully will last more then a week before being demolished, but it still has the feeling of home.Hell, it still has Kemp’s vulgar ‘addition’ to the paint mural along the back wall they worked tirelessly on.
Time to collect his stuff, and tell the boys – they’re doing their own fucking laundry again. (Who’s he kidding. he’ll do whomever’s is needed when he comes by to do his own.). Long strides eat the ground between here and there, and it’s not long before he’s turning onto 23rd street, heading toward the corner of Banner Ave.
There’s no mistaking that form firmly attached to the pinball machine, nor the rage that crackles around him. What is different is the fact that for a moment, a split second, he considers turning around and walking the other way. Whatever happened – he is not sure he wants to know. Whatever lecture is going to come from his little drinking spree (the second since Kemp plays a convincing mom when he wants too) or the attitude that flowed too freely from it, he’s not sure he is in the right frame of mind to hear it. And hearing ANYTHING about her is likely to send him right on over the edge, again.
But in the end, he does head that way, the pull of brotherhood stronger then anything else, moving steadily before he looses his nerve until shoulder finds the wall next to the machine, quick glance noting the earphones, negating the need for speech, as dark gaze falls to watch the. ahem. balls in play.
(decker)
"Fuck. That look ain't good on ya, Kemp."Decker comes ... swayin' out of one of them ever-so-convenient alleys. The way he always shows up in or around 'em, you'd think Decker had his own personal wormholes to tunnel through, connected to each and every one of the alleys in the city.
He don't, of course. But he wouldn't mind if he did.
The Tacoma, all fixed up again with its semi-transparent rebel flag on the back, is parked a few blocks away, in front of the liquor store from which he got the bottle of Jack dangling from his fingers. Slumping his weight heavily against the wall, he passes it to Kemp. It's already half-empty.
(Pessimistic this.)
"Who's yer friend?" A careless glance razors down the chick. Decker swore the kid had more girl circling him than a pimp had ho's.
(kemp)
A quick glance towards Decker, then a snicker in accepting the bottle to take a look at the level before handing it back to Decker, untouched. "Some poor lost little girl from the Middle Kingdom with the name of Sarah, even if it don't fit. Who just got put on a plane by mystery people, and landed, to meet no one and got robbed and lost her memory and is sooooo lost." A glance towards Sarah and back to Decker. "Unless ya want her other story, which is, she's a fuckin liar and offers to suck ya for ten bucks."(maxine bell)
No clue what street she’s pulled up on, she leans back into the vehicle and pulls out a map, cigarette between two fingers as she traces her route along it. Ash dropping onto the colored grid map of intersecting lines and tiny lettering.Smoke replaced between the lips, jiggling as she attempts to fold up the paper and fails.
“Fuckin’ useless waste of money.”
It’s crumpled up into a ball and chucked carelessly over a shoulder, not particularly fussed over where the hell it lands. She leans into the car and pulls the keys, grabs a bag and nudges the creaky door shut with a hip. Turning, exhaling, sauntering across the street […it’s all one god damned motion with her…] she flips the bird and curtsies to a car that assumes to honk her jay walking. After lingering before the car a minute, long enough to give a full-fledged smirk to the driver, the Kin steps up onto the curb and drapes herself against a lamppost, finishing her cigarette and flicking it away. […Litterbug this one…] Saying through a haze of smoke to the guy with the chick.
“Hey. Where’s the nearest Hotel?”
(sarah)
"WELL!" she exclaims in a raised voice.
"I was hungry. Thought maybe the ignorant damsel routine might work.
Guess I was too dumb to think you'd fall for it."
stormcloud eyes roll up towards the Heavens.
the girl pivots on the front soles of her boots.
swinging the lean, petite frame of hers in Decker's direction.
she was small... petite even.
and shorter than Kemp.
an inch shorter than five feet, no wonder you'd think she was a child.
bound in fishnet and pleated vinyl.
fashioned in corset, skirt and stockings.
lanky tendrils of black hair sweep around her face.
skin like porclein.
eyes slanted.
feminine curves almost hidden in the lean frame.
And Chinese to boot.
"I could kick your ass for ten dollars is more like it.."
she huffs at Kemp,
lifting up thin arms to fold them tightly across her chest.(decker)
Decker takes the bottle back with a shrug. He don't want it? More fer Decker. Ain't no skin off his back.Snorting, his careless gaze skimming sideways to glance down the street - sempre vigelis, or whatever. "Don't suck fer less'n twenty." That was the going rate in Jersey, anyhow. Maybe Midwestern whores got paid less.
His gaze snaps back to Maxine as she comes up outta nowhere. It's a gaze so fraught with tension you swear you hear the air crack. Then, wordlessly, he jerks his thumb at the big MOTEL 6 sign just up the street.
(kemp)
"Oh ho! She wants to lick my ass now!" Starting to laugh. "Oh wait!" Nodding to Maxine. "I betcha this girl here knows where all the motels are. Just ask her." Pointing to Sarah with that one. "But watch out for lies."(james)
ball in play
little silver meteorite zinging around the confined galaxy
weapons upgrade, refuel, hit the DAYUM target to choose your mission
and..... glance up (the pull of brotherhood stronger than anything else) with forever crooked grin"'ey Tris....."
a little louder than necessary since the discman's throwing his perceptions
dingdingdingCRASHBONUS
ball........out of play.d'oh
the Ahroun's grin slides waywardly sheepish
hip leaning against the aged pinball machine
breif interlude before the subsequent launch
headphones pulled off his ears and Rammstein offered to the world
(woah..... he can hear again)
hands slipping into his pockets to dig out pack of Camels"S'up?"
(sarah)
gloved-hand palms her face.
"Boys...." muttered behind leather fingers.
'Sarah' clears her throat, splaying the fingers away from her eyes to peek around them.
her head tilts up to regard the adults.(maxine)
“Hey man, whatever gets you off.” Is the response to the ass licking comment. She reaches into her bag and fishes out a fresh smoke, placing it between her lips and flicking back the auburn hair from the eyes.As for the chick Max barely graces her with a look as she snorts, leaning her curves more fully into the pole and returning the gaze Decker casts her. Absently scratching at her bare arm as he jerks his thumb. She follows his thumb back past him. The way she just came and there’s a husky laugh. She rolls her eyes.
“Well, fuck me. Thanks.”
(kemp)
Fuck, the entire city smoked. A nudge to the kick stand and he was rolling the Honda several feet further from Maxine's location.(tris)
Glance up, catch of gaze, and slight nod. Up, of course, one of many bad habits one picks up hanging with the eagles. Hand digs into pocket as the pack of camels appears from his brothers, battered bic pulled free and offered of long habit. Gaze slides over the machine, then back with a negligent shrug, free hand tucked into pocket. “Not much. Moving out. Again.”Nothing like dropping the bombshell right off. Mixed emotions about the whole thing play over his face. He’s glad Dustin’s home. He’s more then happy to have him, and a place, all to himself again. He desperately needs the break from the constant barrage of the whole Eagle Rage Machine Montage and all it’s little external dramas.
Hell, he needs a damn vacation. Gonna take one too. Disappear with the boy, and just remember what it’s like to live again.
(james)
he's found his own smoke, Camel long pulled out of the pack
but the lean guttermutt's stretching to kipe his brother's lighter
bic flicked behind the sheltering cup of hand
exhaled plume drifting off towards Chicago's latenight sky as he's handing it back"Dus'n home 'r......"
James is letting it disappear along the lines of that lungful of cancer that'll never affect him
remembering clearly the last time the two Gnawers crossed paths
(that entire night wasn't pretty, from belly wound to..... well....ahem)
knowing there's an amalgum of reasons that would make the prettyboi kin move out yet again
head tipping in curiosity that sends his dreads cascading over a scarred, muscled shoulder
discman and Space Cadet currently put on the backburner of his attention(decker)
Awareness of his packmate(s)' presence is never an uncertain thing. He knows without looking that Kemp's rolled his Honda away, escaping the fumes of certain cancerous death.Him, he was running on fumes of his own. Alcohol. Stone drunk. His back to the wall, slid down; the bottle balanced on his thigh, his hand gripping the neck. "Shit makes ya taste bad," he says, nodding at the cigarette, some private amusement quirking his mouth.
(kemp)
"Got that fuckin straight. And it makes ya stink." Adding his two cents to Decker's. Whoa, he was saying what Kemp thought and that was a little freaky. Watch your pockets man, don't know about the leather girl there, lied too much already. Sending his thoughts to his packmate.(decker)
Hell, got two bucks in my pocket, Decker's reply comes over the totemphone, wry, 'n a wallet chain ta keep'it there.(maxine)
Actually, she’s yet to light this one. It’s still just sitting between the red glossed lips. The dark eyes follow the movement of the bike and then quirk upward, curling into an amused smirk as she pulls it from between her lips and gestures with it instead. Straightening, uncoiling the limbs with a rustling of leather and boot. A toss of the hair back over a shoulder.“Fuck yeah it does. But hey, way I see it, I’m gonna die anyway. Only a matter of time. And either way I intend to go bitchin’ and hollarin’ so cancer isn’t my largest concern. I plan to have gone down in a blaze of glory long before I’m some old broad with no lungs and saggy tits.”
As she says this she’s turning so that her back is against the pole, bag dropped onto the pavement.
(kemp)
"Whatever, it's your stink." A shrug. Most of his attention on making sure he was out of possible stink range.(sarah)
conversations carry on around her.
her attentions seem to wane on the boy.
his dominance forgotten.
he is just a boy in monkey-skin.
lungs expand to softly breathe out warm air.
her head turns to the left, angled, watching nothing.
her eyes large and vacant once more.
lean, petite frame rolls back and forth from toe to heel on scuffy boots.
and then simply stops.(tristan)
He takes the lighter back, his own pack pulled free, cigarette lit, and both pack and lighter disappear while he exhales around an amused smirk. “Both.” There’s a drag of fingers through corkscrew curls, gaze fixed somewhere on some set of flashing lights that seem to have his attention, but in reality have absolutely none of it. More introspective then anything, perhaps, or maybe, just maybe, he can’t quite put it into words.Start with the good shit, then. Always better in the long run, right? “Knew he would be soon, he called a couple weeks ago. Back in the garage for a couple weeks until we finalize a place with the pay he got while gone, what’s left over after paying for Kemp’s bike repair.” and a lot was left, to be honest. We’ll just gloss right over the fact he had to force her to take the money and the ‘conversation’ that came after it. In fact, we’ll skip that all together.
inhale.
slow exhale.“and it’s just time to go.” little snort of amusement. “again.”
(james)
"Jus' time a go, huh?"there's a little wry amusement in the Ahroun's expression
smoke clenched between his teeth allowing some freedom to his hands
they're occupied in figuring out what's the STOP button on borrowed discman
(and it takes two tries and pulling it out of his pocket to damn well find it)
piston pulled to shoot the last ball into playashes filter down onto the machine's scratched and scuffed top
juggled loose by the Full Moon's attempts at keeping said ball. in. play.
dark brown dreads haphazardly bleached by summer sun almost long enough to brush them away"An'thing a do wi' las' week's blow'p?"
smirked, this time
partial distraction to the TotemPhoning going on with his packmates
it's an open line after all
but attention mostly remains on his brother kin and the game
(moooostly)
remembering well Tristan's witnessing of the little event between himself and Decker(decker)
"Whatever," apparently unimpressed by Maxine's rebel attitude, Decker's attention wanders down the street again. Always scopin' shit out. Always keeping an eye out. Even whilst plastered.He unscrews the cap and takes another pull. Then slouches another inch or so lower, giving Maxine a once-over. "Fuck you lookin' fer a hotel for?"
(sarah)
"Monkeys..." murmured absently to neither of them.
'Sarah' sidles away from the males,
pivoted on her boot heels, she turns away completely.
walking. prowling. consumed.
elsewhere.(maxine)
Max chuckles. Shrugs. Tucks the cigarette behind an ear and crosses her arms over her chest. Whatever indeed. Like she gives a damn what these guys think anyway? She’s got more important shit to think about. Like how much those watches’ll fetch at the pawnshop. Cancer can kiss her cute ass, as can her breath.She eyes Decker a moment. Tossing over whether to even respond. As it is she just smirks after a minute and glances after the chick. Eyeing her much the same way she does everything apparently. No apparent concern, just vague interest that wanes almost as quickly as her ability for small talk.
“Well I’d sleep in the car but it’s a piece of shit. Hotel equals bed an’ all.”
(kemp)
Keeping his thoughts to himself for now. And holding his tongue; not an easy task considering everything. Merely rocking back and forth on the bike.(decker)
"'N fuck is you sleepin' in a car for?" His question chases her answer. Ain't nothing like small talk in Decker's world. When he asks a question, he wants an answer. When he wants an answer, it's usually a thing best avoided. "New 'round here 'r what?"(tristan)
Wry chuckle in answer to the amusement writ in his brother’s expression, though at first, all that seems to be coming in reply is the little half shrug as arm and gaze fall, the latter watching the fingers at the end of the former flick ashes to rain scattered to the cracked cement of the walk under scuffed tennis shoes. other hand automatically slips from pocket, reaching out to slide quickly and gather the rain from scratched top of the game, scooping it off and over the side before hand brushes over muscled thigh, and tucks back into pocket.Lift of cigarette to lips, slow inhale, and exhale again, before answering. “Partly, I suppose. Probably the straw that broke the camels back.” not that, you know, he’s a camel. but if they’re going to bring him down and tell him to quit trying to pick up the pieces, he’s not going to stick around and watch the destruction happen.
(maxine)
She slides down the pole, crossing her legs and effectively blocking the footpath should anyone really want to stray close enough to try and pass by. Hands lift and scratch her scalp through the thick hair. She glances at Decker and lifts her shoulders in a light shrug.“You ask a shit load of questions you know?” She lifts a hand, ticking off the answers on her fingers. “I sleep in the car cause I ain’t ever round no where long ‘nuff to find a place. And I guess you’d say new but I dunno if I even wanna stay in town. This city got anythin’ to offer?”
(james)
the answer's summation comes in the form of a grunt
not the typical conversation one would have when trying to keep little Space Cadet alive
....or at least on board
it doesn't last long with the subject at hand
shorter of the two Gnawers turning to leverage himself to sitting onthe pinball machine
the owner of the arcade would probably frown at such a move
but since the machine's sitting under the awning out at the front of the joint
and the owner probably wouldn't say much to the Full Moon anyway
James gets away with it
smoke finally pulled free to ash with an absent wave"Ya wan' clarif'cation.... 'r jus' gonna let it simm'r."
one of Gaia's claw-decorated Warriors he may be
but the Fostern isn't daft when it comes to people skills
he can tell the issue is, well, gnawing at his kinsman(decker)
The Modi cocks an eyebrow at her. The eye beneath is grey as a storm, fierce."'N you answer 'em."
A sniff, then, shoulders stirring restlessly against the brick wall. He doesn't slur his words any more than usual. If he'd swayed on his feet, when he leans against the wall like that, casual as ever, you can't tell. One hand idly sloshes booze around the bottle. Another sweep of the street. He's been watching his back for so long he wouldn't know how to stop. Nothing paranoid about it, though. His confidence is implicit in his strength and posture; he's physically as close to perfect as few have ever been, and few will ever be, now that the last of Fenris' children have already been born.
Eventually he looks back at her. She might think he'd forgotten her question, but answers - backhandedly. "Fuck d'I know? Find out yerself." And he tosses the bottle at her suddenly, underhanded.
(maxine)
The bottle isn’t caught. In fact, Max doesn’t even make an attempt to catch it. She simply watches. It lands, breaks beside her leg and the cool trickle of alcohol touches her hand. She lifts it and shakes it off, shifting so that it doesn’t touch the leathers.“Watch the leathers man, this stuff ain’t cheap damnit. Fuckin’ throw your bottles in ‘nother direction will ya.”
She picks up a shard of glass and tosses it away with a muted clatter. A flicker of the dark eyes toward Decker, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in her gaze. And then she’s rummaging in the bag again for who knows what.
(tristan)
The leverage of shorter man puts him a bit closer to the gnawer kin being, well, gnawed on but a conglomeration of thoughts. His closeness doesn’t help much in the matter either, but it’s also not something he’d ever shy away from. Shoulder remains against the wall, ankles cross, and it’s through another long inhale that he contemplates the question. Finally. “Not sure I want to know.”For many reasons, that.
Finally, however, there’s a soft, rueful chuckle as he shrugs a shoulder. “suppose you’ll want clarification too. So – you start. Since you brought it up and all.” Glance up, slight grin, before he watches the careful flick of cigarette but into yonder gutter.
(james)
there's an expression collection on the Garou Gnawer's face, one that speaks of We have always been honest with each other, you know, and I feel I owe you at least an explanation since I totally ignored you that night and you've never strayed from my side no matter the cost without actually surmising the admission into verbal communicationand in the true habit of one constantly trying to find something to do with his hands
James pulls out the pack once more to light up another smoke
fingers waggling for bestowal of the almighty bic
dummer's agitation habit quelled by the routine of habitual actions
even if he's not quite at the point of total, fiending addiction
(.... yet)"Well.... " the smirk is self-depreciative, if anything aside from forever lopsided by the notch in his jaw "Fig're you go' th' gist a what me'n Deck'r yell'd 'bout. 'n ran inna me'n Rox makin' a beer run coupla night' lat'r af'er th' raid." a pause here, filled by the zipping light of his coffin nail (James is a Garou, he won't be lucky enough to die in a way that warrants a coffin) and first lungul of smoke "'n we hadda talk 'fore th' night w'z out."
attention's caught by the sound of bottle smashing block or two down the way
dreads crawl over wifebeater bared shoulders when the raggedyman's head turns
calculating the spine-tingling feel of pack proximity in production of amusement's chuff
(the boys are out in force, tonight)
following words slightly absent as chin lifts towards the effort of focus
(totem bond impression of one Eagle PR Man checking in)"Hones' talk. Dunna if Deck'r un'erstan' how'n why I c'n turn s'm'ne like her down." brevity this glance, boy does James understand Tristan's occasional foray to The Other Side at the peroxide fox's request.... good golly..... "But she does. Leas'..." laughter here, soft, fingers scratching through jungle-vine 'do and throwing ropey curtain infront of the rather sheepish moment ".... gave'r clear 'nuff reason f'r my bailin' outta th' Nova."
idjit that makes the Full Moon, of course
remaining question is if that was the final act of this seductive play
(..... and you should know better than to make assumptions as to how far a woman will go after what she wants, Jamey-boy)(decker)
So his eyes track the arced trajectory of the bottle spinning lazily end over end over -- CRASH. He aims well, surprisingly. It lands just behind her, the course it had taken easily within her reach.If she'd bothered to try.
"Waste'a good booze," he observes, snorting -- too drunk, himself, to care overmuch. The totemic impression makes him look down the street. The reply doesn't come in words, but in the simple feel of acknowledgment, welcome -- whatever.
Kemp is, presumably, still nearby; still avoiding cigarette smoke.
(tristan)
Snorts.To what, he doesn’t quite say just yet, as he hands over the lighter, and then patiently waits for it back. there’s a meeting of dark gaze with soft umber [I know] before letting it fall again, watching the bit of cracked cement sliding under the edge, away from his vision beneath the pinball machine, idly wondering what configurations it splices into in the hidden darkness. (Pretty introspective there, boyo, if one delves deep enough.)
He listens. Always does. And hears perhaps more then most because of the way he listens – completely. There’s nothing in the world, not even a broken bottle, that would tear that attention away. Finally, a smirk. “Fuckin’ bitch pushed anyway. Knew she would. Fuckin knew it.”
And now we know where quite a bit of that ire is pushed, don’t we? “It ain’t over. She won’t stop till she gets what she wants. She’ll push and push and push and hell, finally crawl into bed with you and come at you while your asleep, and by then you’re dicks already buried and you’ll figure why the hell stop now, might as well. And then she’ll fucking drop you like you never existed, as soon as she finds someone else, or decides to run off after something that gets her killed, or whatever. Swore we’d always be close, clicked right away, and the only one left hanging hopeful to some thread of friendship is me.” Shrug. “Ain’t saying she ain’t a great fuck. Even gay I know the good shit when it’s riding my ass. But it ain’t worth it. Not in the long run.”
He’d asked. He’d yelled. He’d screamed. Didn’t matter. She pushed anyway. It’s rather amazing all of the above is said flatly, rather evenly. There’s not any real anger behind it, just.... resignation. A breath, held and exhaled while he lights another cigarette, the inhalation repeated, then very, very softly on exhale. “She was right about one thing, though. I gotta quit hoping for what I’ll never get. I care far too much about who you fuck if it ain’t me. Stupid hangup to have for a straight boy.”
How’s that for honesty.
(maxine)
She pulls out a lipstick and uncaps it, making a slow process of applying it over first the lower lip, then the upper. Pressing her lips together and chucking the silver object back into the recesses of that fucking huge bag she treats with about as much respect as she does..well, everything really.She rises after a minute, pulling the cigarette from behind her ear and jamming it between the now vibrant red lips. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she begins to move away, leather-clad hips shifting in a sensual rhythm that may or may not be intentional. With her, it’s fucking hard to tell. She lights her cigarette as she begins to cross the street. Her acquaintances treated with her backside and a catcall over a shoulder.
“Been fuckin’ touching hangin’ with you boys. Really. Let’s keep in touch.”
The black car door is pulled open. Bag thrown in, torso slips in after it and the door is slammed shut with a hand. Engine turns over […miracle…] and she’s taking off with barely a minute’s pause to check for traffic. Swinging around in a wide U-turn and heading down to the Hotel.
(james)
there's a soft sigh as James stretches
allowing his weight to fall back on the pinball machine's scratched and graffiti's plastic top
scuffed boots dangling freely in the breeze
wifebeater pulled up enough to reveal the new scar marring his belly's six-pack cut
crawling mangle of skin peeking from between BDU waistband and rolled white cotton
the impression of a totem phone response to his packmates - Not just yet - crawling notion of hesitation substituting words
he'll make his way down the block soon enough"Yeh." another lazy exhalation of smoke formed into word "She did..... 'spect'd her to, really. Pretty clear 'bout wantin' a fuck buddy, but..." deep umber flicks over towards his brother kin, wry if.... something else as well "... I ain't 'bout one nigh' stan's... 'n you know it. Regar'less a wheth'r not she' a whirlwin' in bed." amusement back in the soft sound rolling a growling chuckle from his throat, he bets she's a storm, allright "But I'll.... keep th' res' in mine."
and then the Ahroun pauses for the length of one quarter Camel
idly flicking the ashes off to his right
dark gaze flicking to the prettyboi on his left"Think you would'n' be th' firs' I turn to th' day I fine out she' really dead?"
the words just as soft as brutally truthful confession that inspired them
levels of meaning left to ponder like the path of cracks in the cement below
a brow lifts in studious silence.... but the answer isn't found in his gaze
that's gone in flex of abs hauling one guttermutt to sit
weight sliding off the machine and boots making a path towards his pack down the street(tristan)
He’d expected her too, as well, but doesn’t mean her blatant disregard for his feelings didn’t hurt like a bitch. The last straw that lead to the drinking spree that lead to the beer run that lead to the whole episode, so on and so forth and.........what did he just say?
He reigns in the rampant thoughts that slide like water over rocks in shallow creek, constant trickle sound ruthlessly pulled to a stop as he lifts dark gaze to meet his brother’s, naked emotion for just a second, just a moment in time.... starting a whole other cascade of thoughts ranging from please don’t, thank you, that’s not fair, please don’t be lying, don’t make me keep hoping to a sudden careen of hope that is ruthlessly stomped down [of all things, he does not wish her any ill, even if it sends his brother into his arms to mourn.], quelled beneath the darkness of his lashes that fall, leading gaze back to watch the ground as one Gnawer pulls upwards, and starts down the street.
walking away.
It helps. it doesn’t help. it’s twisting him in two. (Never ever fall for a straight boy who’s mated, boys and girls, it only leads to heartache.) before with a frustrated sigh he pushes from the wall, turns, and in a few steps catches up to match strides with the meandering gnawer heading toward his pack. Silence, for a while, and then. “I don’t know. I try not to think about it, because I swear, if she came home right now, I’d cheer you on. And if you went to Roxanne on your own without her pushing you into it, I’d cheer you on too... I just...”
yeah. he just...
Shoulders roll into a shrug. “don’t know. just need to get out for a while. I can’t watch her try and take you down. I just can’t. Even if I’d lay my bets on you, if pressed too.” slight grin.
(james)
walking away - two wolves playing the game of cat and mouse
maybe it's James' way of adding levity to such a serious subject
steet performer at heart - the both of them - the Omega Tribe must always rely on humor
help get them through the worst of times
whether it's facing an avalanche of Wyrm Spawn, or the deepest aches of the heart
or... maybe it's just giving James a moment to get himself back in control"I doubt she's comin' back if she hasn' by nah, Tris." murmured confession when the kinsman catches up "But I mate f'r life, 'n promise' her she'd nev'r have a share me..... no matter how many col' show'rs I gotta take waitin' roun' f'r th' Apoc'lupse a kill me 'n fin'lly get th' mess'ge through."
how's that for honesty
"S'all tha's hol'in' me back fr'm..... an'thing." Everything. "Really."
silence between them is broken only by the sound of strolling footsteps
the Garou's scuffffwhmp boot
the kinsman's swishtap sneaker
and finally, James looks over with one of his trademark, award-winning quirky grins"Y'r jus' tryin' a be muh Knight'n Shinin Arm'r, tirelessly defendin' th' integr'ty 'n honor a m' heart since muh han's 'r full keepin' th' nasties a' bay."
(tristan)
He knows when that promise was made – right after the first (and last, and always, often, dreamed of) kiss. Damn Mexican Tequila. Stuff will kill ya, for sure. And he know it holds him back, and he doesn’t even try to hide the wince at the thought of the War tearing James from him. Family by blood, brother’s by choice. It would kill him, it will kill him, when he has to finally pick up his own pieces when they’re gone. James. Kemp. Hell – he’ll even mourn Decker, asshole that he is.The worst thing a kin ever deals with is the reality that he is –just- a kin, left at home, wondering, hoping, praying that his loved ones come back, and dying inside a little more each time they do more broken then the last. When she was here, there was always the chance they’d fall together. Tristan Tristan has well (and very recently) learned his place of being left behind. Even the Wyrm Weekly has not called for a new centerfold layout for months. While that might make some rest easier, it leaves Tristan.... listless. feeling as useless as he’s been told he is by those so uncouth to point out his many shortcomings.
He meets that gaze, and lips even curl into a slight grin in reply, followed by a more natural soft chuckle. “Well, you know me, always doing the dirty work. From Decker’s nasty ass socks, to defending your heart until it’s my turn to take it...” a wink, that is much more the pretty boy style....
There’s a few more steps, silent, contemplating, before. “fortunately for me, Dustin knows and understands my folly when it comes to you. Though he’s told me to just blow you and make you smile for chrissakes, more then once...”
There. there is the wicked grin that is so much more at home on the pretty boy’s lips....
(james)
kinfolk will forever deal with the fact they will always be nothing more than kin
left behind when the battle calls
picking up whatever pieces are left - if there are any
James has seen his share of hearts broken by the harsh reality
he's watched cousins proudly die bunking expectations of the system
(Lexi was a helluva woman, she shoulda been born Garou)
he's abandoned those beaten down by the role carving weakened housewives out of integral parts
the Full Moon has, after all, always considered kin just as important as the provebial Chosen
sometimes wondering, himself, which specie got the better end of the dealfor the Warriors have an equally hopeless and tragic fate awaiting them
destined to give their lives for the greater cause
hoping to live well enough for that bestowal of a good death
and have their victories live on in song and memory
instead of simply fade away some forgotten, nameless soldier"Dunna how you han'le Deck'rs socks, man." distaste twisting his features beneath dreads shaken loose by chide's mock shiver "I' been in s'me vile places... but even I dun' go there. That's guts."
then brows lift through a courage-instilling breath
guttermutt raggedyman pulling to a stop not quite abreast of packmates over..... yonder....
flicking those deep earthen eyes towards his brother
with a smile that would be bashful if he weren't so confident in himself
(face it, Jamey-boy, it's bashful)"Think I ain't been tempted a letcha?"
(tristan)
hopeless and tragic – that’s what makes the greatest heroes, of course. It’s a story writ throughout time in countless ways, in stories too numerous to count, yet they all pale to the realization that you live in such a setting and it’s far from the fairy courts in the stories you grew up with. Here, people don’t always, in fact they very rarely, live happily ever after.You take your happiness where you can, you do what you need to do to carry on.
Like now. There’s actual laughter at the shudder of big bad wolf who’d travel into the lair of the wyrm itself rather then deal with his packmates clothing. “Well, someone has to do it. He’d just let them sit there and fester until everyone would be driven out by the evil stench... Kind of pretty boy maid would I be if I let that happen?” tsks, even.
He pulls to a stop, and tristan does so automatically, not quite meeting that gaze, focused on that smile that is indeed bashful... brow quirking... “Probably wouldn’t be very nice of me to mention that I’m really really good at it, hm?”
Part of him wishes he were as brazen as Roxanne, as determined to get what he wants no matter the cost, and that part of him is already shoving him into the alley and falling to his knees in worship of dreams that likely would never come true, tearing at fastening and pulling him deep into his throat. Fortunately (or not) that part of him is also pretty will under control, long time practiced, and the only actual movement is a reach up to tug on dreads, playful. “So, you know, I won’t mention that.” wink. “again.”
(james)
humor addresses itself in a snorted chuff
slivered interlude (relief!) taken in the laundry commentary"If yeh di'n't.... it'd fester 'til it got jump' by s'me bane then' th' stench'd crawl out fr'm this pile a wriggly socks movin' cross th' floor a smoth'r 's inner sleep!"
yes, big bad wolf afraid of a pile of socks
then again.. these are Decker's socks
and the mighty Fenrir also comes with might Fenrir BO
one guttermutt happy the Modi has created his own space behind the mostly empty factory
saves sneaking to put abandoned workboots out.side. when stormy eyes isn't looking
then playing innocently ignorant during the tirade search for missing boots that must have walked away by themselves
powered by the Energizer Sweat Bunnythen the stop
then the tease
then the following quiver that's worked its way down James' back
tickling tighten of muscle beneath the ashed clawmark scars
hidden, gloriously, by the thin blanket of wifebeater cotton
and the fact he's switched balance to throw shoulder yoke against the wall
depending on the mane of dreads to cushion his skull
(deep breath, Jamey-boy, collect yourself)"Yeh... s'mean." delayed snap of white teeth after tugging fingers, lips pulling back into the most seditious of smiles that matches the obscene glitter darkening already deeply colored eyes "S'like my pointin' out I gotta 'nother sexy scar." smirk deepens.... dangerous.... (two can play this game of cat and mouse) before a wink "Which you'd only see if y' were inna position a prove 'ow good y'are."
(tristan)
Laughter, at the thought of some swamp dwelling bane dressed only in the Modi’s BO riddled socks, creeping across the floor to smother them all. “Fucking hell, that’s the best reason I’ve heard yet to move out...” chuckled, as he shakes his head.Then the stop. The tease.
The tease returned.And it’s his turn to catch his breath, though he’s a bit more vocal about the reactions that pulls to fore, exhale coming in the form of a soft, breathless moan...
And both of them are showmen. Both make a living on the street corners, one with rebar and (skulls) plastic or barrels or anything that has a nice resounding tone, the other with sweet melodious notes pulled from the depths of wood and string. But most of all, they make the cash with the sheer force of personality, the ability to blend in, to make themselves at home in any situation, to < I>connect with people no matter their walks of life, their troubles, their triumphs.
And it is that showman that right here, right now, as that tease slips through and shoulders are pressed against the wall, it is that man who drops instantly to his knees before the raggedly gnawer, arms spread wide, grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he arches that brow... tongue sliding out to gather imagined dreams from his lips... gaze shifting upwards to meet that evil, evil grin...
and for the first time since the night it happened. “I’ve knelt before you in the shower, you couldn’t possible begrudge me a little peek....” he did warn he’d bring that up at some point in time to tease....
(james)
there is the connection of personality between showman's teasing
each capable of dancing around the other as if verbally sparring an audience out of their change
but there's something most definitely, decidedly, lurking behind the Garou's glittering gaze
(....hunger)
he was mercilessly teased last night
almost to the point he gave in beyond the singular action
and no amount of cold shower can extinguish a simple fact:
James. has been celibate. almost. one. year.
and even though it is by his choice and faith in vows never spoken
he's not fucking dead below the waist!and as much as the playful drop of kinsman to his knees inspires growly laugh
furthered by the eternal SUFFERING he will endure as the shower is brought up again
(you swore you'd never speak of it again, you wench!)
slightly quirked lift of brow may speak a story that isn't all fun and games
(well, it would definitely be fun.... and think of the games that tongue could pl-....)
packmates thankfully having fallen off the face of the earth ((HOURS AGO!!)) and dismissed to their own activities
(yes, Jamey-boy, you have been granted a lack of witnesses)
the queried notion slips a little further into the actualization of contemplative expressionlower lip sucked between his teeth to nibble in thought
fists settling on his hips in mockery of some post both their mothers have surely struck
save this one's topped by those eyes darkened in far more selacious consequences"Yeh.... y' have." hip pitches, allowing the pull of shoulder to prey on the limited stretch of wifebeater cotton, low rise of belted BDUs hanging on iliac crests allowing just the merest peek of the vertical scar disappearing beneath both shirt and pants, chin lifting an almost haughty brow towards shaggy dreads "But dunn think tha' buy me droppin' my draw'rs right here'n th' stree' corn'r. Duzzit?"
(tristan)
There is one, forever, difference between last night, and tonight, however. While both would follow through on teasing, Tristan harbors something close and dear to his heart, the total and complete love that he keeps tight under control, safe behind the rampant lust that works through soft moan at that growly laugh. (bastard. knows what that does.) And he would never. ever push. James would have to come (on/in - ahem) to him.He has waited this long.
He will wait forever if he has too and if Gaia never smiles upon him to grant this one, tiny boon... he’ll have the little things, and he’ll have a lifetime of moments like these. Teasing, playing, good-natured, and open.
Free.
Fingers lift and just the barest touch slides across that tiny peek of sexy new scar bared in tease across tiny peek between clothing, and whimpered admittance... “no....” pause, glance down the street, then very pointedly to the ally closest to them, then toward the factory again... “But we could always shower together again.... assuming we made it to the factory first...”
wicked, that little grin.
(james)
freedom
when you're trapped fighting an endless war
living amongst the last possible generations of your kind
there is little that defines itself as a true freedom
it is only the little things such as this which remind Gaia's soldiers of the reasons they bleedeasy smiles
teasing play
good-natured mockery
and deepest love"Yeh.... wi' you threat'nin' a drag me off inna tha' alley." head tips, scattering dreads across bared shoulder, James is doing rather well to keep the haughty expression above the smile obviously straining to break free (.... is that all... with willing mouth so near, those warm fingers caressing so freshly wounded skin....) across his lips (..... that quiver isn't just laughter, is it, Jamey-boy) "Startin' a fear a my hon'r, 'gain."
(tristan)
Wide. eyed. innocence. “threaten? no....” hand snatches back from the tease across that scar with wounded pout, even as the shine in dark gaze remains ever the same, weight rocking forward, slightly, hand suddenly needed to touch the cracked cement by James’s feet, bringing brush of curls so, achingly, close, as head tips, and face turns slowly, lifting that gaze upwards.(...so...fucking...close....)
as he straightens, and using the brick beside James’ hip to further brace hand as he slowly stands, so very carefully not touching him, straightening fully, as eyes finally close, and that brow quirks toward fall of corkscrew curls... “promise.”
Oh. well. That’s different then, isn’t it? (not....really.)
But he just... smiles... and hands fall to rest against that tiny, teasingly exposed, bit of skin, just above those low-rise, belted BDUs. warmly spread across sides, before leaning in to whisper. “What kind of Knight would I be if I did not protect your honor from the worst offender of all....”
and with that, he pulls the raggedy man away from the wall, closing the distance..... “..me?” before hands lead James into pivot that turns him back toward the factory, and a little nudge starts him walking with a chuckle.
(james)
it's the touch that affects him most
beyond the verbal sparring
beyond the places imaginations run wild
it's the simple contact of hand spreading on his belly
(for that is the thing James has run from most)
sending chilling tremble racing up his spineTristan's hand platonically guides him away from the wall (.... so.... fucking.... close) and towards the haven of pack's factory..... James' fists, in contrast, reach and wrap in the prettyboi's t-shirt, hauling taller frame right. up. against. his. (... too close for comfort) holding his Tribesman near enough so that the low growl rattling behind the bars of jailing ribs throttles right on through the thinnest barrier of two cotton layers
"Th' kine who's arm'r's tarnishing....."
low. tight. care. fuh. lee. controlled.
internal thunder probably not all such close contact allowed feel
however the guttermutt is staunchly ignoring it
striding ahead towards distant building(tristan)
So. fucking close.There is no hiding the gasp as he’s grabbed and pulled tight against the form that dreams are made of, the stretch of muscle right there, begging to be touched, to be explored, to be devoured.
and that fucking growl. knees weaken, it’s clear, and it brings him closer by default as eyes close, and he near sags into the vibrating rumble through such thin barriers of skin and fabric, the aching throb that’s brings hands to tighten into fists, clenching hard enough to ache so as to not do what he wants so very much to... guttermutt may ignore it, but the pretty boy is hard (...ahem) pressed to do the same with not only that but his own reaction.
It is when James pulls away that he manages the breathless moaned chuckle, and he just falls to the wall so recently warmed by rage-washed skin, hands pressed against brick at chest heights as he, quite literally, bangs. his forehead. against. the. wall.
repeatedly.
(lightly, but repeatedly)breathe.
adjust.
walk, again.Again quicker strides catch up with the dreadlocked gnawer, hands tucked safely into his own pockets. muttering under his breath. “who th’fuck is teasing who here, brother mine?” though it ends in soft chuckle. “remind me to add armor polish to the shopping list, will you?”
[OMFG FADE *drags James away honor still intact*]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 24, 2004.06.24.04. - crash [roxy scene in full][riverfront]
(roxy)
Fingers come up to pull the cigarette from her mouth, smoke exhaled through her nose, like a smoking dragon. Her head drops down, spilling the singature peroxide dreads across her cheeks."Deal." a beat...
And Roxanne is pulling herself up from the couch to step away from it. Driving means leaving the factory, it means getting behind the beloved Nova of hers, Priscilla, it means 1,000lbs of hot American made steel manipulated like a vibrating beast under her hands, in her control.
The car keys remained in her hand, "Let's go." replaces the cigarette in her mouth, sparing James a glance, meeting those umber eyes.
(james)
1,000 pounds of American steel and muscle waiting on the other side of that door
when, once opened, introduces James to a stumbling Tristan
whom he catches, dutifully, rearranging limbs as necessary to assure Rumor gets the prettyboi inside in one piece"Beer run."
all that's offered in explanation
a little too agitated from the collective night to hang around for discussion
once in Priscilla, he's buckled in for safety measues against non-existant knowledge of her driving rep
Garou or not, he's newly healed and that's one helluva lot of horsepower dragging his ass around
ashed scars pressing against well-kept seats, belt cutting into the tenderly reformed flesh on his belly
(roxy)
The door opens to spill out a drunken Tristan. Roxanne side-steps out of the way, waiting for them to all pass by. "Yeah, beer run." she murmurs under her breath.The escape made to Priscilla, Roxy doesn't hesitate much on starting the car up and revving the engine a bit too much. She glances over to see if the Gnawer was strapped inside. Good. She wasn't... her driving skills were on par with her shooting. Quick, wild and... a little precise. The car erupts out of the drive, pouring out onto the street.
(tristan)
Caught! dutifully even. slow smirk as he glances up at James, quick once over to see he’s still in one piece – which he’d already checked on before leaving earlier, but well, it bears a repeated glance with this group, and a low snort at the ‘explanation.’“Sure, whatever.”
The only fucking comment in reply. Arm unwinds from brother, from the kid, and he starts across toward the mattress. Not sure when the factory doubled in size and started wavering, but he makes due.
(james)
the car erupts onto the street
luckily, James has been exposed to several levels of driving
those that are skilled, all the way down to watching Kemp's kamakaze runs
so when torque lurches heavy frame out of it's resting spot
he's just bracing a foot against the floorboards
otherwise doing his best to look nonchalant in the forces shoving him securely into the seat
elbow resting on the polished and shiney interior within the passenger door
smoke scissored between two fingers and angled to flick out the cracked windowit's not until after he's palmed over some cash for Roxy to head into the liquor mart - he is, after all, only wearing pants and those scars will definitely raise questions even in this part of town at this time of night - and thus returned with beloved beer (Heineken. Check. Rolling Rock. Check. Newcastle. Check. Two bottles of Arrogant Bastard. Check.) also safely tucked into the trunk, does James choose to finally break the silence otherwise only filled by the sound of growling motor amongst the city's nightly white-noise cacophany of background affects
"Hey Rox....." interjection at a stoplight driven pause, furtive glance to his left at best "Deck'r tell ya we talk'?"
(roxy)
List of beloved alcohol purchased: (Heineken. Check. Rolling Rock. Check. Newcastle. Check. Two bottles of Arrogant Bastard. Check. and... Two bottles of Southern Comfort. Check) wonder who that could be for.... All of it safely stashed in a two secured milk crates in the trunk to keep the bottles from clanking together with Roxy's wild driving skills. The trip into the liquor store had been a brief, yet amusing encounter with the two guys behind it, asking Roxy where the party was going to be at... Her response, "In mah pants..." and swiftly left after tossing cash on the counter.Pan away to present moment, engine growls under the hood, the nova poised and ready to burst out of the starting gate, when the light goes green. Roxy's hands tightened around the wheel until the knuckles were almost white, her head canting to the side to look at James through the corner of her right eye. "Nah, Decker didn't," she answers, looking back at the red light. "Tristan told me amongst other things..." light goes green, her foot releases the break. Hand drops to shift gears... forcing the car to coast out at a slower pace than she wanted to. Breaking speed limits and heavy conversation didn't boast well.. given the seriousness of the situation.
(james)
breaking speed limits and heavy conversations didn't boast well
especially given the seriousness of the situation
which is what probably has James lighting up another smoke
making sure the Nova's window's crackedand going through about one quarter Camel before speaking again
watching the cityscape stroll on by
decidedly not looking at Roxy"Yeh?"
long anticipation for that.
(roxy)
"Yeah, Tristan, told me.. More like he yelled it at me." She replies, glancing over at him. She watches him light up another cigarette, before flicking her gaze towards the redlight."Seems if I want somethin' from ya, James.. I'm goin' to have to do it mahself and not get the help of others. Least ways, I shouldn't be tryin' to coerce ya into somethin' ya don't want to do."
(james)
at the glance, she does - in fact - meet deep umber
beneath a lifted brow at the surprise of Tristan's yelling lecture
which oddly enough begets a soft chuckle from the Ahroun
deep sound rolling quiet thunder from his chest
stormclouds symbolized in nothing more than exhaled smoke
plume coiling towards the cabin ceiling before sucked out the windowhis head shakes, pulling dreadlocks across battlescarred shoulders
returning that soulful gaze back to the world outside"Fig'red all a tha' was a giv'n."
(roxy)
A slight bit of tension continued to coil through her body, most of it from his presence next to her. She keeps her eyes on the light, lifting her foot off the brake to press it to the accelerator as red bleeds to green.Cobalt-blues flicker sideways with another subtle slide over James. The nova makes it way down the street, shifting lanes as Roxy's hand shift through gears. She guides the car back towards the factory, but not to it, instead a detour comes up and Roxanne is pulling up into some vacant parking lot.
The car idles to a stop, thrown into park to allow the engine to idle. Her body pivots in the driver's seat to look right at him. "I need to cut through the bullshit and just get right to the fuckin' point."
(james)
the car's heading back towards the factory
then... takes..... a slight detour
when the roadside landmarks unfamiliarize themselves
there's a brow lifting back towards frame of shaggy dreads
and then. the car. stops.she pivots to face him
he pivots to..... it honestly seems as if he's putting his back to a corner, doesn't it
no matter how casual flicking ashed log out the window seems"Norm'lly." the nod is.... slow "Guessin' it depen' on what th' point is...."
funny how James can face down a beeeeg evil in Pyrell's building without batting an eye
yet, now he's holding that smoke balanced on a knee as if a shield
(roxy)
Right arm stretches out across the seats, resting her hand on back headrest of his. Briefly fingers touched along his shoulder as it shifts to touch the door, now backed himself into a corner.Those blue eyes keep a leveled gaze on his, seeming to focus on their color.
A deep umber brown.. when earth and sky meet...Her chest heaves out, straining feminine softness against the scooped neckline of leather corset. Peroxide dreads spill forward as her head cants down, "I like you... alot. I think yar kinda sexay, and love to fuck ya," she looks way for a moment, "But I know you have certain.. hang-ups.. and I ain't lookin' for anythin' serious."
(james)
breifly, fingers stray across the top of his shoulder
tanned skin smooth until path's hitched by uppermost reach of gnarled scar
as if the horrible wounds of his past were reaching for her touch
even if his own hands do (can) notmost likely because they're busying themselves trying not to fumble that cigarette right out of his grip and onto her expensively kept interior carpeting
that would be bad"Wow... Rox....." it's barely murmured past his lips (....imagine what it would sound like breathless) because that's about all the Ahroun can manage to string together after her admission "I...."
that's definitely all he can sum up at the moment
and she wouldn't be seeing things if she imagine a flush creeping into his features
Gaia's big bad Warrior Full Moon suddenly shy as a schoolboy
seems such straight forwardness is a rarity to the guttermutt
near filtered smoke's cast away through the window's cracked space
and hands are running through dark dreads to pull some sense back into his brainit allows his head to lean back against the car's frame and those deep umber eyes to close
"Y'know....." slow, but it's a start "I'd love a take you'p on tha' off'r 'n drag yeh inna th' back seat, but....." the admission sighed, cause dayum he'd love to and probably will in part never forgive himself for passing the opportunity up when there's little chance left she is still alive ".... I got them hang'ps."
it drifts off
one dark eye allowed to crack open
chancing a glance at the peroxide fox next to him
wondering if she even knows what those hangups are(roxy)
Who says she hasn't imagined what his breath would be like.. breathless.. Who says she hasn't imagined many things with him. Hard to say... Not like there had ever been a chance to seduce him. Other things... now her own hang ups simply got in the way.Her arm pulls back from the headrest, tugging slightly on one of his dreads. She pulls it back to her, shrugging out of her jacket to toss it in the backseat. She turns back to look at him, stretching out her hands to place the right on the headrest again, the left somewhere on his portion of the seat, next to his inner thigh. Roxanne shifts her body closer, leaning in to close the distance between them.
Soft flesh bared across her arms, collarbone and shoulders. The slight creak of leather as the corset molded over the sinewy hard lines of her lithe frame, shoving that heavy cleavage a little closer to his line of sight. "James, we all got hang ups. I know I do. I ain't askin' for much. Just... a little time to simply indulge a body's needs. Shouldn't let them hang ups completely rule ya life, shugah." the smoky tone of her voice rumbles out in a softer tone. Extending her right hand from the headrest to his shoulder, sliding calloused fingertips up through the dreads to his cheek.
(james)
hangups that James may have - he is still male beneath that well-behaved thesad
attention drawing back to her in response to dread's playful tug
and that means his eyes don't exactly stray as she's slipping out of her jacket
or leaning over to allow heavy cleavage a little more into his line of sightho. lee. shit.
it is. CLEAR. he appreciates what he sees
the scent. the sight. the sound.
and oh Gaia her touch.....that is what affects him most
breath catching as fingertips slide up to palm
calloused lines of her hands cupping rugged lines of his jaw
dark eyes closing when the touch hides notched scar
he couldn't stop the lean into it even if he wanted to
exhale trembling across her inner wrist as something else quivers through his frame
(.... it's been a long, long time, Jamey-boy.... what'll happen when the dam explodes......)"I know....." breathless "...... an' I want." his hand reaches to cover hers, fingers that could crush her bones only lightly wrapping around in a grip that keeps warm flesh against his own, not yet pulling away "..... but I.... I can't Rox...."
(roxy)
Blond lashes lower over cobalt-blue eyes, which remain intently upon his face to drink in his reaction. A slight cant of her head, angled, to bring it closer to his face. Barely a hair's breath away, he can feel the warm rush of her breathe exhale against the other cheek. The smoky roll of her voice, sounding more like a seductive purr as she spoke."Sssh, James..." crooning softly, a brush of full lips along his cheek in a barest gesture of a nuzzle. "Yes, ya can, shugah. Don't think about it. Don't think about anythin'... just give in." Too close perhaps for his comfort, boldly breaking the boundries between them.
Her thumb slides over scarred flesh slowly, followed by the heel of her palm... rough skin sliding over scarred flesh.. in intimate gestures. Her hand doesn't pull away as his cups over hers, only presses more into his cheek.
"Ya can, Jamey-boy. There's never a can't... remember that."
(james)
breath catches and heaves
muscles jolt and tremble
blood rushes and...... well, rushes
bodyheat (Rage) this close all but stinging Roxy's flesh
especially cause his free hand is wrapping around her waist and just drawing corseted frame so. much. closer."Yur righ'......" hushed ".... s'no can't......"
how easy it would be to give in and turn his head towards hers
(can she feel his breath rattle towards a growl)
take sultry murmuring lips and silencing them by just. giving. in.
(can she tell how high the tension's bolting... crackling in the air)
indulge that nuzzled gesture for the intimate affection he so sorely craves
(..... that shaking isn't what you think it is.....)
and Gaia. James almost does it.
(too. close. for. comfort.)but one hand closes around her wrist
the other's dragging back across leather to push at her waist
gently urging she lean back
(away. get a safe distance away.)
something pleading in deep umber eyes"I should'n."
(roxy)
She can feel the burning... [Rage..] against her flesh. It rolls across some internal sixth sense, a kinfolk's intuition... The tiny hairs on the back of her tattooed nape rise up as shivers prickle down her spine.[Pull back.. Don't goad... something's wrong]
An silent fight to not given into the rage, to never shrink back. She was fearless, dammit.. but not stupid. Cobalt-blue eyes flick up to read his umber eyes. Something in them makes her frown just a little. Roxanne's head moves, sliding lips across his cheek to the corner of his mouth, pressing the slightest touch. She pulls back then, reluctantly, allowing his hand to push her away.
She murmurs quietly, almost pleading herself, "James... don't." Right hand turns to curl around his hand, releasing his cheek from her palm. "Shugah, please..." More space put between them, allowing the guttermutt room to breathe.
(james)
more room to breath and he takes it
heart beating against the caging bars of his ribs
chest heaving in some struggle for control
(Gaia don't make me make this decision....)
head shaking dreads formidable curtain so he's got an excuse to look awayand for the longest time there's nothing but the sound of their breathing
his tightly coiled in control
her's held in anticipation
loose fingers negligently wrap over retreating touch
absent drummer's habit tapping the chaos of his thoughts across her flesh
little more than the blithe flex of fingers
stacatto beats slowly but surely tempting the tease of pulling her closerthen - right inbetween one breath and another - he reverses it
the Full Moon moving fast as lightning when he wants to
backed into a corner so far there's only one place left to go
bodies crash an intimate, desperate tide
and by the way his mouth claims hers there's no. doubt he regrets pushing her away
(how that pleaded murmur made him ache)it's a moment of conquest
throwing aside fears, hangups, and the righteous battles of conscience
giving into the one, primal crave her words so sweetly planted within his ears
(if this is how passionately he kisses, imagine how ruthlessly he fucks)
fingers of one hand tangled iron twist among peroxide dreads
the others reaching down and flipping the automatic lock
(can she feel him wince)"I'm sorry Rox......" a whisper so soft it's heartbreaking, apologetic across her lips "..... I can' leggo 've her if I dunna she's dead..... 'n I can't live wi' myself if 'm wrong."
it's a moment of sorrow
bare inches of focus between orbs of crystal blue and deepest umber
(when earth and sky collide)
grip released so calloused fingertips slide softly down her cheekthe last thing James wants to do is pull away and climb out of the car
she can tell by the way his head hangs after the Nova's door slams behind him(roxy)
For the longest moments there is nothing but the sounds of their breathing.
His tightly coiled in control.
Hers fall in heavy pants.The soft staccato of his fingers drum across her hand, mimicking the quick beat of her heart slamming within her own ribcage. That corset had never felt so tighter, like a leather cage over her burning skin. She felt her blood rush into her face, flushing it with color... rising the temperature of body heat.
And, then the unexpected.. roles reversed. The Full Moon moving fast, perhaps faster than Roxy could react, pushing, backing her into the driver's seat. Bodies crash, her left hand snares up to briefly to entangle in the jungle-vine of brown dreads. Holding him tightly as his mouth claimed lush full lips.
It was a fleeting moment of conquest as she pushed into him, lips locked for a heated kiss, returning it with her own ferocity. (He ruthlessly fucked as passionately as she did... a destructive force of such a union could be devistating to furniture...) She barely has time to register his retreat, leaving Roxanne blinking as James pulled away completely. She doesn't move, half-reclined as he whispered against her mouth. "James... don't...do..this..." panting, pleading..
A soft growl vibrates in the back of her throat, gritting her teeth as she bit down on her the full line of bottom lip, just watching him as she winces with the slamming of the nova's door.
This wasn't over with yet...
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 19, 2004.06.19.04. - uncomfortable silences [roxy][riverfront - cont]
(kemp)
"Woohoo baaaabbbeeee!" The salute brought another jerking dance from him. Hips thrusting at the air, one hand over his crotch. "Loves me most!" Wiggling his brows at Rumor. "That was secret code for we got a date later." Then sobbering with a blink with what was coming out her mouth. "Say what? Oh man, don't tell me that shit. Now I'm gonna have bad dreams about chicks with dicks."(tristan)
Question: Just what does a pretty boy kin do until 1am in the morning?
Answer: None-ya. As in none-ya-bizness.Of course, being as he’s currently holding a bottle, and his walk is a little less then straight (.....heh.) and steady, and he’s also singing under his breath all Alanis style, it would certainly seem he decided to tie one on tonight.
But he’s all in one piece, hand tucked into the front pocket of his jeans, the other wrapped around the neck of a bottle better then half gone, the last bit of the walk toward the factory in progress.
(rumor)
Somehow the thought of you and Decker on a date is much more disturbing then chicks with dicks i must say" she smirks and she chuckles at the jerking dance. "that the tremors again?" Now she hops up on the wall herself and lets her legs dangle down. Pizza was almost all gone. M&Ms come out of her pocket and she rips the bag open...aiming at Kemp she waits for his mouth to open before she aims...
(roxy)
Contemplation.... Consideration.."Hey, Danah, before ya go." Roxanne calls after the woman, as she pulls out her keys from her pockets. She unhooks a small ring key with a set of keys on it. "Free place to stay tonight. Cabinets filled with good beer. Cable on the television and the couch is rather comfy in the office," She dangles the keys up to the Glass Walker. "Mah second garage here in the riverfront.. It's roomier. Take it if ya want a place to sleep tonight. I'm not stayin' there tonight."
Roxanne looks back over at James briefly with a look. She breathes out in a quick sigh... loitering and cooling herself off with that beer bottle.
(kemp)
"No ya see, if it's got tits, it ain't suppose to have a dick too, unless it's neon purple and strapped on, or it's some old fat dude that just happens to have tits because he's fat." And then his attention is caught by Tristan coming up the street. "Oh man, mom's trying for liver cancer." Lifting his voice to call out. "Yo, that shit will make your dick fall off!"(rumor)
She turns and spots Tristan comin that way. She cant help but chuckle and pops the m&m into her own mouth. "Neon purple strap on?" she blinks and shakes her head.."dude where are you gettin this shit from?"(danah)
"Thanks," she replies. "Think I might find something a little closer though.." 24th street might as well be five miles right now. Its nothing but unrestrained force of will that's keeping her standing, walking, talking like nothing's even wrong at all. That's only going to last so long. You can only be so stubburon before even that fails.Besides, who's gonna pay for it?
"Catch ya later." She turns, heads for the door, when Roxanne interupts her exit. Black eyes settle on her, and Danah nods once, holding up a hand indicative for Roxanne to just throw the keys. "Thanks.. I'll leave ya a present underneath your pillow sometime." And when the keys were handed over, Danah headed for the door. Never quite reaching it though. Somewhere between James and the door, Danah produces a small sliver of reflective surface (probably something Miriam snorted lines off of) and slipped across the Gauntlet, where she could crawl to Roxanne's garage.
(james)
keys jangle, and get the Gnawer's gaze up in time to see the breif, sighing look
head tipping some internal analysis of Roxy's offer after that initial look
(maybe he was overreacting....)
oh well, another month, and we'll see where the pack stands
one guttermutt holding his thoughts until Danah's disappeared across the gauntletthat's when he has to pass the couch to grab a beer
which he does, but pauses en route
sweating can resting on the back arches of pillows
not even inches away from where white-knuckled palm had held his weight few hours before
keeping the furniture between himself and the peroxide fox
watching the condensating can instead of the kinfolk"What's y'r dig with'er."
(imogen)
Decker's walking, and whether by design or otherwise, she can feel the prickle of his approach at her back that raises the hair on the back of her neck like hackles on a wolf.Hard to say if rage feels different for each Garou, if there is a particular signature for each or if every one gave her the exact same coldspinerush from James to Decker to any Spiral with whom she'd had the misfortune of crossing paths.
Certainly, as she turns, a few feet from a street light that actually works, so she's backlit by yellow, features shadowed, it's quick enough to think she didn't know. A second passes, and she looks at him, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of her jeans.
(tristan)
Kemp calls and he lifts the bottle a little bit, a slight hitch in his steps as he waves to the kids, chuckling. A crooked grin sliding liquidly across his lips as he reaches down, grabs his crotch ala kemp’s favorite gesture (just who is corrupting who???) and then shakes his head. “Still there – safe to finish the rest of the bottle.”Hand finds way into pocket again, ambling stride continuing that way, aiming for the door to the factory, singlemindedly, as well – any deviation is likely to send him tumbling at this point, still the notorious lightweight.
(rumor)
She looks over at Kemp..."Thinkin we should maybe help him get in to the factory or hes gonna be eatin pavement"
plus Deckers gone now and a few of the others, leavin only Roxy and James and maybe that one other chickShe grabs the 2 2 liters and the box..."may wanna go steady your mom" she smirks.
(decker)
When one follows another, it's typically setup for one of two situations.One. The follower could hail the followed. Hey. What's up. Wait up. Catch up, walk with 'em. Two. The follower might be trying to keep unseen, upon which at some point, when the followed turns, there's a mad scramble to become unseen.
Not so in this case. He follows without calling out, and without meaning to. The thigh pocket on the left bulging with the can of beer, another one hanging from his right, his pace isn't hurried, isn't hurrying, isn't anything but his normal damn self. And when she turns he doesn't look away, or look abashed. His eyes are on her from moment one, right up until he catches up to her under the streetlight.
And a few steps before that, without pausing, he drops one shoulder and digs in his thigh pocket and pulls out the second beer. It's held out, arm's length, his torso turned to accommodate. Other men walked with their legs, moved with their arms. He did everything with his whole body, one muscle group compensating for another, counterbalancing.
"'Sup," he says. Second time that night. Light filtering down from above falls over his shortshorn hair, and casts shadows into the insets and hollows of his face. Close up, she can see the burn marks under the wifebeater, raised red welts spidering out from his hands, and the center of his mass, in a distinctly electric pattern. Under his lazy eyelids, his eyes always have an animal intensity - a spark of unsettling, searing interest somewhere far back in the grey. When he looks at her, it's always like he can't look enough.
(roxy)
Keys tossed at Danah as Roxanne watched her go. She pivots on her boot heels with a slight turn of her body, following the guttermutt with the intense gaze of cobalt-blue eyes.Most of the wet condensation of Roxy's beer was on her throat and not the can itself, trying to keep herself cooled. She gives up that, pulling the can down and cracks it open. A few swigs drained as the metal rim kissed lush lips. She lowers it, to answer James.
"We both hate Leroy. She was the last member of the pre-split Knights in Dallas before some shitty disagreement took place. Danah can fight. She's a bitch with a mouth, but I'll give her that much. Not so subtle at times. Old packmates coming back to haunt me it seems.. as to her presence back in Chicago." Roxy rolls bare shoulder back in a shrug, stepping towards the couch.
She finds the spot previously occupied by Decker, perching down on the edge of it. Her elbows propped on her knees, as the low-riding pants slide down to mold over her ass tighter, exposing a wide amount of flesh and the weaver tattoo.
(rumor)
She hops down from the wall and moves towards Tristan..."Hey there hotshot...how bout we do a little practice walking here before we eat concrete" she giggles...
Takin Tristans arm and steadying him...
"Big night of partyin?"(james)
"Yeh..... " words drift off to silence until it's broken by the snap of opening can, fizz hissing into the air between them - in another world he'd aim it at the Walker kin to aid in her cooling off, simple innocent jest... but this isn't another world anymore, now is it "... findin' mix' 'motions 'bout th' Knights."shoulders heave in rolling shrug
dreads shifting their map across mini-mountain ranges of gnarled clawmark scars
hazy atmosphere of make-shift lights creating artistic havoc across his back
occasional highlight of the inks covering inner right arm
and now the new scar puckering skin across his abs before it disappears below BDU waistline
muzzling the lean stretch of skin assisting his knock back from the Bud can
(they are in desperate. need. of cooler restock.)another silence
and this one is unlike most which the Gnawer can endure
he has little problem spending companies blanketed by silence
look at whom he packs with, for crying out loud
but this one..... this one's uncomfortable
filled with soundless narration of fidgeting fingers and things that need to but aren't quite saidat least the fidgiting fingers find occupation with pulling pack of smokes from his pocket
attention filled in the systematic lighting of Camel 99 with battered Zippo
hand stretches out to Roxy in habitual offer
even if he can't remember whether or not she smokesgives him a little more time to build up towards asking the question, now doesn't it
(tristan)
That grin slides fond as he sees Rumor head his way, a quick glance at his kiddo who’s beating feet.... um. somewhere. Patrol. Something. And he hooks an arm around the girl and kisses the top of multicolored hair. “Well hey there, kiddo. Party o’one, at your service. Think I can’t walk, hm? I can walk in a straight line, honest...”And for some reason that makes him laugh, shaking his head “Well, sorta crooked and sometimes at right angles, but that’s what a gayboi does best, after all. Aside from create general havoc and hey! My man is coming home soon, gonna find us a little fixer upper house to rend and shit, figure on having at least three bedrooms. One’s yours if you want it.”
Oh hey, look, a bottle! Lift to lips and tip it back... swallow swallow swallow and grimace. “Whew. yuck.”
(imogen)
She pauses as she is, while he closes the space between, her thumb unhooking from her belt loop as he holds out the beer, reaching out to take it from him, fingers closing around the cool aluminium, drawing it back as she looks him over. Closer now, she can see the marks of electrocution, much like Kemp suffered, the spidery red welts that she has seen before, but never on a living person. Her eyes trace out the marks without bothering to disguise the gesture, before her attention returns to his face."Th'usual," vague answer because he uses this as a greeting, more than a question. It's like how the british ask 'how do you do?' and in the northern states (such as here) it is 'how's it goin'?' all without ever really needing an answer.
Hands tender back strands of hair from her face, tilting her head at him briefly before flicking open the tab for the beer, and taking a step away, starting to turn back on her original path.
"Did yeh manage what yeh wanted, last night?"
(roxy)
"Lot's of mixed emotions about this band of Knights these days.. Love'em or hate'em. I prefer the latter.. in Midnight's case." She snorts softly, wrinkling up her face slightly. The scars visible upon the left side her face have long since worn down to thin white lines. Garou claw marks... scars fade eventually, quicker with a little cosmetic help. Could this woman be that vain to get rid of them completely? Fuck yes.More scars ravished her body, the latest being the one across her own abs, hidden beneath the leather shell of her corset. The beer can touches her lips again, drinking away the silence while James grasped for questions.
"Beer's gettin' low I think." Hers was completely finished now, the empty can set aside on the junkyward wars reject coffee table... She turns slightly, reaching out to accept the offered pack of cigarettes and zippo. One taken, set between the full line of her lips, head cants down as the zippo flicks open, flame produced and burned to tobacco edge. She inhales deeply on the nicotine, feeling the rush of it through her veins. The lighter closes with a quick flick of her wrist, leaning back to stretch out her arm to return the pack and lighter.
(james)
James has definitely been hanging around the Modi too much
answering summation little more than a grunt
it could stand for anything, really: yes, no, you're right, okay, gee never thought of that before....
it could stand for nothing at all"You fly I buy?" head tips, dreads swinging the other way "Could use s'methin' more uptown a Bud...."
that's when deep umber eyes finally look towards hers
maybe they catch breif interlude with dusky cobalt
momentary meeting of earth and sky
or maybe he just glances at the pack so he can grab it cleanly out of her hand(rumor)
She laughs...se cant help it, Tristan was just too funny.
She shakes her head and nods with Tristans words..."Hey i have nooo doubt you can walki also think you can as easilly fall, and i know you dont want that, fallin sucks" she grins as they walk towards the factory..
"ok...heres the lowdown...Factory really got full tonight...started out pretty normal...James was al boody, i caught a glimpse of his guts, thought i was gonna puke..."
Yes this was what Kemp would hear as Rumor buzzin...
Sometimes she would just get on a roll...
"This chick with a snake tatttoo came also, she managed to fix up James a bit...I went to get pizza, Decker was there when i got back....man somethin bout him, he just hates me although guess you cant hate what you dont remember..." she pauses..
"actually i dont know why he freaks me out so bad, he doesnt freak me out like now...when i think about him, its when hes RIGHT THERE...all of i sudden i forget and get freaked out again, i mean he is just so...wait, sorry i lost track of where i was...ok so i come back with pizza, james and Decker are kinda...well not fighting but it was gettin tense..Kemp n me head outside...Imogen was there too...anyways, like a zillion more people ended up showing up...last one i think was Roxy.." she points to the Nova.
"she paid me, wow she paid me good...i mean its really cool, im gettin these kick ass helmets for me and Kemp for the bike...oh and we've been fixin it up, Roxy n me, well mostly Roxy but ive gotton to help too..."BREATHE!
...."And....then there was way too much rage and crankiness goin on in there, so kemp n me left...got more food, cause we left the pizza in there, and he was just gettin to tell me somethin bout purple strap ons as you got here"
and there it was. Tonights activities summed up by a 15 year old chick.
"Well i think Kemp is goin to find Decker, he did mention they had a date tonight" she chuckles.
And they are at the factory door.
All that info...and in 3 breaths.(decker)
"Wouldn' be here, if I didn't." There's a trace of deliberate cockiness in that. Under it, there's a note of seriousness.He falls into step beside her. The palms of his hands were scorched angry red, but he doesn't seem to care. His can of beer hanging lazily from his hand, he strolls beside her, his gait smooth and even, deepseated. The light passes behind them. Shadows reign again. The next working streetlight is two blocks away. Overhead, clouds, sky, stars between. On these dark nights, the moon still small, you swear if you just squinted a little, he wouldn't have the same shape he does. That long, slow stride of his becomes something else, a fourlegged stalk, smooth and ghostly silent. That monochrome of clothing isn't so far from iron grey. And those fierce eyes; well, those, only the color ever changed.
He looks at the street ahead, the light ahead. Now and again, he looks to the sides, scans the shadows, and every single alley they pass.
"Where you goin'?" he asks, sipping beer in motion.
(roxy)
Fingers come up to pull the cigarette from her mouth, smoke exhaled through her nose, like a smoking dragon. Her head drops down, spilling the singature peroxide dreads across her cheeks."Deal." a beat...
And Roxanne is pulling herself up from the couch to step away from it. Driving means leaving the factory, it means getting behind the beloved Nova of hers, Priscilla, it means 1,000lbs of hot American made steel manipulated like a vibrating beast under her hands, in her control.
The car keys remained in her hand, "Let's go." replaces the cigarette in her mouth, sparing James a glance, meeting those umber eyes.
(tristan)
..........blinks. about halfway there he’s just staring at her, dumbfounded as he tries to put all of that into something of a slower replay through whiskey fogged mind, not to mention picking the right train of thought to follow as she veers this way and that, before finally seizing on one... “Rage. Decker. That’s why it’s worse when he’s standing there.”Drunken, unsteady nod. Exactly. Now... what else?
“Fucking beautiful.” the fact that roxy waits on the other side of that door with james. Lovely. Oh well. His mattress is also on the other side of that door and he means to make use of it. “Gotcha.... I think.” and he almost falls on his ass on the step, but manages to hang on (to her) and get to the door.
(imogen)
Wouldn't be here if I didn't.
A slight sound of acknowledgement from the Fianna kinfolk, or perhaps agreement. She asked, anyway.She takes a swallow of the beer and lifts her chin in the direction they were headed, her car black against the dark of the night. "My car," stating the obvious, a vague smirk curving her mouth. "Then 'ome, I suppose, provided no one sees fit t'page me."
There are weekends where Imogen almost doesn't have to go out at all. Really. They are rare, and perhaps leaving the feeling and sensation that she isn't on call at all, but wearing the pager out of habit, but they do happen. And then sometimes there are weekends that are execrutiating. Late night pages, early morning pages. It might be one of those weekends, for the quiet fatigue that underscores her eyes.
She looks at him again, head tilting in a repeat of the gesture she had made a moment before:indicating her car. "Come with?"
(rumor)
She nods.
Rage. Yeah why didnt she think of that...And he sums up her long winded explanation in about 2 sentences.
She steadied him and chuckles...Helping with the door. She lets it swing open and helps Tristan in.(james)
1,000 pounds of American steel and muscle waiting on the other side of that door
when, once opened, introduces James to a stumbling Tristan
whom he catches, dutifully, rearranging limbs as necessary to assure Rumor gets the prettyboi inside in one piece"Beer run."
all that's offered in explanation
a little too agitated from the collective night to hang around for discussion
once in Priscilla, he's buckled in for safety measues against non-existant knowledge of her driving rep
Garou or not, he's newly healed and that's one helluva lot of horsepower dragging his ass around
ashed scars pressing against well-kept seats, belt cutting into the tenderly reformed flesh on his belly(decker)
Impulsively, even abruptly, he reaches out to her. Right there. Right on the street. Midway between one working streetlight and another, one dead one hanging overhead, dark. His hand on her cheek is burning hot, burnt hot, but he doesn't flinch as his thumb traces the smudges under her eyes.He doesn't even say it this time: y'oughta sleep more. Ya shouldn't work so fuckin' hard. You gotta quit pushin'. Don't really know yer limits, do ya.
He doesn't say it.
After a moment his hand shapes around the slender strong arch of jaw, and down around her chin; drops away. He inhales until his chest fills out and his wifebeater is taut against it, the musculature beneath delineated sharply, his ribs creaking from the weight of air. A glance at her car. Exhale in a rush, nodding.
"Yeah." He looks at her again; something like a smile. "'Course."
(roxy)
The door opens to spill out a drunken Tristan. Roxanne side-steps out of the way, waiting for them to all pass by. "Yeah, beer run." she murmurs under her breath.The escape made to Priscilla, Roxy doesn't hesitate much on starting the car up and revving the engine a bit too much. She glances over to see if the Gnawer was strapped inside. Good. She wasn't... her driving skills were on par with her shooting. Quick, wild and... a little precise. The car erupts out of the drive, pouring out onto the street.
(tristan)
Caught! dutifully even. slow smirk as he glances up at James, quick once over to see he’s still in one piece – which he’d already checked on before leaving earlier, but well, it bears a repeated glance with this group, and a low snort at the ‘explanation.’“Sure, whatever.”
The only fucking comment in reply. Arm unwinds from brother, from the kid, and he starts across toward the mattress. Not sure when the factory doubled in size and started wavering, but he makes due.
(james)
the car erupts onto the street
luckily, James has been exposed to several levels of driving
those that are skilled, all the way down to watching Kemp's kamakaze runs
so when torque lurches heavy frame out of it's resting spot
he's just bracing a foot against the floorboards
otherwise doing his best to look nonchalant in the forces shoving him securely into the seat
elbow resting on the polished and shiney interior within the passenger door
smoke scissored between two fingers and angled to flick out the cracked windowit's not until after he's palmed over some cash for Roxy to head into the liquor mart - he is, after all, only wearing pants and those scars will definitely raise questions even in this part of town at this time of night - and thus returned with beloved beer (Heineken. Check. Rolling Rock. Check. Newcastle. Check. Two bottles of Arrogant Bastard. Check.) also safely tucked into the trunk, does James choose to finally break the silence otherwise only filled by the sound of growling motor amongst the city's nightly white-noise cacophany of background affects
"Hey Rox....." interjection at a stoplight driven pause, furtive glance to his left at best "Deck'r tell ya we talk'?"
[pause james and roxy]
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.06.19.04. - we ain't nothin' but chips on shoulders [plus decker-danah-roxy] *p[riverfront - cont'd - discussing danah and going to find erik]
(decker)
Decker straightens up, popping a can of Bud open. Yeah, no one got a Heine refill. Oh well. Condensation from the can -- and the melting ice -- drips off his hand as he switches the can to the his left. A snap of his wrist sends icy droplets in Kemp's direction."Put on some fuckin' clothes. Yer a disgrace."
All but his pack would miss the hint of smirk there. He drags up a barstool. That right. A barstool. And no, it's not from a junkyard. He lugged it home one night after he broke some guy's head open on it, and the bartender decided he didn't want it back. There's still a brownish-greyish stain on one edge. It grates over the cracked concrete floor and he vaults up on it, one hand balancing his beer, the other placed for leverage atop the stool. It rocks as his weight settles. His feet hook in between leg and crossbar like they was stirrups and he was a-ridin', and he cradles his beer between his knees.
"Is she livin' wit' us now?" he directs a nod up in the direction of Rumor, indicative.
(james)
there's a pelthora of reasons the Godi would have offered to heal him
but that won't negate the Fostern's acknowledgement of genuine gratitude
he expected enough to keep him from turning into a walking slip'n'slide for the remainder of the evening
call him impressed that wounds healed up to nothing but a dagnasty leftover scar
revealed once his own towel is smearing away prior seepageit's only at her grunt that the Gnawer finally looks up
(he'd been a little distracted gritting his teeth, thank you)
huffing a nod-up sort've gesture towards the walking storm
following a mirrored gesture over towards Rumor"Yeh." the smirk, however, is not reflective, and more self-depreciating as it wraps around slurred accent still a little raw from last night "Tol' her a crash here 'ntil I came up wi' 'noth'r place. Was 'bit..." that breif sneer is nothing like what's expected on the Gnawer's face, there's something entirely wrong about it "preocc'pied las' night a hit th' ads."
"Be nice." paused in collection of protesting frame to stand and grab some pizza "She brough' food."
(kemp)
Is she livin' wit' us now? Oh yeah that’s exactly what she wanted to hear.
James and Kemp both responding to the angry Get. Jeesh talk about forgetful. She had already met him more then a handful of times, and he had heard about the attack in James’s den that had sent her here. Decker was the reason she had protested to even coming here.be nice? Somehow she thought that telling Decker to be nice was something close to telling Michael Jackson to stay away from kids, but she wasn’t gonna say a damn word.
And how rare was that. The firey little streetrat who always seemed cheerful
(except when thrust into a room of guts and blood and wounded) who never was at a loss for words, all of a sudden put on the ‘quiet kinfolk’ mask and leans back on the mattress Tristan had loaned her, which was next to Kemps.The 2 boxes of pizza on the counter for anyone to dive into. She leans back on her elbows and just glances around. This time much less green, and not on the verge of vomiting. Funny how Decker could even scare the sick outta ya.
(snake)
The group was exchanging comments (hardly pleasentries).
So she left it at that, walking away from James now that he wasn't spilling his guts (literally).
Rumor had put on coffee before making a hasty exit from the smell.
S'what she'd come for, so she endeavored to fill said task.
Not looking at anyone (psychotic expression), rage itching like a burn trying to heal.
Mind was not completely over matter (Rage) at the moment.
She avoided the provocation of said Rage by avoiding contact (eye or otherwise).(decker)
James answers; he tips back his beer, his throat working, grunting a muffled affirmative at his packmates. When he swings the beer down, he's looking into the can like he was surprising how little was left. Whaddaya mean, only 12 ounces of distilled amber?Then his gaze flickers up. Flashes up, you might say. He hadn't even seen the sneer -- he'd felt it, though, a shiver on the totembond. And then, the jest. Be nice. Timing could be better.
"Tellin' me what to do now?" -- he's quiet, and level of tone, raising his head fully to look at James out the bottom of his eyes.
(james)
two pieces of pizza: Gone.
that's it, folks, the Gnawer really doesn't chew
an absent gesture invites Snake to help herself to Rumor's findings
pizza and coffee the breakfast of some gods, surely
not to mention it's in the Hood's blood as well as the least he could do for her efforts to help himgnashing teeth on double cheese and endless toppings better than grinding all the enamel off, to boot, regardless of their healing prowess, and take at least some edge off the building Rage blistering around the Fenrir
that's when James is picking up the bottom box and heading towards the barstool
front of his BDUs are still soaked with blood
and the gait's not exactly back to normal
but he's a far sight better than when he first surfaced a short time ago
most would run away from such a quiet, level tone
the raggedyman Ahroun must be completely mad, now, as he moves towards it and even brings gifts
top of the coardboard box flipped open to offer steaming pizza to the Modi"Figger i'za fair trade." the smirk's there, though unreadably lopsided at this point, distorted by the heated aromas steaming up off the pizza, his voice lowering since he's pretty sure of Decker's finely tuned hearing "You tell me what a do'n war, I as' -" ask. not tell. at least there's still some semblance of deference to the Modi's upper rank "- you a try not a scare muh kin."
broken nose or not, pre-healing, James can still smell fear
(especially as he's already familiar with the scent when it rolls off Rumor)(rumor)
check please Maybe now was a good time to leave. Perhaps play in traffic. The rage in the room was like smog in LA. And it was not dissipating any time quick. Just Deckers voice made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge.
And he wasn’t even ranting or raising his voice or anything, he was merely sitting there.One deep breath and she scopes out where she had left her board. Spotting it by the door, not in the way of anyone coming or going. just what you DON’T want, an angry Garou taking an unexpected ride on a skateboard
Board spotted. Eyes go to the door, and then to James. She didn’t really need to be here right now anyways. As much as he tried to explain to her the whole family lesson, she knew damn well she wasn’t truly anyone here’s family, except maybe James’s in terms of being Gnawer. But other then that…
check please
Now was probably a good time to head out. She had brought back food to the wounded troops. Why was she here anyways? In the factory when she could be out and about wandering around…oh yeah…Tell her to stay put
Words supposively that had come from Decker after the whole attack in James’s den. Words that perhaps hadn’t even been said, but so far she had followed them…as hard as it was for the mischievous girl to stay put, she had. But now….perhaps she should exit stage right.
She doesn’t hear what James says to Decker, in fact she is picking out her escape route.
(decker)
The box flips open. Tantalizing food laid forth, cheese and meat and thincrust dough. He doesn't even look down. His hands stay locked in their deliberately relaxed cradle around his beer. He doesn't move a muscle, and doesn't even glance at the food.From bad to worse.
From quiet to quieter."Think 'm scarin' her on purpose?" Resentment, and not for any of the persons or reasons present, is thick. "Think 'm gittin' a kick outta yer kin runnin' out ev'ry time I show my face? Think 'm tryin'?"
To anyone but James, it's a low, indistinct murmur of words. And rage shouting into silence, a cloak of black flames around him. It's a miracle the two Ahrouns don't incinerate one another. Haven't incinerated one another, in all these years.
(kemp)
"Awfuck this shit." Always pretty point blank. Dropping sheet to snag up jeans. Hopping from one foot to the next in tugging on jeans with a painful popping of shoulder joints in sockets. And he was heading towards the door in mid jean struggle. "Come on Random. Let's take a walk."(rumor)
Saved by the fucking bell. And for once it was Kemp that rang the bell. She looks over at him, the appreciation pouring off her face. Fingers push shaggy hair out of her eyes and within seconds it falls back where it wanted to go.
A nod. “mmkay” one partial word (sound) as acknowledgement. thank fucking God she pushes up to her feet and does her best to make her way to the door without making eye contact with the 2 Ahroun who seem to be having a conversation and she was certain it had to do with her.
One quick look over to James, not sure if he’d see it..basically just saying told ya stayin here was a bad idea
She hadn’t asked, even protesed. Family? She still had the same ideas on family as she always had. And Garou also…Man other then Kemp and James, they were all the same. And right now, being anywhere else seemed perfect.
Moving towards the door she picks up the board and looks back over at Kemp…waitin.(danah)
Bang!A balled up fist pounded against the metal doors, segregating the Eagles and their raging brood from the unsuspecting public. The ominious sound rang through the warehouse, echoing, before it fell silent.
Bang! Bang bang bang.
A series of impatient knocks followed the first, falling over one another, echoing, and falling silent again. Outside the door to the factory the Eagles called home, Danah leaned her body against the side of the door, using it prop herself up. A long black mane spilled down her shoulders, and fell in front of her face, hanging low.
(rumor)
Bang..bang..bang...bang
Sends her about 3 feet backwards into Kemp. She was NOT expecting the door to bang as she was approaching it. What the hell was this place a clubhouse?(snake)
All that Rage hanging like a wet blanket, tension thick enough to cut with a chainsaw.
She was attempting to pour herself a coffee...
...but with all the Beasts rearing their ugly red-eyed heads, it was proving difficult.Her own inner anger was pretty tame compared to the Ahrouns.
However, sheer exertion of will to produce results earlier was taking its toll.
The mind was losing the battle to the baser instincts.
Anger, fear, tension, gut smell, blood, cheese and coffee: all scents co-mingled.Then the banging on the door, repeatedly (just like she had done)
Hands already in tremors just made her splash boiling coffee down her front.HISS
Clink.
The cup back on the counter, skin pinking under the hot liquid trailing down.
Bandages across the rents in her chest going from pink to brown and red.
She gripped the edge of the counter, eyes narrowing and jaw muscles working.(Calm. Fucking. Blue. Oceans.)
Yeah... like that was going to work.(kemp)
"Awfuck me." Half walking into shoes while reaching for the door to swing it open with a jerk. "Fuckin great. Just break the fuckin door in next time." Snarled on the way out. "Sumbitch, I need this shit like I need a dick up my ass." And he was past Danah and down the stairs.(Imogen)
Danah's hair perhaps lifts on the back of her neck. Injured as she is, her senses are going haywire, the reaction of an injured, but not dying, beast, one of the most dangerous animals in the wild. The pure breed of the kin speaks for her before she reaches the porch, but the deliberate scrape of her foot against the concrete does it as well.Imogen pivots to avoid Kemp's exodus, Rumour in tow, an eyebrow lifting in a vague expression.
(kemp)
"Dick shit, waving and shit." Mumbled with a vague wave over his shoulder in warning to Imogen. After lastnight he just didn't have the room in his life for dick waving. Everyone stick together to die together one moment, then fucking kill each other the next. What's worse, he'd gotten sick enough of the shit to leave food behind.(snake)
She cleared her throat in a grunt come growl.
Her head was done, eyes staring at the counter top (if looks count burn holes...).
Wavy, unkept blond hair fell forward over her cheeks.
Shoulders were rounded and her back stiffened like a board.
(Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven...)She snagged anything close by to mop up the mess left by the spilled coffee.
Including the patches down her torso, picking at the loosened, soaked gauze and tape.
She picked and pried at a loose piece before just pulling it all off...
(wet, peeling noises...) and dropped it into a wet pile next to the coffee cup.
It was useless now anyway.
She probably had more on her than in the damned cup at this rate.
(Six. Five...)(rumor)
And Rumor was right behind him. Passing Danah down the stairs. Board under her arm.
Passing Imogen. Man how the hell could she stand to be around all them at once and never show any sign of fear nor communicate much other then the raise of a brow or the few choice words."wait up" called to Kemp as she closes in on him. Instantly all the anxiety and creepiness gone.
Fresh air must just be able to do that..."Hey...Been workin on the bike at Roxys" she smiles. Hey those smile muscles in her face still working.
a pause as Kemp describes the scene in only a way Kemp can."Hey, i found some cool helmets too, pickin them up on Monday...you'll dig them..." and finally the dam of rage from inside is broken and she can speak once more openly.
(danah)
Danah pressed her side against the filthy exterior of the factory to keep Kemp from mowing her down (or maybe, from mowing him down). After Kemp and Rumor have cleared out of the door, Danah makes her move, snatching the edge of the door with one claw to keep it open. The hairs rising on the back of her neck make her visibly shiver. Eyes glance back, over her shoulder, through her mane of wild black hair to touch on Imogen. She stares in silence for half a minute, before letting go. Head shakes, mane tussles, faux-fur coat bristles, and the monster in woman's clothing walks into the factory, throwing the door open behind her so that Imogen can slip in before it closes."Hey!"
(james)
the food could be considered a peace offering
it could also damn well be considered a sheild between the two Full Moons
(far be it from either Eagle to waste perfectly good food without reason)
one standing so willingly and easily in the other's cloak of black, murderous flames
dual spheres of rage crackling invisable protest against such close proximity
it's more than a mere miracle they've lasted this long
packmates. battlemates. brothers in arms. comrades beneath Eagle.
.... maybe there's something deeper that's formed, after all, in the past two years"Nuh." a pause in low thunder of rumbling murmur, enough for the guttermutt to make another half-slice of pizza disappear... this healing's an appetite-inspiring business..... either ignoring or downright understanding the resentment hanging so heavily around them "Jus' like I dunn think ya meant a piss me off th' oth'r nigh' like ya did. Dunn think it matter' wheth'r not ya dig muh true reason 'r not. It happen'. n' you giv'n Rum'r th' heebie jeebies happen' like it 'r not. I'll 'mit my timin' sucked." muscular, scarred shoulders roll in a shrug, apologetic through reactions inspired by the recent infusion of blinding pain needing to be taken out in some shape or form "....jus' askin' you a try a be 'bit frein'lier cause she wen' outta her way a bring back food f'r us inv'lids."
there's perhaps some jest in the monicker
but Decker's the only one that can see it
others faced with the ashed scar crisscrosses of Crinos claws down James' back
and the tensing muscle climbing lumbar after the latest addition bangs into the factory(decker)
He never gets a chance to reply. James never even gets a chance to see what that reply might have been. The banging on the door takes care of that. It breaks his attention, snapping his eyes around to the door. A beat later his head turns. Antagonism between packmates always, always, always falls to the wayside in the face of outside threats, and hammering on the Eagles' door is considered a threat.Silent, he watches the door open. Doesn't seem to relax much as Danah shows herself. Which isn't to say he's bolt upright on the stained and stolen barstool, because he ain't. He's all but riding on it, all but crouching on it, his feet still hooked on the crossbars on either side, his spine comfortably curved, his shoulders relaxed and his beer, all gulp and a half of it, still cradled in his hands.
His searing grey gaze passes over Danah's shoulder only briefly to take in the flash of roan-red; the hint of dark eyes. Then it's back on the Galliard that his attention rests. He ain't so blind as to miss the ill will his packmates bore for this one -- though the reason, so far, remains unknown to him.
And, silence. Watchful. That's standard op around here.
(kemp)
Waiting for Rumor to catch up with another baleful look back towards what he thought he called home, starting to wonder now with all the sudden traffic. "Cool, new helmets huh? What do they look like?"(roxy)
The Chevy Nova Camaro, 1969 model, burgundy-plum and polished chrome, pulls up along the drive to the factory. The engine rumbles for several seconds before it cuts off, dying away with a low purr. The driver's door hefts open with push as long legs swing out. Heavy boots touch the ground, planted firmly as Roxanne pulls herself out of the car. Hand pressed to the outside of the door, it slams shut behind her with a slight momentum.Black leather corset frames and molds over the hard lines of muscle against wiry musculature into a slight hour-glass shape, coupled with a pair of low-riding shiny vinyl pants. No lacework, just zippers kept the thing attached to her torso. Any notion of firearms mysteriously hidden from view upon Roxanne's person.
Her steps resonate across the ground in quick strides, heading up the drive to the front door of the factory. Thinly twisted spirals of peroxide blond dreadlocks slither across bare shoulders and forward to frame the lines of her face. Cobalt-blue eyes alert to the activity brimming outside... her home
(james)
stormy grey eyes snap away
whatever will come of it... will come later, as always
and the Ahroun pays attention to his packmate's body language
it's enough to get him to casually turn around
taking a post at the Modi's flankdeep umber eyes narrow
(Decker can feel the bristling spike)
but he continues to put away this current slice of pizza
elbow nudging the Fenrir's to bring the box back to his attention
(Would you fuckin' eat something? You had to heal too....)
standard op: the Hood addressing his pack's needsjust as the Nova Camero's engine cutting outside comes to his
...... peachy.(snake)
Her fingers tightened to a knuckle-white grip around the curve of the counter edge.
(Four. Three...)
A deep breath heaved in and then exhaled.
She pried each finger loose, one at a time, taking it as an exercise in restraint.
Control -- Simple. Damned. Control.She stepped back from the counter, once unlatched.
She balled up the useless bandages, peering down at the open mess of claw marks.
Grunt.
And resigned the coffee cup to where ever would be appropriate.
Maybe coffee wasn't the answer.
'Sepcially, if she couldn't even control enough to pour a cup.She turned back to the scene unfolding in the rest of the warehouse.
The kids were gone (probably better for the girl...)
Decker riding the stool, James holding out the food-offering.
...and Danah had just walked in.(Fuck two. Get to One...)
A faint issued growl.(rumor)
She makes her way up to him and drops hte board to the ground. Converse stopping it from heading off on a ride of its own.
"yours is black with flames on the side. just around the bottom, not cheesy...and mines blue with...like these, thingies, i cant explain it, youll have to see it..."
a pause as Roxy comes up with the bitchin Nova. damn that thing was saw-eeeeeeeet
She shakes her head and cant help but chuckle...
"that place gonna be there in an hour or are they all gonna kill each other?"(imogen)
Getting stared at by unknown injured Garou was apparently the bad habit for today. The slender redhead meets Danah's eyes steadily, with the sort of action that bespeaks habit. When she's released from the Galliard's gaze, her eyes close in a long blink, before reopening and she follows the galliard within, gaze flicking for a moment toward Decker, and then away as she steps away from the Glass Walker, breaking herself from behind the unknown Garou's shadow.A growl, her eyes turn to Snake's direction; it doesn't take a Garou to read the tension. It might take a doctor to see what she had and make some vague connections, not quite solid.
Line forms briefly between her brows as she considers the Godi.
(decker)
Without thought, and without looking, he grabs a slice of pizza. Thinks. Looks. Gets another. Piles 'em together one on the other and takes a big bite out of the end of it."'Sup Imogen," he says, low and slurred, and uncoils off the stool one foot at a time. Brief nod up to Danah after a considering glance. A look over at Snake, either in warning or in curiosity. Hard enough to say. Those grey eyes spark no matter what they touch on. And there's nothing but deliberation in the way he takes his food and drink and clears center stage, instead taking a seat on the sagging old couch off by the side.
James and Danah had some sorta problem? Might as well let it come to head, here and now.
(kemp)
"Not sure, let's just take a seat over here on the wall and watch. Too bad I didn't think to grab one of them boxes of pizza first. Just fucking sick of shit." Tugging Rumor across to the retaining wall where they could watch to see if anyone got tossed out the door.(roxy)
Calloused hands lift up to smooth over her hips, slide down to the front pockets as fingers dip inside. She finds two things in her pockets, a white slip of envelope rolled up tightly, which she pulls out to palm into her open hand, and checking for a small set of keys, switching Priscilla's out for the Tacoma's.Her head lifts up as Rumor and Kemp are walking out. She calls out to them, whistling in a high-pitched tone. "Rumor, c'mere, darlin'. I got somethin' for ya."
(danah)
"Oh." Short, simple. She hadn't been Decker (or anybody) to be standing right there. Somebody else would have blushed with embarassment, but Danah is colored a little too dark for that. Instead her head lowers a little, shoulders rolling forward into a shrug, that brings her hands out of her pockets and exposes the calloused palm. Empty hands. No weapons. Moderately less chance for a physical brawl."Danah," she offers, for James and Snake's benefit. "Lookin' for the Alpha," she says, her gaze still somewhat averted.
(rumor)
A whistle and Roxy calls her over. Leaving her place at the retaining wall she whispers something quickly to Kemp. Then converse on board, she approaches Roxy within seconds..."yup" smilin at the dreadlocked woman she now calls 'boss'.
(kemp)
He was busy scowling at the factory. The way things were going, Decker wasn't the only one that wasn't going to live inside it anymore. Shoulders hunched with his hands shoved in his pockets.(rumor)
Roxys affection is actually a surprise to her. She never knows what kinda mood Roxy will be in. She had been working hard, but truthfuly she usually forgot it was work...she loved tinkering around the garage, even if it was cleanin up or puttin away tools. Watching Roxy work on the vehicles was bitchin.
"wow thanks" big grin.
Pointin to the door..."wouldnt suggest goin in there unless you are wantin to see a whole lotta fightin. I dont think anyone in there even LIKES each other...but yet James preaches to me bout family..." she shrugs.
another smile to Roxy..."may the force be with ya" she chuckles..."n thanks for lettin me help with Kemps bike...think im gonna go get us somethin to eat, cause the pizzas i brought im sure are long gone in there" she smirks.(snake)
"Yer tha bitch tha' frenzied on me."
A curt, blunt reply (growl backed) at Dannah when she offered her name.
She'd caught Decker's look -- and probably took it for a warning.
She moved her hands (tremors) to behind her, thumbs hooked (hard) into back pockets.The claw marks that started up near her neck and travelled down the length of her torso were vivid.
...More so with the open flesh puckered --
Dribbling red-brown where the skin had inflamed from the hot coffee spilled.The husky blue that had come back after James' healing was gone again.
Not even a ring, pupils spilled out fully expanded and somewhat beyond.(roxy)
Roxanne chuckles, releasing Rumor. She lifts a hand up to tousle the girl's hair, mussing it up further. "No problem, Rumor.. Just hide the money and don't spend it all in one place. It's... kinda full." Two keys jingle together on a small key ring, looped over the middle finger of her left hand. She pivots on her boot heels, stepping away from Rumor to head for the door. "I think I can handle mahself in there." she calls back over to Rumor, heading inside.(rumor)
She chuckles.."im sure you can" she shoves the envelope into her pants pocket."see ya on monday..." grinning she returns to Kemp. "hey" she messes up his hair as she returns to the retaining wall. "whattya think about gettin food?" she smirks...."i can go grab pizza, or we can go get that burger and fries you were bitchin bout before world War 3 broke out in there" eyes stop on his face, and she smiles...
(kemp)
"Pizza works." A quick jerk of his body from head to toe like someone walked over his grave. "We can get it and come back to watch from out here. Not so sure I want to go inside. Bunch of bullshit going on."(james)
"Jame'."oddly monosyllablistic from the Eagle's PR guy back to Danah's introduction
because he can't be keeping it short in efforts of being polite when chewing
he's about as pleased as Snake
just handling it a helluva lot better
all that's showing is street performer's easy, lopsided smilethere's a pause as more pizza's offered to King Decker on his barstool throne
then the Fostern's making his way back over to Snake's private playground of Rage
box with half a pizza (yes! it's true!) set on the makeshift junkyardwars reject of a counter/table
one more slice withdrawn in step towards the still-open toolbox turned first aid kit
crouching to dig all the way to the bottompills rattle in a light orange bottle when he stands
muted by the clasp of strong hand
that's offered in turn to Snake along with the pizza slice"Thinkin' you need the' more a me, -yuf." gaze dropping to the stained lines drawn by hot coffee, guttermutt's voice low and easy, just like when he was talking to the other present Rohl, it's obvious he outranks the Fenrir, so the suffix is used to grab her attention in the not-so-optional request "There's a bathroom'in th' back, clean shirt a th' washer jus' outsi'."
(imogen)
You're the bitch that frenzied on me.Imogen's not particularly fond of being between such things, and so her steps, thumb hooked into the loop of her jeans draw her farther from Danah, keep equidistant from Snake.
Her gaze briefly slides toward James and his improved state before sliding farther to Decker again, and since she is not much for greetings, particularly when the tension in the factory is enough to set her nerves on edge and raise the hair on the back of her neck, that glance, a brief review of him, is all she offers.
(rumor)
She notices the jerk again. Ok this time she was certain of it. "you ok?" she watches him for a second..."i mean, i know you arent ok ok, but..." yeah that wasnt comin out right...so she lets it drop.
Eyes move back to the factory. "Been thinkin of askin Roxy to let me crash at the garage, i mean, probably would be smarter for me...i dunno"bunch of bullshit goin on in there He wasnt kiddin. She pauses. "from what i heard food heals wounds or somethin like that, so lets get ya some food" she plops the board down and walks with it still rolling on the ground, foot just sort of draggin it with her. "this isnt gonna come out right, but im really glad i didnt have to see your guts hangin out...i mean i didnt wanna see James's guts either...but you know what i mean"
(snake)
A bottle of pills and a slice of pizza.
And obviously not-so-optional request.
The Godi stared at James for a heartbeat...
(...-yuf? Blink.)
Then looked away.She took the pills and the pizza with a grunt of acknowledgement.
She recognized the tone and the implicated suggestion behind it.
Was like dealing with Scratches Tires, the old pack Gnawer, all over again...
...sending the cranky, psychotic(-seeming) hot-head out to cool off.Bottle in one hand, pizza in the other...
...She moved away from the immediate situation, like 'suggested'.(roxy)
.....just peachy...
Shugahs, I'm home....Her hand reaches out to touch the door, shoving it open as Roxy fills the doorway. Cobalt-blue eyes sweep across the factory to the sounds of familiar voices, and then not so familiar voices.... Her eyes finally stop.dead.on.Danah. more like the back of Danah, depending on which direction her tribemate was facing.
"Man, I can just feel the love brimmin' in this room right now," she exhales out in sarcastic snip. Chest strains against leather as she breathes in a shallow intake of air, holding briefly and exhales again. Her hand lets go of the door, allowing it to close behind her, walking further into the factory.
Another sweep of her eyes to locate the actual residents of the factory, the Eagles. Decker and James. "Rohl.. James." a nod up to them.
(danah)
["Yer tha bitch tha' frenzied on me."]Danah's head cants to the side, allowing her black hair to slip free from black eyes, staring over toward Snake. Shoulders roll forward into a slow shrug, like she was trying to slip on the memory of that evening like an old worn coat. It had a lot of holes in it though, and that one fell through a pocket somewhere on the walk over, so she didn't say anything.
Her attention shifts to the yellow pills offered Snake, lingering there (hungrily) momentarily. She looked pretty good for somebody that fought until she fell over from exhaustion. Her wound was hidden beneath her clothes, covered with an old shirt and duct-taped into place. Hell, she was standing on willpower alone. Should be in a bed somewhere, laying down. Stubborn bitch.
(james)
subtle
this is why James is PR for Eagles
get the Fenrir to self-medicate without detonating
(he has learned something in packing with other Germans)
lopsided grin twitching wider at her acceptance
he doesn't want to make her lose face infront of the others
but he doesn't want any excess fighting going on while they're all healing, too
not to mention this is his fucking living room
(getting too damned popular, gonna have to move again)"Rox'."
deep umber eyes strafe over to the peroxide fox
the nod-up greeting is returned
then his gaze drops away
let us excuse it to turning attention fully on Danah
since Decker's busily checking on the state of his truck
James continues on his PR duties with the Galliard"Ain' 'roun'." smooth as ice, cold as ice, too, most likely "W'cha wan'."
(rumor)
Ok. Kemp didnt look all that good. Most people didnt twitch like that at will.
"You should go lay down. I can fend for myself in there, why dontcha just go lay down and ill grab a couple more pizzas and hope that tames the beasts."
she chuckles and checks the envelope quickly, just cause she was curious.
jaw drops holyshit. ALL that for helpin out? Doin something she LIKED Wow...Roxy rocked.
Grin plastered from ear to ear....
She pushes the board with her foot, heading off back tot he pizza joint to get some food, shed pick up beer but no ones gonna sell to a 15 year old. Thats for fuckin sure.(assuming kemp fell off so he can go back inside and crash or whatever, Rumor will grab another pizza and return to the factory)
(snake)
Somehow, through the haze, she found her way out of the area.
Out from being in a Rage-filled living room.
Away from greviances and aggravation.
A bottle of pills in one hand and food in the other.
(Here's hoping it worked.)She'd clean herself up, but at least she didn't need to borrow clothes.
She had more than enough out the back in the (modified) camper.
But running water that wasn't depleting her sources was a bonus.
...the sting of the wounds wasn't.When cleaned up (at least of the coffee) she made her way out back.
Where it was safer.
Where it was more like home.CLANG-CREAK
Sound of metal getting dented inwards, against it's will, from the back parking lot.
(...that's a little better)
(roxy)
Where's my truck, Roxy?...Typical, pretty much what she expected from him. Her left hand closes into a fist around the tacoma's keys, hiding it as that arm rests casually at her side. "Get mah ranson note?"
He should have, it was left on a case of beer for him.
Many feet of space crossed in quick strides towards the gathering, Roxanne stops short (and a good distance) away from the Garou. A line of tension etching up the hardwire frame of muscles, rolling shoulders back slightly.
She flicks a glance towards James, more of Tristan's guilt trip laid out in her mind right then... AND she looks back at Decker. "Like I said, get mah ransom note?"
(danah)
"A home," she replies, while her head cants to the side. Long ring covered fingers, with dark-red nails sharpened to perfection comb through her hair, pulling it away from her face."Normally I bring something," she starts, as a loose strand of hair falls in front of her face. And then another. Its a momentary repreive, those unveiled eyes. "But it was a long walk from the fight.. and I'm not in any condition to drive." Shoulders roll into another shrug, hands fall at her sides, and she looks up toward James to see his reaction, while she stands there.
(kemp)
"I'm fine, just a little." Shrugging while pulling his ass off the wall to follow behind Rumor. It was just that every now and then his muscles did this weird jumping shit of their own. "Almost put my eye out trying to brush my teeth."(rumor)
She smirks..."can think of worse injuries that could come from that" she chuckles...havin missed the earlier joke about takin a piss...15 year old minds think alike.Push push coast. They head up the street leaving the factory with its occupants to do their thing, in fact she was now trying to place who would be there, and who would be gone or worse when they returned.
Patting her pocket..."man Roxy hoooked me up, i mean, holy shit...dude" she grins...More walking with the board rollin as they head to the pizza place.Stoppin she looks at him..."want anythin else?" before entering the place.
(decker)
Sprawled on the couch with his head tipped back, he looks at Roxy from under his half-closed lids. Interweaving of honeyblond lashes, too long for a toughguy thug like him, long enough to almost be pretty, split her image into a weave of toughness and smoky sex. Roxy was a study in contrasts. One of them GWs not so very tamed by the world. Maybe that's why he didn't mind her so much.But it still don't mean he won't react to her baiting. The temperature drops ten degrees. Or maybe it rises. His rage, after all, burns -- even when he doesn't move a muscle other than to raise his chin a notch. His patience's been tried a coupla times already tonight.
"Yeah. Whatchoo wanna talk 'bout."
(kemp)
"A soda?" Reaching around her to push the door open. "Eats, drinks and the world is great for a few minutes, right?" Waiting for Rumor to go inside before following her. "Ya know, life is weird. Just when ya think ya got people figured out, something else happens. I mean, it's like you always thought the lady next door was just big built and then one day ya find her with her dress lifted, pissing on a tree in the backyard and ya realize she's a he-man, not a she-man. Just fucked up."(james)
the raggedy Gnawer stands silent for a moment
contemplation measuring thoughts and time
arms are dangling loosely at his sides
so that makes the new ragged scar on his lower belly stand out right nice
distal lights strung about factor's interior reflecting off raised skin with each breath"'preciate th' sen'imen'." hostile as the Fostern may seem, he can diplomate past that an acknowledge manners and good will regardless of the personal feelings entwined about the presented, which is probably why he's pack PR and Tribal Elder, making sure to speak slowly enough so that she can understand, tones remaining low and even cordially civil after surviving possible mangle brought about by thick New York accent made near impossible by battlescar slur. "S' tell me, Daynuh, what make you think y' b'long w'th Eagle?"
Alpha may not be around
but that won't stop James from grilling the Galliard
the Gnawer's thoughts reach out to his packmates on the wings of their totem
Speak now or forever hold your piece, boys words amazingly clear in their minds I've no hesitation turning Danah away.(roxy)
On an added note...Roxanne can't help but overhear the snippets of conversation with Danah and James. Blond eyebrows quirk upward as she skims her eyes their way. She exhales again, "I've packed with her before, James..." a jerk of her head to indicate Danah and she lets it drop there.
--
Her attention easily snared back by Decker...even at the distance she stood from the couch. The eternal fires of burning rage had a way of making her flesh roll in a sliver of shudders, starting at the nape of her neck, (where tribal glyph tattoo lies) streamlined down her spine and over the Weaver glyph tattoo at the center of her lower back.Blond lashes flicker as cobalt-blue eyes narrow to thin, hard slits concentrated on the Modi's mouth, or maybe his chin. Her chin tilts up slightly, defiant to the end, but cautious (very few garou could make her submissive with a look). "These." She remarks, pulling up her left hand to open it, dangling the keys from her middle finger. Her hand turns around, fingers curl up in a fist, key ring slipped off and a slight toss as the keys fly in Decker's direction.
(kemp)
to James, Decker Rohl: Turn her away, works for me. I think the bitch is fucked in the head. Got a chip on her shoulder and if she moves in, I'm fucking moving out. I want more than some one night stand with a potential packmate. Not saying I gotta love her, but respect would help.(decker)
to James, Kemp Oates: A dissenting opinion. Think she fights hard. Think she fights good. Fuck's up yer asses 'bout her anyway?(james)
We met before, last December, she didn't leave a good impression. Seems others last night didn't think much of her, either. We've got enough shit to deal with without that coming back up again, or her little dance with Snake. I don't trust her like I didn't trust Dire. At least he's trying to keep to fact. We don't need another disgrace no matter how hard she fights.(decker)
His eyes never leave hers.There are two kin in the city that can match his stare beat for beat. This is one. The other's not so evident in her boldness, but perhaps even stronger when she bit down and didn't give an inch.
The keys come flying at him, and at the last possible second his hand slides up. With a crisp little smack, keys hit palm and fingers close over them. A hint of a smirk touches his mouth. He opens his hand, looks down at the keys, thumb tracing the serrated edges. He pulls out his keychain and reattaches 'em.
"What else," he says.
(kemp)
Sniffing at the box while following behind Rumor, mumbling. "I'm the kid here, but I fuckin swear there are times I feel older than dirt with some of the crap that comes rolling up around me. I mean, well fuck. Nevermind." A shake of his head. He'd never understand his pack.
Just fucked in the head." Another sniff of the box to distract him some. "Smells good, I'm starving." Box rattling with the tremor through his arms. "Awfuck me."(rumor)
She shakes her head noticing the tremor. She sticks one of the bottles under her arm and takes the pizza. "Hey rather have ya twitch then see yer guts fallin out" she smiles. Both of them havin stopepd talking bout something mid sentence. Some shit better left unsaid.
"never understood the whole pack thing, James tried to tell me how fuckin perfect it was, but see" she opens the box and hands him a piece as they walk...the board just being pushed with her foot. "see that shit in there, thats why i never hung with them all like that, its like a fuckin pile of firecrackers and someone tosses a match...sooner or later they all go off..pop pop pop pop"shaking her head and closin the box cause it was easier to walk with it closed.
Approachin the retaining wall, lookin at the factory. "Dont hear any poppin yet..." she sits the 2 liters on the wall and lays the box next to it.
"look seriously, im realy glad you ended up ok, i didnt know bout the battle thing, but im glad yer ok n stuff"
(danah)
A slow nod in Roxanne's direction. Acknowledgement and appreciation for the simple offer, whatever came of it.Her attention shifts back to James, heading tilting back to a neutral posture, and hair slowly withdrawn from her face through a single fluid gesture of nails clawing through a thick black mane.
"Because your tough.. and so am I."
"Because you don't take shit, and neither do I."
"Because you don't fuck around.. and I don't neither."Then her gaze shifts, pulls away from James, slipping over the interior of the factory. "You guys live in the shit.. probably have since your first change. And I've been clawing up from it ever since I was born. And I'm still there, and I don't think that'll ever change. But I'll take a couple bastards to hell with me."
"Get and Bone Gnawers.. I like that. Tough tribes.." Shoulders roll back, and eyes turn back to James, expecting another question, or a similar challenge.
(kemp)
to James, Decker Rohl: Well I don't trust the bitch. Too much pack hopping, why ain't she with any of those she was with before? Gotta be something there. And besides, like ya said, don't need more shit than we already got. Need someone we can depend on, not someone we need eyes in the back of our heads to watch.(imogen)
It's strange to think how little Imogen knows about the Garou Nation when she watches so often. That she didn't pick up all the little words and features of it in all the years she's been alive, simply through this: paying attention.But that was it. Most of her interest is on the by-play between James and Danah and the interrogation.
(snake)
Time Out taken in the Angry Kids Corner.
The pizza had been (rapidly) devoured.
The coffee spill had been cleaned up.
And wounds had been attended to (again).Time to make a semi-quick re-entry, or at least that was the plan.
So she came back from the camper out back, bottle in hand.
(returning the pills to where they belonged)She didn't look much happier than when she left (or maybe the scowl was permanent)
...but at least the Rage wasn't quite so thick and smothering, like a corpse shroud.(kemp)
Taking a seat on the wall to start munching on pizza before trying to crack open the soda one handed. "Yeah I'm fine. Sorta wondered for a moment, but heh, it's what I'm suppose ta do." Stuffing the crust in between his teeth to use both hands in opening the bottle. "Jump with both feet and kiss my ass goodbye." Pizza once more stuffed in his mouth. "Don't worry 'bout me, I'm in better shape than some. Got patched up pretty good. Decided flying ain't all it's cracked up to be too. Fall ain't so bad, it's wondering how far you'll splat when ya land that makes ya think twice."(roxy)
Guilt-trippen Gnawers tend to know how to brow beat a stubborn woman when they push at the right buttons. Maybe Roxy was finally coming to her senses and the tacoma had been the start of the therapy she needs....It took several moments of silence to supress the shudders that roll over her skin. Calm and collective, breathe in and breathe out slowly, leather corset restrains the room for easier breathing. An upturn of her eyes meets Decker's gaze, cobalt-blue over storm-grey, and then, that boldness that makes up the brunt of the Glass Walker kin's backbone reveals itself.
"Minor alterations to the vehicle.Not sure if ya seen the Polaroids or not. Sorry, but no spikes on the bull bar, which'll reinforce the vehicle if ya decide to plow over anything.. like vampiric bovine or somethin'."
A ghost of smile smirks across the corners of lush lips, "Oh, and another thing... Payment for services rendered. I need somethin' a little more substantial, Decker Rohl. I can't afford to lose mah money over complete overhauls. Tune-ups and minor crap are no problem. Every time ya goin' wreck it, I lose money on yar ass. I can't have that.." a hand lifts up pointing a finger at him, "If ya do wreck it like that again. So help me Gaia, the Weaver better calcify yar ass before I find ya."
(rumor)
She shouldnt laugh but she does, its not the topic that is funny, its always how he gets his point across. Kemp certainly never held back what he was thinkin thats for sure.
Leaning up against the wall she grabs one of the pieces of pizza. "Ill remember that...not that im one for flyin or fallin" she shakes her head, and glances back at the factory once more.
"so does this new twith thing mean i gotta watch out for stray kicks in the night?" she smirks..."i mean the 2 matresses have a gap so the girl cooties cant get to ya, but its close enough i may get a nice kick to the leg" she winks teasingly.(decker)
to James, Kemp Oates: Think y'all is overreactin', says the king of overreactions. 'N that don't tell me shit, James. What happened ta make ya distrust her?(kemp)
to James, Decker Rohl: Bullfuckinshit. What makes you so sure she's so great that we need to have her ass with us? What, she have super powers other than what I done seen?(james)
Totemphone: there's a rather Modi-esque grunt Her opinion Kemp was a weak and disgraceful pussy for protecting kin rather than running off to battle with several other Garou one night. Add it to Butta, Cliona, and Roxy's distasteful caution and outright hate last night and now..... not something I trust at my back in the heat of battle, especially after her blitzing on Snake when we had more important things to mangle. Yeh. Seem familiar?(rumor)
She laughs, not catching the fact he was listening to voices in his head..or whatever the head cocking meant. She shakes her head.."ya know ive had this brown n red hair for weeks now...ive been itchin to change it" she chuckles..."a fro? what the hell did you fight with a fuckin electric eel?"(snake)
She'd banged against the door once (an equivilent to a knock)
And then walked in.
Not like the place wasn't already packed.
One more couldn't hurt.
It also acted as a warning that someone was coming in.
Just in case they were all trying to kill each other or something.
And decided to take a breather to see who was walking in.She had a destination, heading there on entry: med box.
Long legs, a wide stride that ate the distance easy, crossing the concrete floor.
She popped open the red tool box (unless it had been left that way) and dropped the bottle back in.(decker)
The smirk is gone. Maybe it hadn't existed at all. Maybe it was just a figment of the imagination. Maybe he just don't feel like smirking anymore.There's a warning in his eyes. There's a feeling that he might wanna bite that pointing finger off.
A long silence stretches.
Then, quietly, "Y'know I pay my debts, Roxy. So don'tchoo act like I don't give up no appreciation fer whatcha done fer me. So fuck you want from me?"
(james)
I've packed with her before, James
as hesitant as the guttermutt may be to look at the peroxide fox
James' deep umber eyes flick over in assessment
the nod is nearly non-existant
returned call on the totem line providing blessed distraction
dark gaze distancing a moment as he listens inamazing how the pack can discuss things without really losing touch with what's going on around them
meaning he's nodding at Danah's explanation"Good reas'ns. Hon'rable." a beat. "Mean y'r 'pinion 've those y'r lookin' a pack wit's change' since Decem'r?"
glancing over a nod of thanks for Snake's returning the bottle
(decker)
to James, Kemp Oates: Kemp ain't no pussy. That comes back immeidately. The rest comes back after he answers Roxy, But fuck if I care what Butta, Cliona 'r even Roxy thinks. Make my own decisions on this.As fer her blitzin'. Yer precious Butta picked 'er up 'n tossed her inna combat. Gainst. my. orders. You try tossin' me inna combat someday. See what happens.
...nobody tosses a (modi) dwarf!
(kemp)
"It was um, well, worse than the fomori things ya asked about. It was well, it fucking hit me once and sent me flying through the air and off the top of the fuckin building. It was just plain ole nasty assed. I mean, hell giant crab monster wasn't this fuckin mean. And towards the end, I don't know how or what he did, but it about fried us all. And ya think I got a mouth on me? Hell, I'm like a baby compaired to the nasty shit came rushing out at the end there."(snake)
She kept her eyes on what she was doing, looking at no one person.
Inanimate objects didn't bite back (usually) and didn't give the urge to bite them.
Back still rigid with hyper-tense muscles and hair still falling into her face, albeit slightly damp.
Head cocked a little to the side, catching the various snippets of information."Thanks." -- or at least that was what it sounded like.
Muttered to James. Barely audible. Grumbled.
No other intrusion into the current interview (interrogation) made.Turning away again, bottle returned, she went back for the door she'd come through.
(danah)
Eyes narrowed at the question. Narrowed in thought, as brow wrinkled and the lines of muscle working her jaw flexed, even slightly."I got a nasty temper.. I say a lot of shit," she replies. "Don't remember what I said in December.."
(rumor)
She hands him another piece from the box, taking a swig right from the bottle. "wait, worse then the crab thing?" she shakes her head. leaning up against the wall next to him..."these things you fight against can FRY you?" she starts in on piece number 2 and looks back at him over her shoulder a bit. "fuck man, no wonder you all are so pissed off all the time...at least we only have to deal with enraged garou, unless we are in the wrong place at the wrong time....of course..but shit..." her voice trails off as she glances back towards the factory..."sounds quiet still...whatcha think is goin on in there?" glance moves back to Kemp. "Im glad you didnt get a fro too by the way, i dont think you could pull the fro look off...but i was thinking of goin all red...or maybe purple...whattya think?" she jokes, knowin damn well what he thinks of that...she chuckles.(james)
Don't care what they think, either, but maybe it means something opinions relate. they can feel the shrug even if he doesn't phsycially construct it Butta's mistake is his, and he'll pay for it however it appropriate. amused as he was, in a time of War amusement gets pushed away by ranking Ahroun's orders, and he can admit LeRoy acted out of line - but that isn't the issue: You're right, Kemp isn't, we've both seen him prove himself proud in battle more than once. He doesn't like her. If Snake makes pack that's two with a chip. You willing to put the pack through that for a good fighter?(kemp)
to Decker Rohl, Kemp Oates: Don't care what they think, either, but maybe it means something opinions relate. they can feel the shrug even if he doesn't phsycially construct it Butta's mistake is his, and he'll pay for it however it appropriate. amused as he was, in a time of War amusement gets pushed away by ranking Ahroun's orders, and he can admit LeRoy acted out of line - but that isn't the issue: You're right, Kemp isn't, we've both seen him prove himself proud in battle more than once. He doesn't like her. If Snake makes pack that's two with a chip. You willing to put the pack through that for a good fighter?(.... oops)
(roxy)
She clears her throat, hand slips back as her arms fold across her chest tightly. Head cants to the side, spilling peroxide dreads across her face. Her eyes cut away from Decker to settle upon his packmate, James... (he already knew this answer.... )But that tactic backfired with major reprecussions upon Roxy's friendship with said non-present gay boi who loved the guttermutt too much to see him hurt by a villianous Roxanne's wicked intentions.
She looks back to Decker, opening her mouth to speak, "Can we discuss that another time, just between you and me. Please, Decker?" questioned asked, smoky voice lowers to mean it was personal business, just between them and not pack.
(snake)
Objective completed, exit was taken.
Stage right.
The door pulled open, closed behind her with a faint thump.
Back to the camper and the relative peace (sanity) within.
Always safer that way...(kemp)
Turning to consider Rumor's hair a long moment. "Well, purple is a nice color. I was thinking maybe going like, lemon white hair." A shrug with a look towards the factory. Stuffing pizza in his mouth while considering the building a long moment. "Ain't nothing much going on in there right now." Said as if he actually knew what was happening inside.(decker)
Grey eyes like concrete shift over to James with Roxy's ill-disguised look. And then the snap back to her. Half-lidded eyes or not, there's a sting every time he looks at anyone. A whip flicked from a lazy hand flies just as fast."Yeah alright," he dismisses the subject, his eyes roving after Snake's departure. Weird one, his cousin. Just as quiet as him and probably a lot more insane.
"But why don'tcha talk to 'im bout it yerself," he finishes with Roxy, and rolls his weight forward to stand, smoothly, joints moving like oiled bearings. He heads over to the icebox and tosses Roxy a beer over his shoulder. "So where's my truck?"
Back to the start.
(kemp)
"Ya see that?" Glancing towards Rumor a second. "In, out, in, out. Like a bus station around here sometimes. I wonder how long before we got a trailor park going on behind the place?"(imogen)
Attention flicks briefly toward Roxanne and Decker's conversation, features illegible. And back, vaguely toward the conversation between Gnawer and perspective packmate.And perhaps she agreed with Snake's sentiment, whatever it might be, in taking her leave out into the faded cool night, scrubbing a hand across her face as she inhales night air she had missed the last time she was out here. Smoking, and all that. Letting the door shut behind her as she starts down the steps, glancing across the street to where the two fifteen year olds sit with their bounty.
(rumor)
She looks back at him..."what, you got the place bugged and have somethin in your ear or something so you can hear?" she chuckles..."and lemon white? how many lemons do you know are white? if you mean like Roxys peroxide white, naw..."she stops and looks, then she actually laughs.."been out back lately? theres a couple places people are livin out there" she shrugs..."has it always been that way?" she exhales..."man the way roxys payin me, i can rent somethin somewhere, maybe not like an apartment or anythin, but somethin...cause its pretty obvious Decker doesnt want me round there..."
(kemp)
Waving a piece of pizza at Imogen when she came out the door. For all the world looking as happy as a lark right now. He had food and drink and there was this buzzing beside him. Oh wait, that was Rumor's mouth going again. Looking towards her a moment. "Ok, then maybe blue like ya had before. And before ya go moving, just remember, Decker, he loves ya. Just has a hard time showing love and all so he um, bitches. Yeah, while inside he's all melty marshmellow filling. Ya hear him grunt, that means he loves ya." Short nod and he was eating again.(james)
here's where the Ahroun lets loose a soft chuckle
completely contrast to the serious tones clamoring in his head"I do." hands slide into the pocket of bloodstained BDUs, pulling the crusted waistband away from neatly healed flesh "Made a few hides bris'le callin' Kemp names af'er you d'liver'd a message a Crow to me. Jus' cause he chose a defen' our kin 'stead a run off inna battle wi' th' res' a ya." head tips, casting dreadlocks over shoulders, long ropey-vines of hair mingling with the crinos claw scars ash-stained crawling up his back "Guessin' tha' change'? r' can we 'spect y'r temper a get th' bes've y'r mouth 'gain?"
"Nah tha' public 'pinion matt'r much, but lookin' our f'r my packma'es.... won'er why so many las' night kep' their distance a yeh."
(roxy)
"I'll work on it. Mah PR skills aren't up to par as of late." heh. Subject change.
The bottle of beer heads her way as Roxy steps up to catch it with too quick of reflexes normally not found in normal humans.The cold beer doesn't get used for its intended purposes, but makes does a nice imitation of an ice pak, pressed into the curve of her throat to cool herself off. With all these massive bodies and rage-proned, the temperature could climb a few degrees.
"Truck's not here. Delivered in the morning. Less ya goin' go hunt it down."
(rumor)
((ooc laughing my ass off at oh wait that was Rumors mouth again))She laughs at that..."ok first of all, nthing marshmellowy about Decker, and second he has never said a word to me...just plastered me with evil glares...i didnt wanna stay in the factory cuz i knew hed treat it like someone shoved a firey poker up his ass." she smirks and waves to Imogen as she approaches.
"Blue...and have you make smurf jokes every day?" she winks and shakes her head.."dunno ill figure somethin out, i think ive had so many colors, that nothing grabs me right now" a pause as she hands him another piece, while grabbin one more for herself."Too bad Tristan doesnt have a place, i like him..." She leans back on the wall now...and is quiet for a second..."yaknow, doesnt matter how young or old ya are, i still think you are smarter then most of them..."
(decker)
Decker looks between the keys in his hand to Roxy, and back. Little bits of shiny steel in his big calloused hand, and one of them fits his new and improved Tacoma. Damn, he should crash that thing more often. Good thing Roxy can't read minds."Fuck tha mornin'," his smirk is lopsided. "Huntin' it down right now. Where'dja hide it?"
(kemp)
Snickering a second with that last comment. "Oh yeah, right. Ok so like, Tris said he might be getting a place soon, but like, well when his other half comes home, it will be like, a honeymoon or something for awhile and ya don't want to hear that. Believe me, I done heard it." Starting to grunt and grind his hips. "No, no, it's my turn." Covering both ears, the soda held between his knees. "La la la la." Lowering his hands with a wink. "That's whatcha gotta practice doing when Dustin comes home. Just cover your ears when ya hear someone say it's my turn. And start singing really loud so ya don't hear the grunts and heavy breathing."(danah)
"Ooh. That." The edge of her lips, naturally dark due her puerto rican complexion, lifted into a small smile. She looked back at the door behind her, in the direction that Kemp had stormed off with the girl that Danah wasn't paying too much attention. "Yeah.." Her eyes slowly drift back to James with a small nod."I remember that now."
"I thought that was settled a long time ago too. Talked to the kid at the Fianna's bar.. straightened it all out there. Gave him the message from crow a little after that, shared a drink.. thought that was the end of it. Didn't think he was still broiling over that. I kinda like him, actually.."
She shrugs a little at the mention of public opinion. "LeRoy don't like me cause I called him on his shit, some odd months ago. Ready to sell his own people into slavery. Fuck'im. Ricinus.. that's a little more complicated. We were pack for a small while, but it didn't really work out." Her gaze shifts, not toward anything in particular, just away. "Its a love-hate thing.. I guess. But I don't hate her as much as she probably thinks I do..."
(rumor)
And that was it.
Coke spit right out...
That was not only a visual she didnt want to picture, but also accompanied by sound effects. Shaking her head and the laughter just flows from her.
"oooh my god...." she mutters wiping her face with her sleeve, literally bent over laughing.
"ok ok so what about like a soundproofed basement or something?" she smirks.."plus isnt Tristan bangin roxy now?" she composes herself now and takes a few breaths...damn that caught her off guard..."ipod baby..." she grins..."Thats when you need an Ipod" the thought of Tristan and any dude making noises and stuff...naw...she didnt really wanna visualize that one, bein gay was fine, picturing and hearin it, naw shed rather not.." she smirks... and leans back this time leaning against the wall, but also partially against one of his legs.
"So they take turns eh?"(decker)
to James, Kemp Oates: Fuck that. We ain't nothin' but chips on shoulders, James. Ain't turnin' Danah away 'til I given 'er a fair shot. Y'all still got a problem with her in a month, I ain't sayin' a word then.(kemp)
to James, Decker Rohl: Ya know, I get the feeling ya just ask out of some formality, not cause ya really care what we think. He had to say it cause there were times things just had to be said for what they were.(roxy)
Roxanne's attentions turn to James and Danah now, "Leroy has about as much love for Danah as he does for me. He'd probably rather see us both dead and think it was a good thing for the city.." she spits out in absolute disgust at the mention of Leroy. No love losts at all for that Coggie.A flicker of her eyes on Decker once more, "I told ya. In the morning. Ya can stay home for one more night.. or go trollin' on foot."
(james)
Fair enough. it came after a length of silence, the Ahroun contemplating issues both within his mind and infront of his face - Eagle did dictate He would grant the Gnawer compassion I'll give her a month, and if our opinions still hold - Snake's too, if she makes it in - Erik's if he ever makes it back - you ain't got a word to say.(kemp)
"Well yeah, I mean, doesn't everyone take turns?" A look towards Rumor and then he was busting up cause she had coke coming out her nose. "Gross!" Laughing before turning as serious as he gets. "Ok, so like Tristan and Roxy was doing the nasty right next to me while they thought I was sleeping. Only who could sleep through all that shit? And then Dustin came along." Frowning, trying to make sure he had the sequence right in his memory. Sex tended to cloud his memory. "And anyway, then Tris and Dustin got together and started doing more nasties and well, that's where it stands now. Tristan and Dustin sitting in the tree. Roxy and whoever, hell if I know who now, sitting in another bush. See?"(decker)
"Fuck off," Decker says, more boredom than spite. He straightens up, two more cans fished out of the icebox. One for James and one for Danah? In their dreams. Or their nightmares. Decker turned hospitable. Run for your lives. Apocalypse is coming.Pop-hiss, one can opens. He stuffs the other in his thigh pocket and, without so much as a goodbye to anyone, heads out the door.
(decker)
to James, Kemp Oates: Reminded, Gotta talk 'bout Erik too. Said not ta follow, but I ain't lissenin'. Y'all with me, 'r not?(kemp)
to James, Decker Rohl: Oh blow me if ya gotta ask shit like that. A mental roll of his eyes. Whatchat think, I'm gonna let ya go without me?(rumor)
She laughs and nods...keepin it all straight. "ok so you get yourself live porn shows while you pretend to sleep, nice...well im sure you liked the Roxy ones better then the 2 dudes" she ponders this one for a second...
"dude you didnt watch Tristan and Dustin right...i mean ewww" she smirks..."Used to see hookers givin blowjobs in the alleyways...and this one time...."
she stops.
Eyes go to the door.
pop pop pop pop here come the firecrackers.Posted by james at 12:00 AM.06.19.04. - interesting handshake [imogen-rumor-kemp-snake] *p[riverfont]
(james)
awfully quiet in the factory, indeed
save the water shutting off from the far-side bathroom
the door creaking open
and a form literally shuffling out of the darknessit's James
and if Kemp's bruising hidden by shadows hadn't been indicative enough of last night's battle
the Gnawer's shape surely fills in any possible blanks
making rather slow progress towards the group in the more formal domestic area
(beer. there is beer. somewhere.)
it's clear enough the raggedyman's still in a world of paintowel's bunched up over the lower left of his abs
not doing as good a job as possible in soaking up the blood seeping out of naaaasty gash
top of one of the few remaining pairs of unstained pants the Ahroun owns.... well.... joining the club
there's a scattering of other dark marks and wounds in various stages of healing
but the worst of it's his belly, putting that hitch in slow step
(rumor)
She glances back over her shoulder. Due to the lack of ligthing currently in the dark factory, she doesnt really notice much of the bruising or damage done to the Garou.
Plus if she looked at him in the sheet too long, he would begin spouting off comments, and she had learned the tricks to avoid Kemp-comments."Just didnt want the slurpee to melt into grape goo"
Sitting down on a nearby chair, in between where Imogen is standing, and Kemp is sleeping...now waking.(kemp)
"Thanks." Mumbled while reaching for the slurpee before the opening bathroom door got his attention. Wincing with the sight of James. His own wounds had been enough to knock him clean out till Cliona came along. He was fortunate, he'd been mostly healed, but James, oh that hurt to look at. He'd been there, done that one before, it was never fun. "Oh man, you need to lay down."(imogen)
"I see yeh survived," noted in Kemp's direction, as he starts to wake up, a brief questioning lift to her eyebrow as she hooks her thumbs in her belt loops and attention drifts toward the shambling gait of the raggedy man, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. Her hip rests against the table-come-counter as she looks him over, the blood soaking the pale hue of the towel.The doctor makes no move to assist, though adding, "considerably better than some," to her previous comment to the cliath rotagar.
(rumor)
Water shuts off. And in comes James.
As his form becomes more visable Rumor smiles and is about to speak when the little bit of light shows off the condition of the Gnawer.towel. blood. slow progress.
No time for her even to react in the way she would have normally if the raggedyman was to appear from a recent shower...Hey Rumor...welcome to the after battle scene
Her jaw drops only slightly, not used to seeing the recently battled wounded.She probably looked a little shocked, fingers tightening around the slurpee cup so she doesnt absently drop it to the floor..
Kemps words make her head turn from the gaze at the raggedymess approaching and once Imogen speaks it all fits together like a puzzle.
"Shit..." Eyes bounce back from James to Kemp, like if she was watching a tennis match. Words not coming as quickly...
Imogens eyebrow can speak sentences, and her words always so few, but gets the point across. Much better then the mouth diarhea of many.
"Shit..." she repeats..but nothing else really comes out other then 'shit'
(james)
by the time he arrives at the island of domesticity
left arm reaches out to brace on the back of the couch
diamond cut lines of tendon and muscle hidden by the crisscross of welted gash
using the grip to support his weight in a moment's rest
(while the world decides to take it's dear, sweet time stopping the spin....)
lopsided grin showing up best it can past split lip swelling"Maybe I should've 'ccpted those pads...."
it hurt to look at, allright, it even sounded agonizing
normally smooth tones grating out of his throat
(they all knew he didn't intend to survive last night)
about as liquid as the halting gate finally making it around the couch
(must have been some Grace of Gaia that put him back on her earth this day)coordinating a lay down would hurt entirely too much
but there's little choice in the matter beyond collapsing to sit
caustic look readied to shoot back at the good Doctor and glance at Rumor lost in a moment of blinding white
as that... was a serious.... mistake.....(breath, Jamey-boy, remember to breath)
(kemp)
"Yeah well, I was fortunate and Cliona used her gifts to heal me up. Before that, I was sorta, well, all I remember was getting home run hit off the fuckin roof and flying dowards the ground. Then my arms nearly popped off when Yu Gan caught me before I hit. And then well, we were flying up again and heading for the fucker and then we hit." A twitch of limbs almost sending the cup flying.(rumor)
She listens to Kemp. To her, its like hearing something out of a movie or a comic book. It doesnt seem real.
this was when she had to keep herself in check. For it was normal behaviour when one hears of someone they care for falling off a roof to panic a bit.But this was not 'normal'. This was the life of a Garou in battle. A battle she didnt even know had happened.
Now she is up off the chair and moving to the matress next to his.James on the couch, bleeding and trying to 'heal' or stop the room from spinning...
Imogen still in the same place she was. Sitting on 'her' (borrowed) matress she takes a closer look at the sheet covered Kemp. Head tilting slightly glad there wasnt red soaking through the sheet, that was a good sign, right?
"Y'need anythin?"(katja marijanovic)
Katja walks along the river, alone, watching the dark waters splash against the concrete shores. The fishy, slimy smell doesn't seem to bother her whatsoever.(snake)
Decker told her to stay at the warehouse for awhile.
From ear to brain to comprehension, it had translated somewhere along the lines
...to the parking lot out the back.From inside a modified camper van [click. click. click. click.]
She was finally starting to rouse.
...And hurt all over again.
(what a bloody wonderful way to start a night...)Of course, it could be worse...
She could be dead.
(are you sure living is the better alternative?)
Currently, it didn't seem like living was all that much fun.Liquid beverage was definately required.
Only, a lackthereof currently negated the ability to fill said requirement.
Not good. Definately not good.
(tremors)Out of the camper, round the way.
(Decker said to Knock -- his territory, his rules)
So, she did.
A hand curled into a fist smacked against one of the warehouse doors.
Bang. Bang. Bang.Never one for subtle touches, apparently.
(rumor)
Knock knock knock
The factory door being pounded on once more. A glance towards Imogen. All this was a lot for the 15 year old girl to take in. First of all, it seemed most of the kin around this city was accustomed to just 'accepting' Garou with guts hanging out and stories of Garou flying off the roof.
Rumor however, was not one of them. She was terrified of the formori she had heard about. She wasnt comfortable watching wounded people in the process of healing with their guts hanging out. She wasnt used to the whole garou life cause she had managed to not really be in it for so long. This was all new. A strange feeling coming over her...her stomach slowly twisting into knots.
oh yeah...doorA glance over to Imogen, James was not in any shape to be answering the door..actually he was in no shape to be walkin at all in her mind. But what does she know, shes no doctor...but ya didnt need a degree to see he should probably stay put.
"Want me to get that?"(imoten)
Perhaps she is numb to the injuries of Garou and humans now, having seen all the possibilities in stark hues of garish red against flesh, ripped tendons, seared muscles and exposed fatty tissues. Or perhaps it is simply that she has been injured before that makes her slightly more controlled about it. Or her career.Or, perhaps she simply has no compassion. She watches James's slow progress, features caught in the impenetrability of her expression - which is to say she has none. Kemp speaks. Gaze shifts.
She considers Kemp through his story, but perhaps absorbs none of it for the details he offers. And even that gaze breaks as Snake bangs on the door. For a moment, she just looks. She doesn't live here.
Then again, James is on the couch, unable to even glare at her properly, and Kemp is likely naked (so what else is new?), and Rumour is... Rumour. "I'll get it."
Hand presses against the table upon which she leans for balance as she straightens and walks over to depress the hand and start to pull it open, her other hand at her back, thumb hooked at the waist of her jeans, half hidden beneath the fall of her jacket.
(james)
"Leas' you 'memb'r how ya got 'ome...."the words rumblegrating through frowning curl of split lip
anything after the BEEG FREAKIN' EVIL.... isn't really clear
towel lifted up in a moment's curiosity
(yep, still bleeding)
and pressed back against angry skin again
deep umber gaze swinging over towards the newest visitor(kemp)
"I'm ok, James is the one that hurts, I got some help." He hurt, but he'd hurt a lot more if he hadn't had a lot of healing. Starting to get up with the knock, but since Imogen was heading that way, he could sink back down to sit with his bare feet nearly touching Rumor. Sucking on the slurpee with just the occassional jerking of muscles. "Hey, how's my hair?" Just now starting to wonder if he ended up with a fro from being fried.
"Yeah, I was lucky. Man I thought we lost you. Thought maybe I'd see you shitted out the other end of something on the way down, but things were going past so fast. And ya know what? My life didn't flash before my eyes. That's a crock of shit."
(snake)
She had propped herself up with a forearm against the wall beside the door.
Her head dropped down and weight distirbuted on one leg.
(what I wouldn't give for...)
Circles around her eyes to give a racoon a run for it's money, you'd think she hadn't slept.
A hand (tremors) lifted to snag the mess of blonde hair and pull it back...
...only to have it fall back as soon as she let go.She scratched at the back of her neck, face taunt as musculature pulled uncomfortably.
She lifted black eyes, barely rimmed with a line of husky blue, and stared at Imogen.
An uneasy feeling permeated the air, wrapped around her like a wet blanket.
Expression blank for a moment as she stared at Imogen
...and then recognition finally set in through the haze.
(the chick with Decker the other night... right.)"Services rendered if ya'll have coffee," she said to the red-head.
Whatever the hell that meant.
She looked comparative to death warmed over.
Which wasn't all that surprising, given the night (and the sleep afterwards).(imogen)
Compared to Snake, she is the embodiment of health. Fatigue is etched tangibly across her features, almost bruise-hued underscores beneath her eyes. But she is still standing. She is unwounded. She was obviously, no where near the fighting last night.Her eyes are dark blue and stares back with directness almost unknown to kinfolk, which must be what she is. The heat of her breeding is like an aroma, but without the rage to accompany it, it defines her, even as the slender woman lifts an eyebrow in a brief question, before glancing over her shoulder in James's direction -- in time to see the curious lift of the towel, an abrupt flick of her gaze toward the wound, and back up toward his face, "There's a woman out 'ere that knows Rohl. Wants t'know if yeh have coffee."
(james)
somewhere, in the twist of features begetting his inner turmoil is a moment of levity
dark eyes slanting open and casting somewhat amused glance at his packmate" Yeh? Thought you los' me, too." accent and slur coming out more of a mumble, but within it, there's the chuffed breath (.....ooof.) that evolves into a short effort at laughter "Ya fi'teen..... what three hour epic you 'spectin' a see?"
and that attention meanders towards Imogen at the door
(fooooocus. Jamey-boy)
head tilting to throw dreads out of the way
in a very.... careful, non-jarring manner...."'zit Snak'?" a beat. a breath. a wince. "Yeh, lett'r in."
(rumor)
Thank God for Imogen. Cause she probably wouldnt be able to get up and get the door right now anyways. The stories begin to spill.
She closes her eyes for a moment. Waiting for her stomach to settle and re-gain her bearings. She didnt wanna look like a fuckin wimp.Eyes finally open as Kemp inquires about his hair. Leaning over she tossles it a bit. But she is moving on auto-pilot. She isnt really there right now. Most of her energy being spent on not barfing on Kemps lap.
"its better now" the hair. Moving back away after tossling it briefly.
Eyes move to the new arrival. Stranger to her, but that doesnt mean anything. Autopilot on, keeping her from vomiting and also keeping her pretty much -present- at the moment.Although the words and stories being ping ponged around are more background noise then actually right there. Something about knowin they all coulda died just makes her feel uncomfortable. Even scared. She never had no one before. But once James had explained to her about kin, pack, family.
'ALWAYS' He had said. And it stuck in her head. She now realzies how quickly Always could end.Autopilot sending her hand to Kemps leg closest to Rumor and fingers just rest on his calf momintarilly.
She was gonna say something...'glad you didnt die' 'glad you made it alive' something along those lines...but no words could really not sound STUPID.
So she sits there. Battling the idea she may vomit with the scent of woudned in the air. Hand resting on Kemps calf as she glances around and re-assesses the whole thing.
Then realizing her hand is on Kemps calf. She pulls it quickly back to her lap. Just what she couldnt handle right now was his spouting off about girl-cooties. Truthfully she was just greatful he and James were not dead.(snake)
She dropped forehead to the forearm laid across the wall beside the door.
She had one eye rolled to look at Imogen, but she seemed to tired to deal with Imogen's staring.
(seems fitting that Rohl would have a bitch with backbone around...)
She clenched and unclenched a fist at her side, shaking it unconsciously.
Tremor.She let Imogen ask the question back over a shoulder.
And heard the faint resounding of James' voice from within in answer.She flicked her hand again sharply and then lifted it to thumb her nose.
(Calloused) fingers dropped to scratch at the bandages at her neck...
The rough-shod plaster tape around the pink-red-white gauze pulling away, curling down.
The make-shift bandages went stuck on (some at strange angles) down her neck, and onto her chest aways.
To compensate for the bandages (and weather) she sported just a sports bra, jeans, and boots."Tha' a yes?" she asked the red-head.
She wasn't gonna go pushing her way in.
She had some manners.
She just didn't indulge in them often.
Someone else's house and you go by their rules.
Even if it meant standing on a street with your (ruined) back to the world.(rumor)
This was like watching a movie. Not even a well written one. No in fact this was like watching one of those straight to video B rate werewolf movies. Another wounded enters. A factory of wounded. A gut wound cant smell pretty, even after being washed out. Its a GUT wound for fucks sake.
Like watching a movie. Only she was in the room, and everything was real. Her stomach flip flopping..thank God she hadnt hit the diner for chili fries before coming here. At least so far it was Imogen, Kemp and James. (and this new stranger) Cause if Decker had been here, shed surely barf. Decker scared the hell out of her, and even after meeting him 4 or 5 times, he probably only acknowledged her presence with a grunt or a nod -if that-.Kemps words are heard. But she doesnt answer. Perhaps cause she is on autopilot watching the B Rate movie and wondering what dismantled thing was going to enter next.
That was after the newest visitor.Silent her hand is back on Kemps calf, whether its to steady her, or just cause it was the closest thing to hold onto.
(james)
the one thing about gut wounds - they smell nice and purty
unfortunately, James' eyes have closed
and his head's resting on the pillow of dreads
so he's not exactly up on noting Rumor's reaction to exposed woundhe's also, decidedly, not getting up to show where the coffee is
best reaction is lifting arm not holding the towel on his gut and pointing towards makeshift shelves
somewhere, in there, with help from various spirits, would be the coffee
finding the pot and plugging it in a whole other ordeal
(luck be with you, young soldier)(kemp)
The look on Rumor's face wasn't a good thing to see, not when he was close enough to get barfed on. Reaching up with a popping of his shoulder to push her face in the other direction with his fingertips. "If ya harf on me, I am so gonna harf back."(imogen)
"Rumour," the kinfolk has a european accents of sorts, from some manner of british or colonial roots, "I'm goin' t'go and smoke. Did yeh want t'come and get some air?"Enough of this harfing business.
(rumor0
Her hand moves from his leg and her face pushed to now once more look around the room.Coffee. She could do that. "Coffee" she says. Just one word. One word she could manage out. Pushing herself to her feet she moves towards the kitchenette. It was all just background noise anyways right now. BAckground noise and a rancid bloody gross gut like smell.
How the HELL could Imogen just sit there like it was nothing.
Now that was a talent.
Woosy but ok shemakes her way to the coffee maker.
Water.
Coffee.
Pot.
Plug...pour...
pause as she takes a deep breath, as the coffee begins to brew the smell briefly covers the smell that had been lurking in the factory. Momintarily she is feeling better. "Should be done soon enough" to the one she is now figuring is "Sna'" and she heads back to the matress sitting back down. Quick glance at Kemp. "Not gonna harf"(snake)
She passed by Imogen when the door was opened to allow access.
Her back didn't look much better than her front.
With only the sports bra the mess of mass scarring was evident.
(like a slap in the face)
The skin was mottled and raised, a canvas of multilated flesh
From the main portion (upper back) it dribbled, wax-like, down in lines like a melted candle.
Till it vanished beneath the jeans.Almost black eyes, showing only a faint line of husky blue around the edges, looked around.
Taking in the scene, the position of items, the placement of people.
Stance (natural) Paranoid and coiled like a proverbial snake waiting to strike.She paused on James.
Staring at his stomach and the covering towel.
A drop of her head to the side, canted, and she sniffed the air a little.
Coffee and gut wound.
Interesting combination of aromas."How bad, -rhya?"
Yeah, she knew he was higher rank.
She probably was also well aware of his tribe.
But the suffic was there as well as the required respect for higher rank.(james)
ah yes, collection of the wounded
it's a freakin' Garou tea party
not that far a stretch to think they spend most Saturday's like this
assessing damage, healing what they could, realizing who was still, in fact, alive
(grossing out Kinfolk)it's only when the Ahroun hears Snake stop infront of him do deep umber eyes open
slits pausing a moment as three versions of the Get convene into one
(theeeere you are)
and he answers her question in a style true to form with those he's been packing with for almost two years
(gooooood timing Imogen)
muscle flexes through his arm and the towel lifts nonchalantly, things stick, gooey stuff spills, wound gapes, and, well....that's gonna leave a serious mark
chin tips up, Eagle style, towards Snake
(You?)
diagnostics translated through comparision of injuries
James has learned many a thing in the past months
general Fenrir-speak is one of them
(imogen)
For those who cannot see Snake's back, they can assuredly see Imogen's gaze flick across the back, though beyond that, not much reflects.Rumour responds, and Imogen inclines her head in a brief nod. "C'mon, then."
Back the way she came to exit out into the cool cloudy day, a hand reaching into her pocket for her cigarettes, holding the door to let Rumour exit first. The brief addition to the smells in the room, the heightened smell of a gut wound draws her attention briefly. A frown forms, briefly, a line between coppery brows, part at that, part, perhaps, preoccupation. And she follows Rumour out the door, having offered the girl her escape.
(rumor0
Turning back over her shoulder at Kemp.
"I'll grab ya all some pizzas" Oh yeah, food. Normally the kinfolk could eat her own weight at a meal. thank god for her gnawer metbolism however right now, the idea of food was repulsive. But she had some cash, and there was a pizza joint not too far off. A couple a pizzas would make them happy for a little bit.
pizza the thought along with the quick glimpse of...ohmygod gooey stuff spilling from James's wound pushed the lump up her esophagus even more. She swallows hard to avoid any technicolor yawn. Making her way to the door following Imogen..once outside...she takes a big long breath of fresh air.
"Holy warzone in there" she coughs a couple of times. Fresh air could do that to ya. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...getting better now.(snake)
Her chin lifted almost imperceptably back at Kemp.
Before her attention slid back to Gnawer, who had his eyes open again.
She looked under the lifted towel.
A slow nod of her head.
(Impressive)
Assessing and categorizing the damage.As for herself (her health)?
She made a low gutteral grunt in her throat in response to his silent Fenrir-speak (heh)
The tail end of the wound up the side of her neck, exposed by peeling gauze, gaped and pulled a little.
Moved by the contraction of muscles used to make the sound.
Obviously she'd felt worse in the past.The feeling of being partially cooked (electrocuted), though, was a new sensation.
She held out a hand in front of her and to one side.
It had a fine tremor, muscle twitching and unable to remain still.
The same red welts and grazing formed around either wrist.
She grunted again, hitched a shoulder in a shrug, hand dropped back down."Should get tha' tended ta," she told the Gnawer, "Ain't gonna be no good till it's healed."
A rule learned young by all Garou: you're no good in a fight if you are still recovering from the last one.
And she was paranoid enough to expect a fight every second day (at best).(imogen)
She glances up toward Rumour, her gaze shifting as she sinks to sit on one of the steps to the dilapidated porch, the rotting wood creaking under her minor weight."Yes," she agrees and must seem unnatural, the self containment.
Zippo procured, she lights up with a flick of her thumb, drawing in cigarette smoke to her lungs, the ember drawing brighter as she inhales, glancing up at the coughing kin.
(kemp)
Food was good. Though the shade of green Rumor was turning, was kinda cool in a sick sort of way. Getting up, dragging the sheet with him like some bad toga party reject. "Dude, that is soooo sick." Leaning in to look beneath the towel on James's stomach. "Cool, that's gonna leave a mark." And he was straightening. Two pendants swinging back to strike his chest with the motion of straightening. "Hey, twinkies!" Holding his hand out towards Snake when his fingers started jumping. "Damnest thing, almost pulled my dick off when I took a piss cause my hand started jerking. Well, not jerking. I mean, sure I jerk, but not while taking a piss, ya no?"(snake)
For a moment she was just staring at Kemp.
She didn't a raise an eyebrow (not being so multi-talented)
But the expression was comparatively the same as if she did.
(...twinkies?)"Migh' wanna leave off tha jerkin' till ya know ya won't pull it off," she replied.
Bland tone to match the expression.
She reached up and scratched at the diagonal scars ragged across her upper arm.
Old wounds. Old life.(james)
there's a nod - in part to assess Snake's damage and agree with her thoughts
(Tell me about it....)
then the Gnawer's amusement at Kemp's mangled explanation makes it through half a laugh
a real. genuine. laugh.
followed by real. genuine. pain.ho. lee. chit.
(keep breathing, Jamey-boy)"Kick me th' med box."
aimed at the young Rotagar, since he seemed so inclined to inspect the wound - might as well help patch it up
cause it's not doing anyone any good ripping back open evertime he inhales(rumor)
Coughing fit done now. She had made it out of there and now the greenish hue to her face was mostly gone.
Even the smoke from Imogens cigarette was more inviting then the smell from inside the factory.She walks down the steps and realizes the board was left inside. No worries, pizza joint wasnt too far. "Gonna get pizza...you wanna come...or naw?"
She knew Imogen had just helped get her outta there before she hurled. And the look of appreciation couldnt be missed on Rumors face. "Won't be long.."(kemp)
"Hey, I can play nurse, but I ain't wearing one of them little white dresses. I ain't got the ass for it." Turning to get the what worked for a firstaid kit for them. Cracking the box open to start pulling things out. "Oh, got some of that shit that bubbles on ya and some of that red shit and oh cool, look, duck tape!"(snake)
She looked between Get and Gnawer, back and forth a little.
At least the Gnawer seemed to have a sense of humor.
Of course, she lacked one enough to make up for it.
Or maybe the time just didn't seem appropriate.At the mention of the Med. Box her eyes slice to the Gnawer fully.
The pupils that had almost oil-black drowned the iris were receeding.
Slightly.
There was more of the husky blue visible."Ken help," she stated, "Am a Godi."
(james)
what worked for a first aid kit was a tool box
appropriately red and stuffed with "borrowed" supplies from various places
there's a careful lean to inspect what it is Kemp's all too enthusiastically pulling out"'s pov'done sal'...." waiting until the right container's held upon high, holding the all-purpose fix-it goo able to be kiped from any neighborhood medical supply center.... if you have the right key " 'n should be s'me suture stuff un'er th' gauzewrap 'n tape.... 'n grab th' T3 bottle fr'm the bottom....."
then a brow lifts towards Snake's offer
head tips, allowing dreads to slipslide over his shoulders
then there's an affirming nod for her to do what she can"'ppreciate it. All I c'n do 'z sew it close' so I c'n quit leakin'."
(kemp)
"I'm telling ya, don't need to sew, I got duck tape." Sitting back to fart around with the medical supplies while waiting to see what Snake could do for James.(snake)
She dropped her head to one side (pop).
Then proceeded to do so for the other side.
A hitch (twitch) of her shoulders, silent reply.
Whatever. No problem. -- or something along those lines.She squatted down in front and to one side of the seated Gnawer.
Weight balanced on the balls of her thick booted feet.
Standing she'd been just over 5'10" -- hard to tell, really, how old she was.
She gestured to the towel over his gut, grunting (move it).
She thumbed her nose slightly, cracking her knuckles (hand tremors).She waited till the towel was out of the way.
Staring at the extent of the wound.
Another faint noise was expelled under her breath.
Her lip curled back slightly from her teeth, nostrils flaring.She pulled the shock of blonde hair back from her face.
(The snake tattoo, twisted and winding up her neck and onto the jaw, exposed.)
The hand continuing the movement to scratch at the thick scars on her back."Sit still."
Her only direction, grunted and blunt.
She was twitching enough that she didn't need him to add his own.And soon, hands were pressed (onto) -- almost into -- the gut wound.
Palms dyed to blood red, the smell of stomach wound stronger.
A huff of breath and she half closed her eyes.
(james)
sit still.
hands moving towards the now exposed, leaky wound
and she asks him to sit. still.
(there's no question she's related to Rohl, now, is there?)
too bad it hurts too much to laugh
else James would, reallybut instead, he's hissing a wince as flesh burns injury
rush of blood falling to stain the waistline of BDUs
that being the extent of his clothing
it's not hard to see the ridges of muscle tensing reactionary steelthis is gonna suck.
(snake)
to James: [1 WP for RP. Then 1 Gnosis for MT, 1 WP for autosuccess]
to James: 2D10 Dice Roll: 6; 3 - 2 sux
to James: 4D10 Dice Roll: 9; 10; 4; 6 - 3 sux
(decker)
These days he slept out back, in the shed he'd built himself. Sometime this morning, after throwing Mo'da'gos' body to the Maelstrom, he'd vanished in there. The door had shut; the flimsy padlock, more for show than for purpose, had snapped shut. In there he'd remained.The sun tracked its way across the sky. East to south to west. And now, setting, the lock snaps open again. The door creaks out, heat rushing out. The inside of the shed is sweltering. Outside the heat lingers still, no longer fierce but heavier, settled upon the face of the earth. Humid. The sun's westering rays cast the plains in shades of purple and grey. The smallest hills become mountains. At midday these lands seem limitless, without feature. At twilight: different.
The shed faces west. He, yawning, slumps heavily against the shabby wall, the plywood caving inward under his weight. Might think it'd collapse inward, but that's not the work of a Fenrir. The shed's not pretty. It's ugly as sin. But it'll hold through hell and high water, even if it leaked rain on the bad days.
Roughened hands rub over his face as though to scrub sleep from it. They pass down over muscled torso, yanking the wifebeater shirt down into place from where it'd twisted in his long nap in short, thoughtless tugs, skimming just as thoughtlessly the places where the jolt of electricity had scorched his skin and the flesh beneath.
A taste of true strength.
...or something like that.He straightens. Not much longer the back door of the factory crashes open. It's like he's always angry -- and in a way, he is. But that's not intentional. His strength is not intentional.
One hand behind his shoulder scratching at the edge of his shoulderblade, he blinks in the darkness of the factory's interior. Shadows swimming in darkness take shape. He looks over the inhabitants without surprise, without pleasure or displeasure -- without much at all. His greeting is something like a grunt. Then he passes to the edge of the living area, digging a cold one out of the ice box.
(snake)
Her hands were almost literally inside James' stomach.
Stained with blood (and other gooeyness), slick and fresh.
The aroma of gut wound and coffee permeated the air thickly.A small bead of sweat courses down from forehead to cheek.
The salty drop hangs, quivering from her chin and then finally falls.
She is staring almost balefully at the wound.
Slowly, the wound seems to start to come together.She continues to glare, hands pressed to flesh.
A grit of her teeth, a straightening of her back....and the rented flesh becomes whole again.
Blood left that which was already spilled, no more flowing.She grunted from exertion, pulling her hands back.
She lifted one, barely turning it enough to swipe across her face.
She left a smear of blood over and under one dark eye."Done."
(james)
her hands were literally inside of James' stomach
well if that wasn't a how'dya doshe glared, he winced
and by all. that is HOLY. of GAIA.
it HURTS
he's sitting still as told
(you learn some awful nifty willpower tricks packin' up with Fenrir)
but the Gnawer is about ready to squirm out of his fucking skin
breathless by the time flesh has pulled back together beneath her touch"Thank'."
breathless a good few moments after, too
there's a second towel laying on the couch beside him
that's held up in offering to clean her hands
deep umber eyes lingering on the chaffed marks and welts about her wrists
curious..... but it seems the Fostern's learned his lesson about asking
apparently that's her story to tell(kemp)
Barely looking up from his inspection of the goodies he had in the firstaid kit. The slamming of the door and the grunt could mean a hundred things with Decker. He was pissed, he was happy, he just got laid, he was in the process of getting laid, good fairy pissed on his head, any number of things.(rumor)
Now this was a much better smell. The smell permiating from the 2 large boxes in her hands. 2 Boxes containing hot double cheese and lots of topping covered pizzas. Walking back to the factory, and good timing too, thank God she hadn’t walked in a few minutes before to see anyones hands inside anyones gut.Pizzas and a 6 pack of coke. Sure it wasn’t beer, but this 15 year old couldn’t acquire beer. Nor did she drink, so she didn’t think about it. The bottom of the boxes heating up her forearms, but it wasn’t a far walk.
Stepping up the steps, Imogen no longer out there…could be anywhere, inside or gone. She leans up against the door and manages to balance the pizzas as she swings the factory door open.
“Hey I got the pizza—“ and she stops. Not cause James was being healed up on the couch, not cause Kemp was walking around like a toga party reject. No, it was the sight of Decker. That one fuckin scared the shit out of her, and not for any specific reason except he wasn’t the friendliest of folk. She sets down the 2 large steaming boxes and moves quietly to the mattress next to Kemps, without another word.
(snake)
If she registered that she was hurting him at some point, it didn't show.
He managed to sit still and that was commendable.
Most people would have at least made a yowl of pain.
Having someone poking at red raw wounds wasn't a fun past time, after all.She took the towel with a grunt that almost mimicked Deckers own greeting.
Could have been a thank you, an acknowledgment, or bile caught in the back of her throat.
She swiped her hands across of it.
Most of it came off, but a good scrubbing was probably in order.
She also swiped it across her forehead where she'd left a trail of blood from her fingers."'s'all good," was her only verbal reply.
She hitched her shoulders again slightly, without the grimace that would have come earlier.
Long muscles under the jeans, toned without being bulky, bunched and stretched as she stood back up.
She reached around and scratched at the mass of (melted) skin on her back.
And stepped several feet away.
Her Rage more evident than it had been prior, the cauldron bubbling barely contained behind her eyes.[cont'd]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 18, 2004.06.18.04. - hitting pyrell [strike team] *p[riverfront]
(james)
It's nearly 9 o'clock on a Friday night in Chicago. For the better part of the population, 70 degrees of mostly cloudy is a nice change from the sweltering temperatures of prior weeks - and they're making the most of it. Dinner. A movie. Some ballgame. Maybe a simple night at the park. Humidity's barely over 50% and winds drift in rather than scream, so it's not really a far cry from possible.[cont'd, wolf had to bail and needs complete file from lessa]
Too bad there's a strike team unable to enjoy such simple pleasures of a Friday in June.Decker's got the questing stone and that puts the Modi in the lead. Just behind practically trademarked slouched, lazy, yet refined and predatory walk is one raggedyman Bone Gnawer holding left flank, creating outer points to the collection of other Garou. Overall, they really look like nothing more than a random gang of thugs out for a walk amongst the lesser-publicized streets in the Riverfront Area.
Those that haven't been refurbished yet (but it's in the planning!)
Out for a night. Out looking for trouble.
Out for warAbout a mile ahead, drawing from the opposite direction saunters one black sedan. It's nothing that out of the ordinary for the neighborhood. Expense hidden in the well-crafted lines of some corporate mogul probably on the ghetto tour of several rundown tenants padding his pockets while others suffer and waste away into yet another stain on Chicago's past. (Little do they know). Streetlights flash diamond reflection off tinted windows..... but they're little to no help in accounting just how many persons are in the vehicle aside from a driver and one passenger in the backseat kind enough to slit a window and leech cigar smoke from leather interior.
(kemp)
Ambling along with the rest of them. Not really thinking about the fact that he just sorta tried not to stand out, be seen so easily. Watching left, right, behind them. Not entirely sure what to expect yet. There was always that chance that some fucker would do a drive by and shoot them before they got anywhere near what they hoped to do.(barny/leroy)
[Barny]: Behind LeRoy, ignoring the wantoning silence between the group.[LeRoy]: Sack over his shoulder, silent for the most part till he had moved up through the gathered bulkwarks between Jukebox his dawg and Kemp! Both his Fraternal Battle Brothers. Now some had pack, and he truly represented his connection within his, but some others had friendships, and their was no denying the feelings he sharred between his. Elbowing Kemp's right shoulder blade as he set to round his position in the gathering. His voice broke the silence in a mere whisper towards his teenage woman fearing battle fury friend Kempunabletotouchwomenwithoutfreaking. "Psst..slow up..get yer pads" Gesturing towards the sack he held dangling over his back. Big brotherly like, definately unaccepting of a non commital from a proven battle bud.
(yu/will)
*Yu Gan is across the street walking parrell to the group. Trying his best not to look like a part of them. A smidge of the Blurr of Milky eye helping a little bit to hide him from casual observation. Dark eyes tracking ahead. He was born for that after all. Hummingbirds blood running quick in his viens.William rides along on Cliona's shoulder. Bobing his head*
(cliona)
A collection of other Garou. She’s one of them, though this is not her normal place. In the absence of the Fianna Fostern, it is his Alpha that steps into his place. For that, and for the simple fact that she is a healer. Not as good as some, but certainly better then others.She has been in battle before. She has been a part of the war, but she is primarily a Spirit Talker, and as such, she is placed somewhere in the middle. There are those behind her (likely staring at her ass too. sheesh.) there are those to each side, and there are those ahead of her.
And on her shoulder, or hovering overhead, as always, is her battle good luck charm. Like mastercard – she doesn’t leave home without him.
(kemp)
Snickering with a look to Butta. Man just the thought of walking around all furry in hockey pads was enough to crack him up. Talk about freaks. One thing for sure, if he died, he'd look funny as hell in that get-up. Right up his alley. Reaching up to dig into the sack while trying not to trip over Butta in the process. "Gonna look like freaks ya know." Snickering again.
(butta)
"Shut yer mouth" He snickered back "Yer support'n the Fraternity young brother..who cares what we look like..its how we die that counts!" Laughing as he slowed for Kemp to rustle about in his sack. "Besides..its ole dawg that needs them shin gaurds more than you or I...we're just support'n em by look'n liake em tonight..pyscology one o'one" Giving a wink at the young tike.
(decker)
Two others cruisin' with the Eagles tonight. Not Eagles (yet?) -- but there nonetheless.One's a face they'll all recognize from someplace or somewhere. Danah, the GW bitch. The other, no one recognizes, except by merit of her Fenrir pure breed, and a strange, undefinable familiarity, though none of them have met her before. Decker calls her 'Snake', and says little else about her.
Kemp&James know her to be family. Decker's. A distant cousin, to be exact. Everyone else knows her, and Danah, to be prospectives in the pack, here for their (first) trial by fire.
Stopping at a DONT WALK light, Decker tosses the questing stone lightly from hand to hand. They're moving in a loose confederation, but within it the bonds of pack are still cut clearly.
(ST)
A questing stone is a difficult tool too use, and perhaps they've been walking for hours, trying to get the pinpoint and actually get the sedan, or their focus (Mo'da'gos... a name holds power, for those who know how to use it), because directions are not quite as the crow flies. The stone may point unerringly east and there may be a buildng in the way. by the time they have walked around it, the stone has changed direction to the North.Pyrell Sr. is a busy man. Or at least a restless one.
But this time (ah, yes, this time, this minute, this hour, where everything comes together) they are lucky and the stone that Decker so casually tosses from one hand to the next has so far indicated steadily ahead for the last five minutes.
--
Within the car, because there is more than one person there (more than one monster? more than one wyrm creature?) someone cracks a joke and Pyrell Sr. laughs, a sound like grating metal as he pops a handful of peanuts into his mouth, chewing carelessly as he crumples the plastic bag. Reaching over, he casually deposits the garbage into the front lapel pocket of his driver, patting it conspiratorally, before sitting back.
Jefferson Street. It's all coming to a head on Jefferson Street.
(james)
Decker stops at a DON"T WALK light
the guy with the dreads decidedly doesn't
moseying right on across the streethe wouldn't have the see the questing stone to keep up with his pack
their bonds go far deeper than thatso the raggedyman's intent is probably chalked up to a vagrant's declination of traffic law
but far be it from him to have them all cornered on one side of the street
(not to mention it puts distance between him and a certain few others)(yu/will)
*Much like DAWG, Yu Gan slips on across the street. Even in homid his speed and desterity were pretranatural. Dodging cars was childs play.*Will bobs and concentrates. Calling on his Coraxy Sense*
(decker)
Those rebels.And there's Decker, the boy from the rebel south, standing sedately waiting for the light to change. When it does, he ambles across the street, the questing stone returned to his right hand and dropped from its string looped around his middle finger like a yo-yo.
No change still. Kinda middle-rear in the lineup now, he keeps going.
(kemp)
He used the stop to try and figure out what to do with the pads. "Dude, this looks like I'm gonna play crash test dummy or going to star in one of them Jason movies." And he was crossing the street behind Decker, though tonight he was wearing his own shorts only cause Tristan insisted. Wondering if the pads would help if he went flying tonight.(butta)
LeRoy was still allowing Kemp to dislodge his equipment, himself already wearing his own. So it was Chicago, so there was a Giant African American man walking down the street with Hockey pads on. Who would notice?His arm wretched out, capturing Kemp's shoulder. Pulling him abit back as his own hand started upon the pads fastionings. "Dude" He spat. "Let me tie em up fur ya" Edging him along at a slow pace as he began upon the arm pads in striding.
(kemp)
"Oh man." Sounding like what he was, a teen being forced to do something only some adult could come up with. Sometimes he never wanted to grow that far up and become that well, weird. "At this rate I'm gonna have to get my hair bleached or something."
(cliona)
She was surprised to see Danah - even more surprised to see her with the Eagles. Snort. No comment.She just makes sure there's always someone between her and the metis.
Other then that, it's walk along, reaching up to scritch Will's neck, waiting to see what his corax senses pick up. better then spidy sense.
(butta)
"Bleached?" He snorted, as he actually stole a gander at his head of hair. A blink later and he was musing "Naw double Gee..just comb it back and wear it in a ponytail..hear bad girls liake that shit..and all ya need is superficial sluts..not those oooo Im in love biatches that have fucked yer head" Yanking him back "Hold yer horses" As he tied the last strap on his left arm pad. "Yer gonna have to stop fur yer knee pads here in a sec..make it quick..I'll get one leg you get the other..then we'll strap up ole dawg there"(yu/will)
*Will looks to B&B and Kemp, asks cliona* Won't those just fall off wehen they get big?(kemp)
Groaning again like a kid being forced to let his grandmother pinch his cheeks and slobber on him in a kiss. "Oh mannnnn." He was never going to hear the end of this one, he was so sure.(cliona)
She chuckles and shrugs a little. "Maybe. Maybe not. Dinna really matter, dinna it? keeps th'kid calm, and butta occupied."(will)
What if they get tangeled up and fall down?
*The raven is still reaching out with his senses*(*butta)
As he rose, after fastoning the dedicated pads upon Kemps' shins his eyes float over those of the group that had passed them. First upon Cliona, and a nod came from he. Then upon Will and another nod came from he. But upon Danah those eyes slanked. Dark pupils of iris gave into hate. "What the fuck is that useless biatch here for? Wait..let me refrash that..that biatch that could only serve by dying doing here..nevermind..I answered my own question" He growled as he slapped Kemp upon the back of his pads and moved onwards to flank and tap Jukebox on the back(kemp)
Feeling something like a padded version of the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz now. Mumbling under his breath with the now stiff gait. "Oh fuck me."
(james)
there's a tap on his shoulder
and dreads swing when James' head snaps around
fire burns in the depths of dark umbermaybe it's because of the mission at hand
maybe it's because of the proximity of one so-called useless biatch
maybe it's because of something else entirelyhe's not in the mood for playing dressup
(not feeling suicidal, are ya, Jamey-boy?)(st)
Another five minutes of walking. Butter and Kemp work out his straps. Decker watches the questing stone dangling from his finger. Jukebox takes the lead, his mind connected to his packmates. Ricinus and Will discuss the likelyhood of shifting and keeping hockey pads on.A sedan drives crests the lift of a hill (...corax senses go on alert... the stone quivers on it's string....) and heads down the block to pass -
(.... stone literally spins on a thread, pratically sending itself swinging as it alters course... Will's senses go on fire)
- the group. Tinted windows. Dark, shapes barely visible. More than one. Maybe four.
--
Enemy of the Ways
... how unpleasant this gift is. Raw. He can almost feel Pyrell's teeth gnashing the peanuts, see the thick neck quiver as he swallows. He can hear the laughter, see the occupant in the passenger's side (Garou), the driver (kinfolk... he hates his mother; please god gaia don't let him near Cliona... the flickerflash of rape scalds his eyes near blind.) and someone (garou) lounging across from he who must be Pyrell Senior (Garou... can you feel the edge of his madness? Can you feel how he almost doesn't care anymore?) and he can perhaps feel an echo of something else.
...Pyrell is a paranoid sort. This is not his only protection.
(butta)
Maybe LeRoy doesnt care..
Maybe LeRoy wont take no for an answer..
Maybe LeRoy has good reason to give him these pads..
Or maybe LeRoy just smiles and nods his head..Whispering. "Time tae support tae team..gotcher pads and m'n kemp are already dressed fur it..yer turn dawg..remember..the goaly pads fur yer knees are fur you" Giving him a wink
(will)
*Will ruffels hs feathers.* 3 garou, one kin. Two furrys back one front, kinfolk front, biggy i9n the back... sic um boys!
*Will flutters up towards a street light*(decker)
Decker notes all the baleful stares aiming at Danah. He mutters -- and somehow is heard -- "Ain't tha time fer in-fightin'."Then the stone spins and he's instantly on full alert. "Somethin's up--" and as Will makes his report, he cracks his neck in a sharp jerk, dropping the stone into his pocket.
(cliona)
A nod, as the weight of him lifts off her shoulder and she automatically rolls the joint to loosen it up again, fingers flex, Danah ignored, the car sighted and watched... likely, this is not his only protection, either. there's always more. Always.(kemp)
Something's up. Well it sure wasn't him and if it was, damn, he musta gone numb below the waist. Car coming, not a good idea to stand too close to Decker in this kind of situation, might end up landing on the windshield if he was within reach.(butta)
huh? Danah? Where? Oh yeah. So El-Capi-tan knows where she lies on our list of biatch's to die? Well, then why bring her? Unless he too wishes her harm? And instinctfully he seperates from James to allow Danah her place between they. Please..step there..I dare ya!(james)
whatever reaction it is that LeRoy gives him
there's something that speaks in James' eyes that his mouth never forms
except for maybe the partial smile flickering lopsided for a moment's appearance
(You want to support the team? Keep my packmates alive...)it's gone when the sedan passes the hill's crest
gliding down towards and past the group
(Pyrell's the paranoid sort...)
something oozing off his inner right arm
unearthly glow lost in streetlight glare
inks smearing out of two-dimensions into three(leroy)
LeRoy was a Giant, and as such was sometimes slow on the up and up. Yet that did not mean he was stupid.Attention drawn once more to the angst in the air. Following the lead of his battle buddies stare. He was ready as he could ever be. Protect his dawg's pack? Dude how dare you even remotely worry yourself that he wouldnt. Danah on the otherhand was being eyed as an impromtued weapon of sacrifice. May her death at least be remembered in better terms than her life
(yu)
*Yu Gan turns seeing the others look at the car and his left hand extends. Inky black shadows drippind down to reform as a pointy thing*(st)
... Ready as you can ever be.The car is still on its course, either the driver (and all the occupants) having completely missed the entire Garou entourage that was formed in loosely based groups, or were abruptly deciding that there were better days to fight and this was not their night.
The shadows within the car do shift some. It's hard to say if their enemy is unaware.
But it is driving away.
(will)
*Will watches, seeing a pack of garou chasing a car is going to be classic. He taps the record button on his chest mounted digital recorder*(kemp)
"Um." A look to Decker, expecting him to do something like he always does, even if it is some crazy assed thing. "dude, there it goes."(decker)
"Naw," Decker says, calm-like, a little distracted, while he flips on the internal switches. Gifts go on-line. Mind switches gears. Combat mode: booting up.He tilts his head a little and inside Pyrell's cushy ride, the engine's timing goes... a little wonky.
Hopefully.
3D10 Dice Roll: 9; 4; 7
(butta)
LeRoy meanwhile calls upon the aid of his ancestors. Which one that comes, well thats up to Gaia's grand design.Behind James, close within reach of Danah. Infront of Kemp and alongside Cliona he was positioned. Evident there was an urge to use Danah as a spear upon whatever the designer may engineer.
(st)
Cough!...the sound an engine makes as it dies, an important piston freezing and causing it to flood...
Griiiiiiiiiind
the sound of the gears coming to an unnatural stop, the sedan lurching unpleasantly.
For a second, nothing moves.
Driver's side door opens.
Back door, passenger side opens.(cliona)
She arches a brow at Decker, and then there's a little grin as the car comes to a stop. Nice. Have to learn that one - well, ask Wil if he can do it first. Screwed if she ever goes anywhere without him, isn't she. Glance up to check the location of her goodluck charm as one door opens, then two.Waiting is the hardest part.
(Just keep walking, just keep walking - dori style!)
(james)
James is furthest behind the group
at least from where the now was guttering to a crumbling stop
perking right on up like some thug presented with a shiney new piece for the chopshop
steel pipe smacks solidly into opposite palm
the Gnawer reverses directions towards the suits pouring onto the street
let's git sum[Inspiration]
(kemp)
Starts to crow with the way the car just up and died. Yelling at the top of his lungs even if he did have to jump around to see with Butta in front of him. Damn he was tall! "Yeah baby! Piece of shit fancy car!" Fumbling to grab his crotch with the pads on his arms and legs, making him feel like he couldn't bend. "Sucks, don't it!?"
(butta)
Brows furrowed, the channel of his ancient secure, if be it fleeting upon the norm in thinking. Fists first ball into rage, sprouting talons as he begins to channel his beast. Danah mauled from behind, lurched into the air and tossed towards the suits exiting the sedan. "Arrrragghh" (roflmao)(yu)
*Yu Gan waits for the ahrouns words. He's not leading this. Shadows UNder the car start to twine though.*(decker)
Go blurry, kid. 'N git them claws ready.By the time the engine grinds to a halt, he's already in his warform. What the fuck, wasn't like this wasn't gonna all end in blood and claws anyway. He speaks (...growls) in a low monotone while a diffuse familiar glow begins to radiate from the tips of his steel-grey fur: No hurry. Let them come to us.
Sons were at least Fosterns. Maybe Adrens. What does that make Daddy?
Better to have to chase, than to rush headlong into their defenses.
Danah takes Hispo form. The bristling bitch gnashes her teeth. You get the feeling she'd like to sink 'em into some flesh.
Snake, the other Rohl in this little expedition, is unsettlingly quiet, the irises of her eyes strangely ink-black. There's a fine tremor that passes through her limbs. Other than that, though, she seems hardbitten and hardcore.
--
Then, B&B tosses Danah. The Crinos that had been Decker snarls deep in his throat, whipping his head around to flash him a glare. It's one word: STUPID.
But that's for later. Right now? He has no choice but to rush headlong into battle.
10D10 Dice Roll: 8; 9; 4; 2; 5; 9; 1; 4; 8; 2(kemp)
He was going blurry and shifting to drag his claws across the pavement. Razor claws ready with the order from Decker. Almost dancing from one foot to the other with tension.(cliona)
Decker goes Furry. Danah follows. And damn if cliona doesn't snort as she's tossed INTO the battle. Well then. Damn.No hurry, let them come to us. She's not one to be left behind in the "Let's get furry" contest, because damn it all, she's not exactly built for battle as she is. Or as she is -now- either. Shifting up to two-toned red and black colored crinos, she follows the others...
headlong into battle.
(danah rage roll 6D10 Dice Roll: 9; 8; 5; 8; 5; 9 )
(st)
Danah is thrown at the car. The car doors open. Two step out (of four), the driver and someone who was in the rear passenger's side. They look almost identical. They could be brothers. They could be twins. Particularly in the way they both draw their weapons and fire.One at Danah, closest and shifting, whether she wants to, or not. The other at Decker. Largest target. Fiercest warrior.
... or one would be firing at Decker. He aimed. He ... squeezed the trigger.
Gun shot goes high and wide as he disappears beneath the car with a startled yell, shadows wrapped around his ankle.
(kemp)
Well he wasn't going to just stand there to be shot at, even if he was as blurried as he could get. Claws scraped across the pavement and he was running for the car. Calling on the strength of Eagle to be with him.
(james)
not a stretch to translate chuffed sound into an amused chuckle
now may not be the time for interfighting
but Butta's at least reading the guttermutt's mind
behind his battlebuddies James is getting shaggier than normal
dreads slipsliding into the length of grungey fur coat
chunks torn out of nearby brick wall as Crinos talons sharpen on them
(Eagle..... not called on.... he lets it go to his packmates)but he's not rushing headlong into battle yet
(not everybody's out of the car)
following the ideal to make them come to the Gaians
(cause if the sons were Fostern at least.....)
(decker)
The shot goes wide. But it makes him duck anyway, reflexively, grey ears pinned against grey skull. Three more huge Crinos strides and he's there, the axe still in tattoo form, glowing blue on his arm -- his rage out of reach, for the meantime. So the question remains: how does one nevertheless do the most damage, cause the most destruction, break the enemy's ranks the best, when one has only one action to take?(Eagle drawn to him.
He can almost hear the call.)And certainly, when he reaches massive, cruelly curving claws under the car, latches onto the undercarriage and heaves with all his might --
certainly, then, there's a strain-induced ringing in his ears that's less than imagined.
Answer to the question as posed: flip tha car over, bitch. And get 'em as they come crawling out.
(butta)
Butta? Well....He'd seen out of the corner of his eye his young padowan Kemp rush forelong into the fight. Leaping behind him, keeping James at his flank. Thats right motherfucker..stay on yer feet! In full battle glory with Pads he struck out for the nearest of enemies(yu)
*The blurred form of Yu Gan assumes his crinos form and moves forward. Circling around*((I.E. holding action.))
*William up on the lamppost. Also blurred in raven form whispers commentary to the digital recorder on his chest. Giving the playby play*
(danah)
If Danah had an ounce of consciousness right now, she would be tearing a fucking hole into the hole that just threw her. [You might find in this fight that the BSDs and Danah have at least one thing in common..]However, she's not very conscious. Or at least not very capable of making rationale decisions, which leaves her with some very crude (although very fun) options. Danah opens her maw wide, growls ferociously, and then tackles the smaller (still shifting, haha) body, before opening her maw and biting the fleshy vulnerable face of her prey.
(snake)
Snake: she's a Godi, but they love a good fight as much as the next Get. So she's riproaring into warform, charging forward and CHOMPing at the one twin that Yu Gan's tentacles didn't get.------------------
Lessa's CNP:
(Jukebox)
It's nearly 9 o'clock on a Friday night in Chicago. For the better part of the population, 70 degrees of mostly cloudy is a nice change from the sweltering temperatures of prior weeks - and they're making the most of it. Dinner. A movie. Some ballgame. Maybe a simple night at the park. Humidity's barely over 50% and winds drift in rather than scream, so it's not really a far cry from possible.Too bad there's a strike team unable to enjoy such simple pleasures of a Friday in June.
Decker's got the questing stone and that puts the Modi in the lead. Just behind practically trademarked slouched, lazy, yet refined and predatory walk is one raggedyman Bone Gnawer holding left flank, creating outer points to the collection of other Garou. Overall, they really look like nothing more than a random gang of thugs out for a walk amongst the lesser-publicized streets in the Riverfront Area.
Those that haven't been refurbished yet (but it's in the planning!)
Out for a night. Out looking for trouble.
Out for warAbout a mile ahead, drawing from the opposite direction saunters one black sedan. It's nothing that out of the ordinary for the neighborhood. Expense hidden in the well-crafted lines of some corporate mogul probably on the ghetto tour of several rundown tenants padding his pockets while others suffer and waste away into yet another stain on Chicago's past. (Little do they know). Streetlights flash diamond reflection off tinted windows..... but they're little to no help in accounting just how many persons are in the vehicle aside from a driver and one passenger in the backseat kind enough to slit a window and leech cigar smoke from leather interior.
(Kemp)
Ambling along with the rest of them. Not really thinking about the fact that he just sorta tried not to stand out, be seen so easily. Watching left, right, behind them. Not entirely sure what to expect yet. There was always that chance that some fucker would do a drive by and shoot them before they got anywhere near what they hoped to do.(B&B)
[Barny]: Behind LeRoy, ignoring the wantoning silence between the group.[LeRoy]: Sack over his shoulder, silent for the most part till he had moved up through the gathered bulkwarks between Jukebox his dawg and Kemp! Both his Fraternal Battle Brothers. Now some had pack, and he truly represented his connection within his, but some others had friendships, and their was no denying the feelings he sharred between his. Elbowing Kemp's right shoulder blade as he set to round his position in the gathering. His voice broke the silence in a mere whisper towards his teenage woman fearing battle fury friend Kempunabletotouchwomenwithoutfreaking. "Psst..slow up..get yer pads" Gesturing towards the sack he held dangling over his back. Big brotherly like, definately unaccepting of a non commital from a proven battle bud.
(Yu/Will)
*Yu Gan is across the street walking parrell to the group. Trying his best not to look like a part of them. A smidge of the Blurr of Milky eye helping a little bit to hide him from casual observation. Dark eyes tracking ahead. He was born for that after all. Hummingbirds blood running quick in his viens.William rides along on Cliona's shoulder. Bobing his head*
(Cliona)
A collection of other Garou. She’s one of them, though this is not her normal place. In the absence of the Fianna Fostern, it is his Alpha that steps into his place. For that, and for the simple fact that she is a healer. Not as good as some, but certainly better then others.She has been in battle before. She has been a part of the war, but she is primarily a Spirit Talker, and as such, she is placed somewhere in the middle. There are those behind her (likely staring at her ass too. sheesh.) there are those to each side, and there are those ahead of her.
And on her shoulder, or hovering overhead, as always, is her battle good luck charm. Like mastercard – she doesn’t leave home without him.
(kemp)
Snickering with a look to Butta. Man just the thought of walking around all furry in hockey pads was enough to crack him up. Talk about freaks. One thing for sure, if he died, he'd look funny as hell in that get-up. Right up his alley. Reaching up to dig into the sack while trying not to trip over Butta in the process. "Gonna look like freaks ya know." Snickering again.(B&B)
"Shut yer mouth" He snickered back "Yer support'n the Fraternity young brother..who cares what we look like..its how we die that counts!" Laughing as he slowed for Kemp to rustle about in his sack. "Besides..its ole dawg that needs them shin gaurds more than you or I...we're just support'n em by look'n liake em tonight..pyscology one o'one" Giving a wink at the young tike.(Decker)
Two others cruisin' with the Eagles tonight. Not Eagles (yet?) -- but there nonetheless.One's a face they'll all recognize from someplace or somewhere. Danah, the GW bitch. The other, no one recognizes, except by merit of her Fenrir pure breed, and a strange, undefinable familiarity, though none of them have met her before. Decker calls her 'Snake', and says little else about her.
Kemp&James know her to be family. Decker's. A distant cousin, to be exact. Everyone else knows her, and Danah, to be prospectives in the pack, here for their (first) trial by fire.
Stopping at a DONT WALK light, Decker tosses the questing stone lightly from hand to hand. They're moving in a loose confederation, but within it the bonds of pack are still cut clearly.
(ST)
A questing stone is a difficult tool too use, and perhaps they've been walking for hours, trying to get the pinpoint and actually get the sedan, or their focus (Mo'da'gos... a name holds power, for those who know how to use it), because directions are not quite as the crow flies. The stone may point unerringly east and there may be a buildng in the way. by the time they have walked around it, the stone has changed direction to the North.Pyrell Sr. is a busy man. Or at least a restless one.
But this time (ah, yes, this time, this minute, this hour, where everything comes together) they are lucky and the stone that Decker so casually tosses from one hand to the next has so far indicated steadily ahead for the last five minutes.
--
Within the car, because there is more than one person there (more than one monster? more than one wyrm creature?) someone cracks a joke and Pyrell Sr. laughs, a sound like grating metal as he pops a handful of peanuts into his mouth, chewing carelessly as he crumples the plastic bag. Reaching over, he casually deposits the garbage into the front lapel pocket of his driver, patting it conspiratorally, before sitting back.
Jefferson Street. It's all coming to a head on Jefferson Street.
((takes over CP again))
(Ricinus)
Decker goes Furry. Danah follows. And damn if cliona doesn't snort as she's tossed INTO the battle. Well then. Damn.No hurry, let them come to us. She's not one to be left behind in the "Let's get furry" contest, because damn it all, she's not exactly built for battle as she is. Or as she is -now- either. Shifting up to two-toned red and black colored crinos, she follows the others...
headlong into battle.
DanahFri 11:13PM CSTDice Validated 6D10 Dice Roll: 9; 8; 5; 8; 5; 9
(ST)
Danah is thrown at the car. The car doors open. Two step out (of four), the driver and someone who was in the rear passenger's side. They look almost identical. They could be brothers. They could be twins. Particularly in the way they both draw their weapons and fire.One at Danah, closest and shifting, whether she wants to, or not. The other at Decker. Largest target. Fiercest warrior.
... or one would be firing at Decker. He aimed. He ... squeezed the trigger.Gun shot goes high and wide as he disappears beneath the car with a startled yell, shadows wrapped around his ankle.
(kemp)
Well he wasn't going to just stand there to be shot at, even if he was as blurried as he could get. Claws scraped across the pavement and he was running for the car. Calling on the strength of Eagle to be with him.(James)
not a stretch to translate chuffed sound into an amused chuckle
now may not be the time for interfighting
but Butta's at least reading the guttermutt's mind
behind his battlebuddies James is getting shaggier than normal
dreads slipsliding into the length of grungey fur coat
chunks torn out of nearby brick wall as Crinos talons sharpen on them
(Eagle..... not called on.... he lets it go to his packmates)but he's not rushing headlong into battle yet
(not everybody's out of the car)
following the ideal to make them come to the Gaians
(cause if the sons were Fostern at least.....)(Decker)
The shot goes wide. But it makes him duck anyway, reflexively, grey ears pinned against grey skull. Three more huge Crinos strides and he's there, the axe still in tattoo form, glowing blue on his arm -- his rage out of reach, for the meantime. So the question remains: how does one nevertheless do the most damage, cause the most destruction, break the enemy's ranks the best, when one has only one action to take?(Eagle drawn to him.
He can almost hear the call.)And certainly, when he reaches massive, cruelly curving claws under the car, latches onto the undercarriage and heaves with all his might --
certainly, then, there's a strain-induced ringing in his ears that's less than imagined.
Answer to the question as posed: flip tha car over, bitch. And get 'em as they come crawling out.
(Butta)
Butta? Well....He'd seen out of the corner of his eye his young padowan Kemp rush forelong into the fight. Leaping behind him, keeping James at his flank. Thats right motherfucker..stay on yer feet! In full battle glory with Pads he struck out for the nearest of enemies(Yu)
*The blurred form of Yu Gan assumes his crinos form and moves forward. Circling around*((I.E. holding action.))
*William up on the lamppost. Also blurred in raven form whispers commentary to the digital recorder on his chest. Giving the playby play*
(Danah0
If Danah had an ounce of consciousness right now, she would be tearing a fucking hole into the hole that just threw her. [You might find in this fight that the BSDs and Danah have at least one thing in common..]However, she's not very conscious. Or at least not very capable of making rationale decisions, which leaves her with some very crude (although very fun) options. Danah opens her maw wide, growls ferociously, and then tackles the smaller (still shifting, haha) body, before opening her maw and biting the fleshy vulnerable face of her prey.
(Decker)
Snake: she's a Godi, but they love a good fight as much as the next Get. So she's riproaring into warform, charging forward and CHOMPing at the one twin that Yu Gan's tentacles didn't get.(Cliona)
Cliona, hangs back slightly, knowing there's two more at least coming out of that car.A bit behind butta, she turns and moves to the otherside of the car just about as Decker goes to flip the thing right on over - glad she didn't run quite as fast as she might, she waits to see what crawls out of the wreckage...
(ST)
Two Garou attack the one gunman still standing. He gets a single shot off at his first attacker, Danah.Silver rips through flesh, tearing through muscle and soft tissue as Danah slams into him, and doubled with Snake, both make short work of the creature. Bread and Butter makes the final blow as he reaches it. There are a short amount of enemies here right now. What should be four is only two. And this one was a kin.
Danah has a mad look in her eye, however... Snake would have been better to pick another enemy (for all are enemy to the Fianna now. Nothing but the blind red of her rage). The still standing gunman is in pieces. He never stood a chance (but he made his mark).
The car goes flying and not just because of Decker. Beneath the carriage and the weight of the sedan, the second gunman fights with shadows. And gives up his weak human flesh for that of war.
War formed. It only takes a second. Simaltaneous with the Fenrir's lift, it sends the sedan flying to crash a few feet away, sideways and drunk. And no one comes out.
(....)
(yu)
*Yu's action from the moment before is triggered now. MORE arms of shadow come flickering up to try and hold the one guy down*(Kemp)
Didn't take him long to figure out they went umbral. The other Pyrell had done the samething in a car when they had attacked them before. Fuck, went umbral like before. sending the message to his pack. His rush forwards turning to a swing at the war form that burst from beneath the tumbling car.(decker)
Instinctive, the two Fostern Eagles close ranks with each other. One draws his sticks and the other his axe. Despite color difference, tribe difference, weapon difference, style difference, they are nonetheless strangely... almost indistinguishable from one another. They blend, one into the other, compensating for one another's weaknesses.Slightly apart, but doing her level best to join the ranks with the instincts of a Fenrir born and bred for war, Snake.
The first gunman is in pieces. His gun is on the ground. The second is hitting Crinos, struggling against his bonds. Decker grabs the gun off the ground, awkwardly -- such huge talons were never meant to fit into that trigger -- and tosses it over his shoulder to Cliona. Silver-loaded. It's enough to give even a Garou a shiver of anticipation/dread. She was expected to take care of the Crinos still thrashing about, obviously.
Umbral, Kemp says. Decker grimaces. Follow? Risky. Gauntlet thick. Could be a Theurge. Could be facing a Theurge of god knows what rank on his own terms. Don't follow? Did they have a choice?
Garouspeech, "We follow. Umbral."
(B&B)
LeRoy only growls his disdain for following yet another 'follow me' into the maws of the gauntlet umbral side vowes from El-capi-tan! Not that it was bad, but that too many traps so far had been set for such things. It was becoming to him...obvious.-GS- "At least protect yer flank you stupid jit!" He roared as he grabbed Kemp, and with him within his right fist began through the gauntlet. His left tugging at the heal of Danah who was mauling her victim.
(Cliona)
The gun is tossed over a shoulder to her and she catches it with a shiver of dread, feeling the burn of silver close by, however she also knows her limitations. A sharp sound from garou maw alerts goodluck charm, and with a toss that gun? Thrown directly upwards, knowing Will can, and will catch it, and take care of the still thrashing garou before them. Let’s here it for pack tactics, even when it’s ‘honorary’ status. Her good luck charm, all the way. (and unaffected by silver too.)They follow.
Nod – and she doesn’t even look to see if Will caught it – she knows he did, knows he’ll do what’s needed, and she? reaches out with a hand on any one who may need help over and sidesteps yanking anyone she can over with her.(Will)
*Will sees the gun coming up like that one in Matrix 3. He snap shifts to his homid form up ontop of the street light and with perfect balcance (( love that merit)) grabs it from the air. Can't shoot though Butter and Snake and Danah but he draws a bead on what ever those shadows were beating to shit on the ground incase the doggies don't kill it*(yu)
*Hearing Decker Yu Gan tilts his head. Nodding he goes to cross the gauntlet too. Butter Danah, Cliona, snake can get the last garou here.*(Danah)
Danah and Snake make short work of the gunman, his body laying in shreds beneath their mutual claws. Eyes black as pitch turn to her side, level on Snake, and in an instant Danah is tackling and mauling her as well. Slashing and clawing the nearest body ferociously, until the pain of silver imbedded in her flesh is too much even to sustain her frenzied rage, and Danah slumps to the ground.(ST)
Snake fights back to the best of her ability. No holds barred. Blood spills as Gaian fights Gaian and when Danah falls, Snake stops a fraction of a second from a final blow, snarling her war formed fury.Snorts. Straddling the prone beasts form, the bred fenrir's claws carefully pick through the seared hole that the bullet has left in Danah's side. Snake's blood drops into the Glass Walker's wound, even as she jerks it out, throwing the bullet half way across the world with a hiss.
She makes no move to heal. That is the only thing she offers the bitch who claws her open, turning her attention instead toward the beast wrapped in shadow.
The crinosed garou is pratically pinned, arching back and forth against the barriers of five shadow arms all wrapping and twisting around him, holding him almost prone against the concrete.
There's a loud snap. A howl. The garou's arm just broke.
(Yu)
*From atop the lamp post will calls out* Just stay back!
*Having been aiming. Will puts one of those PRESHIOUS silver bullets in the crinos' brain pan.*(ST)
StorytellerSat 01:03AM CSTDice Validated 6D10 Dice Roll: 7; 2; 4; 2; 10; 4(Danah)
Danah lays prone on the ground, face up to the blackened sky, and the smallest sliver of moon hanging inside it. She doesn't move, can't move. Hispos body shifts into a powerful midnight crinos, but still, she doesn't move a muscle. Just lays there. Unaware of exactly how close she came to seeing her Mother again.(B&B)
Nor does Danah know how close that vision is to become reality. Seeing her mother again or worse even. Hell and its apothocaries. She'd had once brought harm, direct and voluntary against the great Patron Black Unicorn. Justice from the Totem was demanded. The spliting of pack caused by such a disenchanted! And then when such a split took place, how Danah turned her back upon her new found grace? Does a Totem really get over that? Now before others rush to speak volumes of Unicorn's and her shadows yern for compassion, let us all remember that the shadow of Unicorn is born of defense, martial prowress and honor upon standing. Let us also bring upon lite the the dispicable actions and Totem slanderings this 'mule' has done upon Black Unicorn. Justice is ingrained upon LeRoy. Whilst his battle buddies rage against what has yet to be seen umbrally, his Totem calls, it actually bids him to return and finish the silly wretch.His hand upon Kemp as he slips into the umbral side of what he knew would only be a trap..it had to be..it always was. Experience taught that. He turned to Kemp with a smile..."Should I not be needed..." leaving it to his senses to make up his mind as to which direction he undertook at this time. To kill the miserable wretch who spoke against a pride of Black Unicorns and cause such a dishonorable split? Or to kill the wyrm beforehand..hmmmm..which would the totem send him?
(ST)
FlappityflapflapBLAM!....bad joke.
Will perched on his lamp post, a human in a crow's postion fires off a single accurate shot. The report echoes loudly amongst the buildings.
The black spiral dancer goes still. Shadows slither back reluctantly, as if uneager to give up their prize.
Umbral.
The gauntlet is as painful as ever. Like cold water rush. The Garou join, all of them together still on the other side, where the city is shadows of webbing and spirits forming the buildings and stop lights and streetlights.
A small yellow creature clings to a lamp post, it's fur irridiscent and glowing, ruffling its fur in time to a light realmside that is flickering, guttering toward its last moments. Buildings are mostly ethereal things, not always quite solid, the webbing spongy, if they were to touch it. They can see tears across the building of one, as if some great crinos had climbed up it, careless of the spongy material and the damage they caused. Look closely and see the spiders, miniscule, scurrying to repair the damage.
(Kemp)
"Wha...?" words more a growl than anything and he was looking around quickly. Pointing one clawed hand towards the building. "Maybe one went that way."(Cliona)
Umbral. She has perfect trust that Will has taken care of the last Spiral. She may look to be weaker then the rest, but she is certainly not stupid. Will is the better shot, has better aim, and people would need her help to cross, for the Gauntlet is thick here. She did what needed to be done.Shadowy forms of things seen realmside, flickering yellowish creature clings to lamp post, and over here, there is gaping hole where something large went through. Simple enough path to follow. The Ahrouns and Fosterns are in charge, however. Waits for word, follows when it is given.
(yu)
*Yu Gan looks up. Moves over to Cliona and even blurred murmers* "Going up?"
*If she agrees he grabs her under the armpits and flys up, keeping distance from the edge of the building...*(kemp)
Let's go. He heard the order and was following in Decker's wake. Nothing like a furry ass in your face while climbing.(B&B)
Slow, and pivotal his choice was. Kemp being his strain to keep him upon the target. But aloft and up the side of a building. Well who else could climb better than even El-Capi-tan than him?With his gift, from the ape who teaches how to climb such things vertically, even if umbrally, he easily set aside Kemps whoas, beckoning him to take a mantle upon his crinos'd shoulders. -GS- "Hang on"
And with the gift he set to climbing the vertical slope within the umbra without taxing as the others encountered.
(Cliona)
There are advantages to being slightly smaller then the rest. one of them tonight appears to be flight – Logan won’t believe this one later. A nod, agrees, flys.(Kemp)
Free ride, less ass in face. Ok. Latching on to Butta's back like a leech. Hoping he didn't get dropped or something cause that would suck.(Will)
*William leaps off the light and almost floats to the ground, all Underworld style. hallow bones and stuffs, long coat billowing. Landing he walks up on the Spiral.* BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK!(Decker)
Claws crunch into easily giving wall. Over here the material of the world is thin. Flimsy. Concrete and brick crumbles away, but never hits the ground. It disintegrates midway.A low growl stirs his throat as everyone else but him seems to zip up on a free ride. Behind him, James and Snake are doggin' on.
(B&B)
Already above the 'fearless leader' and one should wonder..why am I going forelong into this? LeRoy never considers. Instead trusting that Kemp has his back with free'r mobility than he from oft his back. A shout out down below. "Um..ya com'n or what? And where we go'n boss?" He uttered in high tongue.(ST)
The spiral outside is very. very. dead. Full of silver and not likely to get up any time soon. Ever.It's a long slogging climb to the top. For Decker, James and Snake, at least. The rest, obviously are getting easier rides. Spiders scurry across the climbers' fur, tiny legs scratching into flesh, leaving a feeling of stiffness through muscles and bone, as if they do not quite bend as they should (static).
About half way up for the fastest, and a quarter of the way up for the slower ones, a spray of blood mists down wet and pungent, and an echoing snarl ricochets off the umbralscape.
Reaching the top, of course, Bread and butter and Yu Gan and their companions may realize a brief problem with their speedier plans.
See, they're up at the top. With a large burly man, built like a square shithouse, dressed in a pair of suit pants, his torso bare and muscled body flexing as he crouches over the smaller form of his companion. One of the occupants of the car has met his demise, and not from Gaian hands. The burly man is wiping bloodied hands on the leg of the corpse, while glancing up mildly at the approachers.
"Weren't there more of you?" his grin shows teeth as he straightens his back slightly with careless confidence as he crouches over his slain companion.
(yu)
*Yu drops Cliona off somewhere, Not too close to long tall and ugly and keeps rising. Hoping the baddie will loose him in the umbral sky. He's still a little blurry.*(B&B)
"Well shit" In his high tongue he counters. A snarling effigy of a grin he gave the man who sat so ominously alone. "Um ya miscounted..and so did we. Whoever lives will be remembered viberantly!" He roared as his high tongue rolled off his muzzle and lips, slipping upwards to let Kemp grasp at the apex.His action, still holding that rage till now rushes to jump and evade any attack the stauwart man may have.
(Decker0
Decker just snaps his teeth as B&B calls down to him. What does it look like he's doing, sitting on his hands? He was CLIMBING.....
SLOWLY.
By the time the conversation starts up there (perfectly clear to his ears), he's about... 60% of the way there. His muscles tense, quiveringly, as the sounds of battle begin. Then he's racing up the side of the building with a burst of rage-given speed.
Don't do nothin' STUPID, Kemp -- y'all got 'im four ta one 'n he ain't shakin'.
(Cliona)
Snarling growl from the smaller garou, claws flexing as she stands strong by the others. Kemp. Butta. And the calvaries coming. HT ~Funny. I thought you’d be bigger.~Always wanted to use that line. She stands strong, ready, waiting for him to make the first move. A glance to Butta – in the absence of Decker, it’s instant to shift leadership to him, until the Modi arrives.
Butta rushes, and Kemp and Cliona circle.... the clash of the titans, and when there is an opening, the quick lithe little one is there to swing claws with the best of them...
(ST)
He's almost in repose. Almost waiting. Almost relaxed. Elbows on his knees. Fingers blood tipped still brushing that of his packmate's corpse.His head tilts briefly, almost unaware of the pacing Garou of Butta waiting for him to attack.
His voice is like honey poured over coals, eyes so dark as to be almost black. He is almost fifty, from the peppering of grey through the dark black of his hair, skin obviously olive toned, italian.
Knuckles pop, slowly, before glancing toward Ricinus, almost as if she'd asked him a question. "It'd be a shame for them to miss out. Just another few moments, now."
(Kemp)
Somethings not right! Practically screaming the warning over the totem link. And he was circling for the back of the guy to force him to divide his attention. Oh fuck me! He wasn't so big and not nearly as powerful as this guy likely was, but he had those razor claws and he was suddenly making a rush for the guy's backside.(Decker)
Three lagging Garou climbing for all they were worth. Twenty feet from the top one suddenly rears back and shatters through the side of the building, into the interior, digging through the wall, and then up. Slower. But with the element of surprise.The other two - the Modi and the Godi - continue to climb. They begin to fan out, eventually hitting the top some thirty feet from one another. At his first glance of the rooftop scene, Decker pings quick location impressions to his packmate within the building. [take a -1 dice pool for attn splitting?]
(yu)
*Yu Gan shakes his head. That fucker's summoned something with his packmates death. The Uktena just knows it. Keen eyes like an eagle search around for the "thing" that the dead garou has unleashed*(ST)
Kemp jumps at him, impatient. He never even has a chance.Mo'da'gos reacts. Reaching war formed at impossible speeds he whips around to backhand the rotagar like a disobedient puppy. The sound of strong claws hitting flesh is echoing and hideously loud. It catches Kemp mid-flight and sends him flying.
Over the edge and into nothing but air and ground far far below.
(Cliona)
Something ain’t right. She comes to the same conclusion, though others aren’t seeing anything from above. and when kemp hauls ass and attacks, she does the same – but she does not go for the garou, instead she goes for the dead body, rage burned in an attempt to grab and haul it right off the edge of the building...(Yu)
Got um!
*Hummingbirds Alpha DARTS down unseen to try and catch Kemp before he becomes road pizza*(Kemp)
He flew before, recently, but at least then his head wasn't spinning and there weren't stars everywhere he tried to look. One moment there, the next gone.(B&B)
It was a single glance back. An observed concern for his fraternity brother he gave that could be his unduely weakness. Yet he turned. From afar he shuffled instead, round to the left, the far left out of sight he lept. Whilst the others meandered the bad ones thoughts he stole upon his chance to attack him. With falling touch he reached out and attempted not only that but a backswiping claw.(ST)
James's totem link sparks bright and then goes painfully silent.(Yu)
*As he dives he calls out* "SOMETHING INSIDE!"
*Flying fast to try and catch the get*(Decker)
James' totem link, GONE. He reels physically, almost losing his grip on the edge. And then his one remaining packmate, now that James was burrowing, flies off the roof.Shit. No way to coordinate now. Not without speaking aloud, and then what the fuck is the point. Fucking ALONE now, the rest of the garou notwithstanding. There's nothing like being without pack. Leaves you naked on a rooftop under the sky, the eye of the wyrm staring down at you.
Literally.
"Come on," he growls to his cousin. Blood bonded. Thinks she's a Rohl, does she? Time to show your grit. Muscles bulge across chest and arm and back; by sheer force of will he drags his half-ton weight up past the roof, launches himself into the air, and crashes down somewhere to the left, and somewhat in a flanking position, of Mo'da'gos.
"There's something in the building," that's all he has time to say, simultaneously with Yu Gan's diminishing call. He doesn't even attempt the old trick, True Fear, on Pyrell Sr. Out comes the axe and he's following B&B in, Snake beside him, all his rage burning making him incandescent. All he knew was, if they had to face Mo'da'gos and whatever he'd called up inside together, they hadn't a snowball's chance in hell.
(B&B)
His talons raised upon the backside of the Great Pyrell Sr. His challenge he left for the man he held dearly. Only those who survived this battle would lament in vibrant victory. He had shuffled first to evade attack presumed to be made by him or another from an unseen distance. LeRoy though thought, was far from stupid. Simple perhaps, nevertheless not stupid. But engaged was he with his rage he now spent again upon attacking the hind quarter of the enemy, with both claw and falling touch gift.(ST)
Ricinus leaps for the dead body and unprotected by Mo'da'gos now, it's easy to reach and get to. Like Kemp, the body goes flying over the edge to sail through the air and smash against the ground, shattered bones and skin.Unlike Kemp. Who is caught by Yu Gan far too close for comfort. The weight of the falling Garou caught by the Uktena nearly pulls them both to the ground and pratically disconnects Kemp's arms from his sockets. But he's alive. So far.
The building trembles, and Mo'do'Gos snarls, bearing his teeth, "Tell my children I said hello." The high tongue as he leaps. Claws scrape Bred and Butta, barely leaving a scratch as the Gaian himself claws out, attempting to activate the gift that will bring the highly ranked Spiral to his knees.
And fails.
The blood drawn is little more than a scratch on the flesh, as Mo'Da'Gos bites again, even as Decker Rohl joins the fray, axe swinging to slam into his flank (...stick in flesh, pull free, see the blood pour across the Spiral's flank) and the Spiral's teeth fasten onto B&B's throat and is battered by the axe blows of the Fenrir Modi and Snake flanking the opposite side, lashing out with claws and teeth.
The building shudders again. Snake stumbles back, and Decker's last axe blow misses clean. Mo'Da'Gos just lost his grip on Bred & butta, and none too soon, either. Blood soaks the rooftop, and spiders are beginning to swarm the ground until it is covered. Amidst the small ones, a slightly larger one is viewed, every few feet.
Reinforcements.
(Kemp)
He was falling, then someone was pulling his arms out of the sockets and that was enough to make him howl with added pain. Later he'd consider he could smacked head first into the ground. Right now it was a howl.(B&B)
The cut to his throat dementated him somewhat. But rage leads him onwards, with the thought of Kemp falling to his death below. (having no idea his fraternity member is alive) He spends his rage to shift down into hispo to dodge the usurpers next attack. Lurching at his groan with both claw and teeth. Again using falling touch to complete perhaps his final effigy.(Yu)
*Yu gan pulls up hard. Umbral dust billowing from air displacement as they just miss the ground and their heading back up. Murmerd* Quit cha bitching, you're still alive... well fuck... I can't carry you all.
*Looking at the building he frowns, Banking as he rises he looks at the neighboring building for any spiders. Can't fly them all out but he can station in mid air and work as a stepping stone to the NEXT building over!!*(Decker)
Faced with the potential choice -- get out and live, or take the enemy down and die -- there's only one answer for those born to Fenris' blood.So there's four figures left in the chaos of gleaming order. The assault continues, the black axe lashing out the best he can, his feet planted wide to help his balance. He hasn't been struck, but blood suddenly pours red out of wounds miraculously opening of their own will -- strange rifts opening across shoulders and arms, and across his chest but never his back. Fresh rage floods his system until his lips peel back in an involuntary, trembling snarl; until his fur stands on end from neck to ruff to spine, all the way to tail. He attacks as he had, turning away from the claws and seeking advantage.
The spiders are coming. They crawl over Dancer and Gaian without delineation. They were equal opportunity calcifiers, the very underpinnings of order come to dubious life; the personification (that wasn't the right word) of pattern and purpose pushed to the extremes. The large ones were intelligent, or at least cunning; they were dangerous, and they are, for the moment, ignored.
Three Gaians whirling around one Dancer. Silence, Snake, BreadnButta, who for all his plain-jane name, was a force to the reckoned with. How much would it take?
(Cliona)
She doesn’t look to see if Kemp is dead or just injured – though the howl getting louder leads certainty to the latter as she turns instead to the battle, to the Godi and Modi and Butta wrecking havok and the spiders crawling over and over and getting bigger too. Lovely.Three stand against the Spiral.
Now make that four. Not the forces of the other three, no, but unharmed, full strength, and dropping rage to rake with wicked claws along side the others.
(yu)
*Yu Gan sighs. Well nothing for it now. Kemp's in for a wild ride as the blurry crinos Uktena banks in from above, dropping the blur (( don't need friendly fire)) to come from ABOVE MOTHER FUCKER! Down onto Pyrell Sr. Kemp and himself, death from above*(Kemp)
Oh fuck, nothing to do in this situation other than to extend claws on all four limbs and rake for all he's worth before he splats in the divebomb.(Nelly)
The car on the streets below. Nothing, just an ant it seems to those above. Un-noticed."Umbral. Atop that building," pointing one finger up from the windshield.
But it was that which gave them advantage. Hopefully they were not too late. She had tracked them down, the boys and her Holly, thru the thundering hooves of Black Unicorn. Yes, she knew where they were.
It was a moment on the side of the car as it parked between buildings that her own reflection was caught in the mirrors... across the gauntlet she traversed.
(Will)
*In the real world, there is a burning car in the street and burning bodies and Will banks down when Nelly appears and lands on her shoulder* "Hey sexy. Miss me?"(AnneMarie)
A nod, then, as she stops the car between the buildings and cuts the engine. She’s moving slower then her unhurt partner in crime, but still moving. A glance at that bird as he comes down.True to form, of course, she does not reply. Silent, this one. Before she sidesteps, however, she does three things. One – gets out of the car. Two, shifts with a snap to birthform, massive crinos form crouching. And three, the silver-toned bangle at her wrist is activated, rendering her, for all intents and purposes, invisible but for the silver glow of her eyes, eyes that now lock on their reflection, and she sidesteps.
(Nelly)
She paused realmside, looking around first before crossing over. And the raven upon her shoulder caused the delay a bit more. She smiled softly, "Always sugahbee," a wink, "Ah gotta get t'mah boy..." and with that she looked into the mirror of the car and sidestepped into the umbra. Taking Will with her if he so chooses to stay perched on her shoulder. Or not.(Will)
*He rides over. Wondering absently what's taking all the others so long. He killed his spiral pretty quick. A bit of ruffeled feathers at AnneMarie's pop up and shimmering shadows*(ST)
The Garou are piling on. The spiders are pouring in... The ground is shaking and beneath through the building in the soft soft floor and barriers, there's a sudden keening howl (James's totemlink explodes to life. Pain.) that can set teeth on edge.It certainly feels like a last stand, though whether it is for Mo'Da'Gos or the assembled Garou that have begun to rip/tear/shred into the Spiral still remains to be seen.
Mo'Da'Gos's flesh shreds (spiders crawl into his open and snarling mouth) and his arm nearly severs at the shoulder.
Kemp's attack, claws raking, throws the Spiral to his highranked knees, and whispering through a shredded throat, he begins the Song of Mockery, a twisted song that mocks lineage, their kin (Pretty boy, gonna shove his dick down his throat... Nice girl, Alexandra... wanna taste her ovaries...) in a warbling tone. It's only a few seconds. The Garou tongue is an expressive language and the howls are more so.
Spiders fill their wounds, if they have them, and crawl in their fur, if they don't.
He hasn't attacked. It was when Kemp hit that he finally bothered. Fur stands on end... electricity surges through the conductible roof top. ... through their skin.
Through Decker's axe.
Through Kemp's claws.
Through them all, a heart stopping jolt that sends Bred and Butta down, Ricinus and Snake staggering. The building nearly rocks off it's foundation as something roars.And Mo'da'Gos laughs. Blood spraying.
Kemp, Yu Gan, Decker are all still capable. One might say that an attack like this is not glorious. Five on one. No heroes. No glory hogs. Every Garou driving toward one goal. Bring him. Down.
And down he falls.
(yu)
*Yu Gan looks around and spots the most wounded. He grunts and hefts the massive man to a shoulder and hovers about 4 feet off the roof* Call the ball Silence. Hurry!(Cliona)
Ricinus staggers as she [tosses her name into the pile] is electrucuted with the rest of them, sizzling jolts of lightening racing through her form.Butta falls.
Kemp falls.Both fall next to her and it is with a quickness of thought that gained her the deedname to begin with, she grabs first Kemp, hand pressed into him to let loose the flow of mother’s touch through him, then her foot connects to Butta’s side as the others take down the Spiral for good, and again, healing touch races through Midnight’s form.... even while muscles jitter with the aftereffects of electricity..
(ST)
Something beneath the ground shudders, and slithers away. The shadow within the building starting to fade.As the spiders start to return, there are four down.
Mo'da'Gos is dead. His body riddled with claw, axe and bite marks, his life was finally ended. 50 years for the wyrm. One might say he became incautious. Careless to think he could actually live through an attack like this. Others might say he chose when he wanted to die, with his children dead, his company failing.
Bred and Butta: Down but breathing.
Kemp: Down but breathing.And within the building... The mutter of James Branson's existance, perhaps welcome after the stark emptiness of his silence. He too, lives, if not happily.
(Will)
*Will looks around and sees the building swarming with spiders* Fuck you just know Red's up there.
*He lifts off from Nelly's shoulder, flapping hard to get up there to the others*(Nelly)
She heard the roars...the buildings shake... hell, who couldn't? Her gaze lifted as her body grew to glabro form... small green hairs peeking thru her skin. Mentally, she reached out thru the totem phone for Butta...Hello? Hello?
Nothing. This is when ol'Nelly freaks the hell out, her screams, "No, Nonononononononononononononononono..." those ethral green vines around her form twist, flowing around her frantically... "getmeupgetmeup"... (climb like an ape) her hands finding holds upon the face of the building. Ethral vines snapping out... WYLD is here... grappling up the spiders all around her, crushing, tossing, hitting the weave
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 15, 2004.06.15.04. - word's charach [decker][riverfront]
(decker)
Sometime 'round 2am the bay door clatters open. Sound of a state-issue domestic driving off, and a Modi kicking his shoes and socks off.A little later he appears in the living area, tossing shoes down at the entrance to the patchwork-rugged area, tossing ripely stinking socks onto the mammoth laundry pile. Dropping down onto the sofa, or one of them, he clunks bare feet onto the cracked and tottering coffee table.
"'Sup James."
(james)
somewhere around 2amthe inside of the factory was about as dark as the night outside
save the dimly haphazard glow of the random christmas lights
reflecting off periphreal machinery, the soft colors almost make the cavernous area seem downright ambiently homeyambience, of course, destroyed by dual assault of ripe socks and bare feet
(what'd that table ever do to you)
it's enough to get James to crack open an eye
curiosity lifting a brow towards unruly tangle of dreads
the Ahroun studying his packmate across the tottering table".... my time f'r peace'n qui't."
he wasn't exactly asleep, persay
but from the looks of lanky raggedyman's sprawl on one of the two truly comfortable pieces of furniture
let us all appreciate Decker's choice of the other sofa(decker)
"Heh," is Decker's reply for a long time.Weeks could pass without the two speaking a word to each other. Totemphone, sure, but that was different, wasn't it? The existence of the pack was as a collection of solitudes. They pulled together when necessary, drifted alone when not; pack is not all, and all is not pack.
It's just the more important, solid, everlasting core.
Some time later, "'Member Roxy?"
(james)
in the time there's little more than the distant echo of kiped generator
the Gnawer takes the opportunity to adjust towards a position more inclined for decent conversation
rare were the times the Eagles - especially the Full Moons - sought each other's company without specific need
might as well not speak through curtain of ropes constantly trying to answer gravity's callseries of movement resembles drawn out stretch more than orchestration of coordination
fingernails scratching scalp during the long swipe pushing unruly mop out of his face
avalanche of dreads rioting over scarred skin of bared shoulders
.... and not really looking like the effort did much good
but at least it provides a semi-reasonable view of his smirk once the silence is finally broken"Yeh." a beat "Wha' 'bout 'er?"
(decker)
Response doesn't come for a while. There's chittering in the distance; he cocks his head and listens. A family of rats have joined them in the factory. They moved in a week ago, give or take. Thanks a lot, James.Then, straight to the point. "I want my truck fixed. She wants ta fuck you." Smirk. "Whatcha think?"
No, he ain't joking.
(james)
the Gnawer ignores distant chittering
(..... chitters.... shudders....)
while his blood may have close ties to Mother Rat's children
he, himself, prefers to keep that close limited to just out of arm's reach
attention is still on whatever his packmate's answer may b.........
for one moment that may just translate into eternity
James. just. stares.
flicker of gaze away to reaffirm reality and that he's not dreaming this
and deep umber roofed by furrowed brows swings back to the Modino. he ain't joking.
and the answer really comes not even a heartbeat later
no matter how long it seemed to stretch in (... deadly....) silence"Think I'm payin' a get'cher truck fix' s'm'ere else."
slow. controlled. soft as sin.
doesn't look like James is joking, either
(tristan)
Oh his timing is impeccable. It always has been, really. Decker takes his time, then straight (hahaha) to the point, and the boy chooses that point, exactly that point, to swing open the door and step inside the warehouse.and stop.
and well, hand on the door as he just blinks, waiting for James’ reply to such a statement (if that wench gets him before I do..........) though he has a pretty good idea what it will be. That is his brother after all – and damn if his lips aren’t curling into something of a grin, and only after the (expected) reply comes does he let the door bang closed again.Long strides carry him to ‘his’ shelf where he stows beloved violin, and then he’s peeling down to just jeans – t-shirt and boots and socks getting tossed into the pile that is NOT mammoth because he’s been slacking, but because they’re all sweating through everything almost faster then he can wash it.
To the cooler, the blessed holder of all things beer, nod up in passing to Decker, to James. And three beers grabbed once he arrives – two of which are summarily tossed, only after both are paying attention enough to catch them correctly and not spray them all with built up foam when they’re opened.
(decker)
Decker snorts, getting up to head for the icebox. There was precisely one heine left in there and he was taking it before Tristan showed up."What--" -- resettling across from James, slouched down almost horizontal on the old cloth-covered couch, "don't like her none?"
(james)
the Ahroun doesn't exactly seem to be paying attention to the lone beer arching through the air
or, in fact, the arrival of his kinsman altogether
dark eyes locked on and following the Modi from and back to the couch
but when the can starts drawing too close for comfort
right hand snaps up to snatch it out of the air
all the care with which it was aimed and tossed shot to shit as it's just dropped on the table
fucker'll probably detonate on whomever dares open it"Like'r jus' fine."
(rumor)
Talk about impecible timing.
Enter streetrat.
Rumor. The troublemaker had managed to stay out of trouble thusfar. Not by any choice of her own.
Was told to stay put and had managed to do so.
Life had been as boring lately as watching paint dry. stay put.
But for the first time, people had given at least a partial fuck about her.
Of course the major vendetta on the freaks was cause they invaded James' den...but still...they had all been lookin out for her as well. Something she was not used to.
Enter Rumor.
Door closes behind her. Shaggy brown with red streaked hair falling over blue eyes...somehow she still managed to see.3 steps in...relaxed..board in hand.
Decker, James, Tristan She stops and freezes. deer in the headlights"I come at a bad time?"
Shed just as soon wander out on the streets if she didnt think shed end up finding trouble (or trouble finding her) somehow.(tristan)
He opens his own beer and picks a relatively safe seeming patchwork stool, not made for comfort, but at least this one doesn’t try to stick metal pieces through his thigh. Lanky form folds, sits, beer tipped back (only one heine, but plenty of MGD thank you very much. On sale, even – and the boy doesn’t slack.)Gaze drops toward the dropped beer, and there’s a shrug. swallow, once, twice, three times, then just. well. listen.
Gaze turns toward Rumor, and he shakes his head, standing once again and moving over to pull her into a quick hug, aaaaaaaaand move her toward the little kitchenette area. Not really far away, can still listen in – not steering her clear, either.... exactly. Just playing mom. “Nah, kiddo. Come on in – hungry?”
(decker)
He doesn't even glance up as Rumor enters, and Tristan speaks to her. His attention's focused on James right now: focused like a laser.Though don't let that fool ya. Not like he's glaring or nothing. The Modi's still the Modi, in his usual state of laziness: slouched, head back against the back of the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, bare. The beer sweats in his hand. Earlier today it'd been a wonder condensation didn't just boil instantly, sizzling away to nothing.
"Fuck's tha problem then?" The bottle rocks on its pivot stuck in a gap in the cushions. "Ain't whorin', James. Roxy'll fix tha truck with 'r withoutcha. 'S jus' smoke."
Decker, the matchmaker. Whodathunk.
(rumor)
Hug from Tristan along with being veered towards wherever she was supposed to be.
Looks like kitchenette was the magic place at the moment...Eyes move to James...then Decker who she knew didnt like her much, but she didnt take it personally, so far she had noticed he didnt like anyone much. Tolerated a few, liked almost none. In fact she was certain his face would break into pieces if it ever saw a smile.Voice almost a whisper to Tristan, to avoid being loud, obnoxious, boisterous nor annoying.
Quite a feat for the 15 year old. "always hungry, but im cool...no biggie" Eyes dart back to the 2 others and then back to Tristan. "Kineval around? Or is he out gettin into trouble without me?" a smirk. She was joking...obviouosly...since she was not allowed to find trouble as of late.
that didnt mean trouble didnt find her regardless(tristan)
“He’s on patrol” Chuckled with a wink, before he gestures to the cooler. “grab yourself a drink. I’m hungry too – so I’ll whip us up something, and you can help.”Both of them getting into trouble without him, as well as Roxanne, it’s a wonder the pretty boy hasn’t worried himself right on into a stroke, you know? But he takes it, like he does everything.
He grabs a pan and nods to the cooler. “Grab the eggs, cheese and that keilbasa, will ya?” bowl grabbed as well as he flips the switch on the little electric grill and starts it heating up.
(james)
carrying on in the general scheme of things
Rumor's arrival is either pointedly ignored or doesn't even register
right now the Gnawer's world has tunnelvisioned down to the occupants on the two couches
Decker's deceptively lazy slouch and drawl
James' half-sprawl doing little to cover the fact he's coiled tight as a snake ready to strikeit's the raggedyman's turn to draw out his share of silence
"Yeh really gotta ask?" the words should have come out softer, raw edge disappearing into something else that's shadowing deep earthen eyes, lurking in places the guttermutt just doesn't let show anymore because the ferocity sheilding it is simply too strong "Fuck you."
gravity finally finds her victory
but it's his eyes that slam towards the ground
frustration's rising growl physically shaken away
maybe he's trying to talk himself out of something
but that conclusion isn't granted a chance to surface, either
since that would be when the Ahroun's standing and heading towards the door(rumor)
[First] Theres the immediate reaction when Rumor catches glimpse of him. James. Its always a first reaction. Different then when she sees Kemp and is relaxed and normal. This one was more the ohmygodlookathimteeniebooperwetpanties reaction. Quick gaze to the dreadlocked BG Elder.
Heart races..cheeks flush but only slightly. It is an instant that feels like forever.
However in real time the whole reaction is about 5 whole seconds. Mostly hidden. Except to perhaps Tristan who usually could get a quick tease in to her about it.
Like a splash of cold water coolin off the initial reaction...fuck you barks out of James's mouth and he is up and heading towards the door...The words assist in splshing her back to reality and to the present.
And the streetrat is right back to her regular self.Mannn she would have been there (roxys garage) every day this week had Roxy asked her to. Itchin to get into that garage and help out. Passionate in fact. But Roxy had to go play wyrmkiller 2004 and who knows what had happened since the last phone call...
And she fuckin gave up the shitty job for the perfect opportunity to help out in a garage.Attention drawn from whatever was going over there (dispite curiosity), back to Tristan...
"Huh?"
pause...and a nod. "oh Kemp...patrollin for girls in tights shirts and mini skirts im sure" she chuckles (but doesnt really find it all that funny) and begins to gather the items called out to her.Kemp was a whole other frustration...not even worth thinking about at the present time.
And now tension building...wasn't hard to predict when one big-ass furry Rage Filled beast says Fuck You to another, it certainly wasnt going to end with the Brady Bunch ending...well not without some good ol Violence or something thrown in there.
(decker)
Decker doesn't bother moving. He takes a slow swig of beer, and pauses only briefly when James speaks up (fuck you.) Finishes his sip as the Gnawer gets up to go. Lowers the bottle. Recaps it, precariously.Coolly, even offhandedly, "Y'ain't a Garou, James. Yer a fuckin' puppy."
On that word, motion incarnate. He coils up out of his sprawl and folds over and his arm swings in a vicious downward arc that leaves the beer bottle, the very last heineken, smashed on the concrete. One instant later, half, he's on his feet, facing James' retreating back. From the tension in his body, the quivering intensity of his muscles all bunched and readied, he should shout after his packmate.
He's totally silent. The storm rages within, crackling out of his eyes.
(tristan)
Oh he sees the look, and if he weren’t so worried for his brother at the moment, there would certainly be the teasing she expects. puppylove – so cute. instead, however, dark eyes snap over to the couch [fuck you. ]Decker falls into motion that’s faster then anything the kin has seen before – save possibly in his brother. hands fall still, waiting for the items, and with one step he’s more between rumor and the bristling rage then he was before. Unconscious, that, but it’s automatic. Protect the younger ones. He’s caught enough brunts of such rage to know he can take it much better then the kiddo – no matter how tough she thinks she is.
Calmly, however, he takes the items from her hand, and sets them on the counter. Those eyes, though, tell an entirely different story.
(rumor)
She doesnt play tough
Nor does she think she is. If there were a back door shed be patrollin for Kemp...or walking up the riverfront..or practicing ollies on curbs.
Anything but staying here.
However there were 2 raging Garou between her and the door.
The only escape.
puppy love it wasnt. Admiration mixed with hormonal drooling perhaps.
The puppylove crush was more for someone else, but shed be the last to admit that even to herself.Smmash And alas broken glass she or Tristan would soon be cleaning up.
Oh God please dont let them shift...beat each other up is fine, but not shift...please not shift
Most of the kin she had met had been all Disneyland about seeing Garou shift into anything big and hairy. Not her. She didnt like it. Fuckin freaked her out to all hell. She wasnt used to it, nor did she enjoy seeing it.
Hearing the noises as flesh and bone change and crack morphing into the fuckin wolfman.No fuck that...she'd rather take whats behind door #2..But lucky for her there was no door number 2, in fact, she got to be first row for this one, like it or not.
Silent. Not a word. She makes her way further back into what was the small kitchenette.She sees Tristans eyes and her heart begins to race...fuckkk meeee just Dont Let Them Shift
(james)
the very. last. precious. heineken smashes to pieces on the concrete
one of the more energetic glass shards catching up to where James had pulled up short
dark, dark eyes contemplating it a moment as the chilling silence carries on
waiting a good goddamned long time with his back still turned
blatantly ignoring acute knowledge of just what it is that waits behind himdim glow of christmas lights play hazzardous games across jet black scars
flickering changes encouraging talon slashes to grow into the roving strands of dangling dreads
acid-dream hallucination crawling over skin barely restraining something that grows volcanicif history is written in the pattern of vicious scars
curious to think what mark tonight will leavefor all the storm's raging power waiting for the Gnawer to turn
expectation anticipates some sudden atomic burst of violent action
which makes the actual reaction seem practically anticlimatic
all that happens is enough of a pivot so that James can look back across a shoulder".... really think 'm stupid 'nuff a letcha bait me twi'e?" a grin surfaces here, slashing crooked scythe in a way that ... well ... isn't quite right "'n if y'r g'nna insul' me... do i' righ'. Wor's Charach.."
death sentence it may be, the Ahroun turns away for a second time
(... and Decker knows he never. ever. turns away from pack... they mean more than anything to James)
resuming his route towards and on out the door
whatever else there is to come of this
pretty obvious the guttermutt's not about to deal with it infront of an audience(decker)
There's part of him -- a good part -- that wants nothing more than to put on his wolfskin and leap to the attack. No holds barred. No mercy allowed. Destroy the weakness or it will destroy you. Same damn thing that was taught to him, beaten into him, from Day One as a garou.It's one thin thread that holds him back; but then, it's only the thinnest red cord that binds Fenris. An unspoken argument. An unvoiced line of reasoning that James, perhaps, hasn't even touched upon in his own mind.
If it were you, and she were yours, your woman, Imogen...
The rest need not even be thought.So,
so.He lets the Gnawer go, silent with an effort until the door shuts. Only then, a bark of a sound, a grunt, words not quite formed gritted out between his teeth -- he crunches over broken glass, shoots Tristan a short, angry look, grabs a hunk of kielbasa and retreats to his own privacy, out back, in his new shed.
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.06.15.04. - binding stains [binary][chinatown]
(binary)
Hunter.One might think it of her. The were other aspects of the asian's personality that came more to the forefront. The immaculate cut of her long coat [yes, in summer..] the edge of her trousers of the nigh soundless fall of rubber-treaded boots. All of these details, the neat pull of the single elkastic that binds thick black hair into a pony tail, the copy of the Chicago Tribune, or the causally held cup of coffee, waver of the truth. [Night is never as clear as under a phildox moon.] The shadow of a beast that hungs over the small framed woman - a stain.
(kristopher st peters)
*Flying over Chinatown Kris sees the one who dosn't like him or his kind so he flies down and perches above her on a lamp post*
(james)
Chicago is a city wrought with stains
garbage littering the mopey corners at the end of the block
exhaust fumes laying toxic cloud above maze of asphalt grimed streets
brilliant colors of what once was faded to forgettable signs of has-been business
entrepreneurial hopes and dreams declining to yet another row of abandoned buildings
Hunter's beast skulking ominous shadows around the two Garouit hangs over the small framed woman some sentient blemish
it also serves purpose to announce the Ahroun's arrival even before he can cross the street towards her bench
invisable shockwave rolling before him deadly tide(binary)
i'm list difficulty to spot a crow in the city as 6
to James: 6D10 Dice Roll: 3; 4; 9; 8; 4; 6Ahroun: Warriors of a warrior breed. Indeed she she sees him and indeed the woman's upperbody does move forward the line of solid musculature rippling under the folds of her coat. Her spectacles flicker with the motion against the streetlamp where an [...unseen?] avian may evesdrop.
Binary's head dips respectfully even as slanting eyes close for a moment - marshalling the stream of data that runs along the surface of her thoughts. "Good evening."
(boris szekely)
Boris is out, exploring the city. The Chinatowns and the like are the sort of enclaves that his prey often tries to lose itself in, so he figures he ought to at least get a feel for the layout. Natty Italian semi-casual suit, slight slouch, he looks like a moderately well-heeled tourist... which in fact he is.(james)
by the time almond eyes reverse closing slant
the Gnawer's chin was mid-dip reflecting respect
dreadlocks shifting over frame of broad shoulders
quite a contrast in thin cotton-tee compared to the fine tailoring of her coat"Evenin'" furthering more their contrast, he's quirked an easy - if lopsided - grin against the datastream channeling her thoughts, slowing to a stop standing just next to her claimed seat "'precia'e y'r gettin' back a me so quick."
(binary)
Hush.She is not a a beast [...lies live in human skin.] her fur cannot bristle nor can her ears paste back and yet something is not quite right. More than most would pick up on the small details of her demeanor, the way that tongue slides over teeth of the faintest flare of nostrils as she stands moving from the bench to shake the gnawers hand. [...a shadow lives about her shoulders hovering - a threat.] his jovial demeanor absorbed and passed over like the sea of details she ticks of: Irrelevant.
"Of course, I didn't realize you didn't have a number for me."
to James: "...there is a were-bird on the lampost behind me." Quetly whispered prelude to the louder words.
(boris)
to Boris Szekely, James: 5D10 Dice Roll: 8; 3; 1; 3; 6
to James: Recognize Garou = 1 success then for you.(james)
something isn't quite rightJames may not be exactly.... familiar... with the GlassWalker to note any deviance from normality's quite right
however the predator lurking beneath raggedyman's skin keys into the all too familiar idiosyncracies of prey
body language far more primally efficient in the diction of declaring unease
twitch of tongue, flare of nostrils, shift of shoulders, and then the sudden need to move
climaxed in the blithely negligent social efficacy of salutation's shaking hands"Eas'ly 'nuff remedie'." strength of the Ahroun's grip that could so easily crush the hand of most others tempered just as the casual remark beneath unwavering gaze suggests he speaks of nothing more than the convenience of digits "Ready a roll, then?"
brow cocks towards the dangling frame of heavy dreads
ball in Binary's court to take their discussion to more discreet venues(boris)
Passing the pair by the street lamp, Boris slows, something catching his attention. An expert hunter, though, he recognizes it in another, and goes still, until he suspects he's got the source figured out. Loafing. Window shopping.(binary)
The unremarkable asian woman in the coat nods to the the raggedy-man finishing the cup of luke-warm coffee and tossing the cup into a wastebasket as they walk... away from the lampost."Sounds ideal, and here." A card is handed to him from her pocket --"For future refernce."
(kris)
*Waiting for them to walk away than following behind them, keeping up with them but staying far enough back*(boris)
Casually, pausing to light a Turkish cigarette, Boris takes the moment to watch the two True Born in the reflection of a nearby shop window, knowing well how to watch and not be seen doing it.(eva illeshazy)
Although it is not particularly hot, the humidity is punishing. As she steps out of a narrow doorway - the businessname obscured by the glare of a streetlamp, peeling letters bleak against the dusty glass - Eva puts down her heavy square black bag. It settles on the sidewalk with a thumb, followed shortly by a slimmer case in rich brown leather. Hands freed, she peels off her suit jacket with a sigh of relief and folds it over her right arm.Her (now former) hosts do not use air conditioning until the mercury rises close to the three digit range, and the offices were close and hot. Sweat darkens the blouse she wears about the color, and it clings uncomfortably to her back. She peels the fabric away from her skin and bends to lift the two cases from the ground.
(james)
she is unremarkable - an Asian woman in Chinatown
the Gnawer doesn't have the luxury of such non-distinction
six foot one and topped with a crown of jungle-vine dreads
black tee-shirt and faded BDU's complete the ensemble
proclaiming the raggedyman as much a possible tourist as the next guy
however, blending into the namless mortal public tends to be what his Tribe does best"Thank'." a breif moment of intrigued similarity between the two Garou Elders, card accepted from her hand and passed along into his own pocket "Easier'n my las' method, f'r sure."
negligent humor filling this limbo between location
irrelevant as her noting his demeanor
casual as his automatic reflex slowing speech
while many would assume such patterns come from a pitifully.... dim... being
it serves purpose translating proper English from the mangling effect battlescar slur has on top of thick Empire State accentintent, however, continues to remain a mystery
chin lifting in Eagle-style nod up towards a small eatery ahead
one lucky enough to avoid the transformation into yet another city-stain
brow getting it's exercise tonight in performing another shift towards bohemian 'doa query of acceptability
(boris)
Boris, regrettably, is busy enough watching the True Born in the reflection off the glass that he doesn't immediately notice the attractive woman stripping only three doors down.(eva)
Eva is ordinary. Dark of hair, eye and skin, in unremarkable business attire (even without the suit jacket, still thoroughly respectable) a serviceable shade of gray. Light gray, for the summer months, rather than the dark black or blue that would suit for the winter. Her hair is thankfully twisted up, the weight of it held off the back of her neck in a french twist secured by a few pins, the dark hard glint mostly lost in the thickness of her hair.Careful that she does not crease her jacket overmuch, she bends and retrieves her two briefcases from the sidewalk, pausing to shake her car keys out of the side pocket of the smaller of the pair. The links of her watch slide together as she pushes back her cuff and checks the time. She is dreaming about dinner, now, the soothing ritual of preparation, the secret internal workings of her fridge.
(kris)
*Getting board of this little trip Kris flies off to find something interesting*(yu gan)
*The asian man, though taller than most of his fellows doesn't stand out overtly much as he patrols his turff*(boris)
Boris offers eva a polite, somewhat detached nod. He's really quite stylishly attired, carries himself well... it's only his dead grey eyes that mark him as somehow apart, and they are not always obviously on display.(eva)
Eva responds in kind: a vague nod, a polite answer, the usual response convention requires. Her nod is accompanied by a distant twist of her mouth that might be a smile as she passes him.It's another ten or fifteen feet, not far, to her car, which is almost as unremarkable as she is, but for the fat yellow ticket tucked beneath the windshield wiper. The woman rests her briefcases against her thigh and leans to recover the ticket, cursing beneath her breath.
(boris)
Boris' eyes follow her, attracted to her line, somehow. Mainly he is paying attention to the True Born, but Eva is unaccountably distracting.(eva)
Keys tucked inside her curved palm, EVa shuffles open the envelope, eyes narrowed as she struggled to read the text, frowning. She anticipated that the meeting would be a long one, and put enough money in the meter to cover the whole of the afternoon. The corners of her mouth twist into a dour little smirk as she gives up on the ticket for the moment, and her fingers tighten with resolve, thumb depressing on the keyless entry.The car chirrups a response, and the smirk resolves into a half-smile as she anthropormophizes the sounds of her car, imagining some pleasantry into the digital beep.
(boris)
Still watching, Boris ponders that he really ought to be getting to the Caern to present himself, but then he might lose track of the two True Born here, which would be a waste of practice!(binary)
Strange indeed - the similarities.If only to accent the differnces, her neatness and order to the sloppily pulled together ensamnble Drums on Skulls employs. Is a casual companionship, and easy silence that did not need to be filled with words. Rather, it seemed the silence was less a void of cummunication and more the continuation there of. Her gaze slips to the eatery and her shoulders roll back completing the unconscious agreement.
Beasts.
[...in human skin.](james)
beasts in human skin
wolves in civilized clothing
animals conversing without the aid of homid's skilled tongue
silences are not always as empty as reputation portentsit is filled by the instinctive tendencies of pack animals to continually transmit information
it is broken by the muted jingle of bells hanging above the door James reaches to open for her
(two Garou walk into a bar....)
dark eyes strafing over the mostly empty interior
perhaps it's the time of the night lending such pithy patronage
or the little establishment was much closer to fading stain than previously realizedthere's a nod towards the nearing middle-aged manager zipping through tables to greet them
and for some reason, the man seems satisfied the Ahroun takes two menus of his own accord
leading the Walker towards one of the booths in a dark corner isolated enough to avoid disturbance
the manager's route changing sufficiently enough to allow both Garou to pass
an understanding unsaid he won't come to take their orders until called(eva)
Opening the passenger's side door, the woman lifts her briefcases into the car, bending over the pair to fish a much smaller black case from the smaller briefcase. She snaps this open, and pulls a pair of dark-framed reading glasses from their case, sliding the pair into place before again focusing on the ticket. Her mouth narrows in controlled annoyance as she compares the ticket to the meter.After a moment's thought, she returns to the pair of briefcases sitting on the passenger's seat, this time digging into the larger of the two, oversized, heavy-sided scuffed black leather whose fastenings open with a distinct metallic pop and rattle. From within, she produces a small digital camera. After a moments study - brows drawn together to be sure that all the technical little lights and whatnot are appropriately lit, she repositions herself, holds the ticket at arms length right beside the face of the meter, and takes two pictures then drops her arm. Thumbing the controls, Eva studies the results and allows herself a tight little smile of triumph.
(binary)
If Binary is impressed it is not written on her face, then again very little is written on her face - in the manner that fanciful turns of phrase may imply. It is the slow series of steps past the Gnawer and into the cafe, that switch as Drums on Skulls grabs the menus and she, in turn, follows him. A dance - or something like it.Her shoulders roll backwards for the second time, as she settles into the darkened booth pulling her coat from her arms and laying it over her lap. If the reflective luster of leather straps at her shoulder are and issue he would be likely to remark now -- and she would be remiss not to show him what she carried. [small. courtesies.] Finally those elbows settle onto onto the formica counter and the woman leans forward.
Waiting.
(james)
she slides to settle within the darkened booth neatly covered by drape of dark coat
he, in progression of contrast, slides to sprawl sideways on the bench in a most comfortable way
scars hiding beneath t-shirt's back pressed firmly up against the wall
weight balanced by arm's snake across table and leg's perch on padded vinyl
if he's unsettled by the appearance of holster's straps gleaming in the mood-lit shadows
it is something that shows about as much as any evidence of her impressionthe Ahroun's seen what she carries first hand, anyway
so there's little concern now or in the future about what she's packing
unless, of course, Binary sees reason to point them at him"Need a fine s'mone a p'rform 'r teach me a little trick sign'ture a one a y'r blood's camps." menus for now ignored at the far end of the table as James cuts directly to the point, polite chatting and dinner can come later, right now it's deliberate phrase tempered to business hush reaching only to the Walker's ears "Willin' a comp'nsa'e, a course. Hopin' you'd be willin' a help me fine out if there's anyone in th' city fittin' th' bill."
(eva)
The triumph is fleeting, and the scent of it leaves a vague, sour taste in her mouth. Or perhaps that is simply the scent of the coming rain, the hot, unwashed day, the humidity, settling in the back of her throat. She flips the camera off and circles her car, then climbs into the driver's seat. The engine turns over smoothly, idling as she finishes sorting out her things: returning both her camera and glasses to the appropriate places, then shading her gaze against the glare of the streetlamps and pulling out of her parking place. The taillights wink and shimmer in the gathering darkness, soon merging anonymously into traffic.(boris)
Considering, Boris decides to give the True Born a wide berth, instead heading for his hotel room, a change, then the Caern, later.(binary)
"Which trick?"Comes the quiet query.
To the point - these two would get along FAMOUSLY.
(james)
"Bindin' Rite."(binary)
"Thats a general mystic, no. You mean.. bonding with kin?"Quiet tones.
(james)
the Ahroun's dreads shift over t-shirt when his chin dips in nod"Yeh." curt, quiet correction taken in stride "Only gotta gist've expl'nation, so may've miss th' prop'r name." whoopsie. "Will you help me ou'?"
(binary)
Binary raises a brow."Its a temporary rite, I'm afraid. And the ritemaster needs to be a paart of it -- I could explain it to you but.."
She shakes her head.
"It won't work unless its taught from within the pack."
(james)
another nod, slower this time
it's a movement of contemplation"Eagles need i'." breath sloughed out in soft sigh, options weighed yet he plows ahead anyway "Tell me evr'ything yeh can."
[pause]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 14, 2004.06.14.03. - summary of virago's info *p[putting this ALL in one place so it's easier to read w/o weeding through the other scenes going on:]
"You may have some idea - you were there at the meeting with the Wyrmfoe, weren't you?" Warm, azure eyes slice towards the gnawer briefly, a light caress over his face, before returning to the run of the night-darkened road. Within the car, the engine is a muted, silent purr, as are any of the other noises from without, affording an exclusive bubble from whatever neighbourhood noises may attempt to penetrate.
"In any event, a subsidiary company, as well as my Montreuil Corporation and the corporation by James Vaughn have been set up over the past few weeks to obtain shares from the three head Pyrells companies - Acquisitions, Developments and Telecom. We've been waiting for some indication on when to move ahead with a takeover, hostile if necessary, in an attempt to assume control of all three corporations. The timing just happens to be ideal this Friday, if I am able to speak to the Wyrmfoe and get his agreement - an aspect I will not find terribly difficult given his ah, enthusiasm, for action."
On slow, sedate wheels, the Jaguar rounds a corner with the flare of its light scoring deep shadows and worn metal and wooden frames. "I'm not sure how much you understand of the workings of the stock market, but we're going to attempt to a takeover Friday morning which will set the executives of Pyrells, including the father, into emergency action. Montreuil Corporation plans to take advantage of this by an approach to arrange a meeting that night - time and place to be discussed. We expect the Pyrell to be aware, as soon as we enact the dawn raid that morning, that we may be behind it. But at the moment, Pyrell is desperate - the companies are sinking and the executives will not refuse a possible offer of refinancing from a reputable securities and investment corporation."
---
"We have not been able to get details on the Executive's schedule - his personnel either did not know, or were not forthcoming enough," a faint grimace twists those pink-glossed lips as she grudgingly admits, "It was more difficult than envisioned in the short amount of time that we have." Admittance of failure? As close as she's going to get. "But I believe the CEO can be lured by the meeting. The only catch is - if he suspects its a trap, then he's not going to be coming alone. Given the importance of the meeting, however, his not coming at all would be a surprise. He's just going to ensure that he's heavily.. fortified. We need to counter that."
---
(james: and that's where eagles come in)
---
"Ideally, yes. I hear you're a war pack - and well... mine is not. I really do not know the arsenal this BSD has at his disposal though I assume that some remains despite the loss of the majority of his family. There has been well enough time for reinforcements to be called. The most I can do is set this meeting up and get him where we know where he will be so the assassination can be executed. He stands in the way of the executive board agreeing to this takeover in any form except hostile, and for the security of the Caern, that makes his elimination more than necessary. Once he is gone, I have no hesitation whatsoever in believing that the board of Acquisitions, and after then Developments and Telecom, will agree to my Corporations offer."
Around and around the Jaguar goes, as smooth and precise as the voice which dominates the interior of that frame. When she finishes, she glances again at the gnawer to gauge the expression on his face - the offer of more information ready on her lips, should he need it. One more thing is added, however, "Of course, the Wyrmfoe still needs to be informed should we agree to a plan of action along these lines. I was unable to get hold of him before, hence my coming to discuss it first with the Eagles."
---
(james)
"Yeh, s'why we came a Ch'cago." Eagles reputation does proceed them, like it or not "I c'n find th' Wyrmfoe 'n get 'iz 'pinion a things. I'll need names, num'rs, any'n ev'ry preci'e detail a y'r plans so I c'n make sure ours' savvy 'n work 'geth'r." the unsaid part being if we decide to go this route, however the Ahroun feels she's sharp enough to catch onto that in order to keep his own slurred responses as breif and clear as possible in the name of expedition "'n c'n use whatev'r means a gettin' back to you deem' bes'.""What else ya go'?"
---
He mentioned speaking to the Wyrmfoe, and her glance is shifting across to him again - just a quick, corner of her eye look, before she's asserting quietly afterwards, "I will be speaking to him too." Its not just that she doesn't trust the bonegnawer to relay the information accurately - its exactly that. Of course, the chances of Mother's Riddle understanding the complexities of corporate takeover and executive responsibility are, from her previous observations, most likely limited. However, given the intricacies of this process - she was willing to try, and make him retain some form of appreciation for what was going on.
It was all about timing, after all.
Most of the remaining information she had would not be of much use to him - unless he wished to know the intricacies of how what was happening on the corporate side was possible. That the company was going to fold, that the executive were in dissension - with the CEO clearly on one side and not wanting the removal of the company from the public market (a surprise. such a removal would give him greater control with the diminishing of shareholders), and being fought from within. It made that prospect of success of the meeting all that more possible, the pressure on the CEO to be there all that more complete - from himself to steer negotiations, and from the other executives to hear what Montreuil Corporation had to say.
The choice of bankrupcty - or dollar signs.
"You know of the daughter, right?"
The car is manouevred as James directs, along the dark streets lined with old warehouses, abandoned and utilised buildings, industrial wastelands spreading out and uneven like the growth of a blight on the land. It surprised her not that his pack would dominate such a place, the harsh exterior an assumed indication of the sort of denizens it would house. Not that the steel towers of downtown did not have its own distinctive favourites. Headlights beam around a corner, a three twin shining eyes look up - rats - Virago's gaze catching them with a repressed shudder.
"I only know of her. More information would be appreciated, if you have it. Knowing where she sits in the scheme of things is information we're going to need if we're going to use that meeting as a lure."
---
(james)
"Of cour'.""Fig're i's jus' easier a me gettin' hold've 'im." the Ahroun pauses, taking a few quick whifs of re-circulated air, and not finding what he's searching for, takes a moment to extract the pack of Camel's from a cargo pocket and hold them up with a lifted brow of question - her car, her rules - and only at the inclination of her head does Zippo snap open, setting fire to the end tip of cancerous stick, and the instrument's of a mere mortal's death set on the center armrest within her reach should she choose.... he is a Hood beneath Warrior's exterior, and if she's providing the information, at the very least he could provide the nicoteine "We're'n th' same boat a you."
"We know've her.... 'n tha' she s'me key a th' whole sh'bang..... " muscular shoulders roll against padded leather backrest, covering squeaking mutely as if the very rat spotlighted down the road "....but that it."
---
"She seems the key?"
One pale, platinum eyebrow arches sharply - another peripheral glances blading his way. The dark of her eyes, plunged deeper within the this car and the striating street lamps which flicker and penetrate through, makes the cream of her face all that more paler and the subtle distinction of that brow even less, merging like a winged, furrowed line into smooth skin. Shadows of light.
Try as the gnawer might, some of that smoke enters the care, flaring delicate nostrils wide at the scent. Not a flinch, but the slight stir of craving, as she reaches over and flips open the gear box - rifling through to take her own pack without. Yves St Laurent - designer minty freshness, a thin elegant and ivory stick is twirled light between her fingers before placed (pink smudges, pink smears) between the firm grip of her lips. The fire reflects in her eyes in one, welcoming flare, before subsiding with the leisurely suck of fumes within.
Hold.
Exhale."I only know that she exists - if you have anything at all you can give me, I would appreciate it. Even if its just your thoughts."
---
(james)
Don't know much more than that, we just started discussing it tonight but didn't get far before you rang up Dr. Slaughter.
(gives her his and tristan's cell numbers for contacts to use instead of Imogens)---
"Ok, not a problem." Talk to her about English winters? She's been through them - and Imogen, by tone, seemed to embody it. Sharp contrast to the cool layer which Josephina often allowed to cloak her shoulders, rueful attempts to hide (either that, or it really is the drive of business) the sultry personality beneath. "When do you think to be able to get a hold of the Wyrmfoe?"
---
(james)
Has another mission tonight (Warder's pack/Binary re: kin thing) but will send a message that they want to find him asap, and will drop by tomorrow to personally look for him. What's the best way to reach her/her pack?get biz card from her w/ her contacts and info
agrees to keep her updated
----
** This will be simplified and explained to Eagle pack over pizza and totem phone to ensure clarity - thus, IC knowledge - before James goes in search of Barny to request a meeting between him and Virago et. al.
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 13, 2004.06.13.04. - ghetto tour [virago] *p[riverfront - cont'd amongst all the OTHER stuff I cnpd]
(roxy)
All this activity was starting to make the factory seem like a three-ring circus. Roxanne decided against another beer, turning away to head back to her nook. She grabs up her boots, stomping into them and leans over to grab her jacket and keys.Roxanne looks over her shoulder at everything going on, swinging her gaze to settle on Imogen. Contemplative, “Hrmm…” should she bother to even say anything, “Hey, Imogen, you have a minute to spare.”
(virago)
Yes. Literally, circles - though that soon changes with the directions she is given - the sleek, silver jaguar pulling up to the curb ten minutes later. She could have thought to bring something a little more.. discreet and perhaps the thought (given the terrain) had even crossed her mind - but you make do with what is available.Excuses.
Its parked, she emerges - the suit that slides against her svelte form the shadow-depth of charcoal grey. And all she brings is herself - no notes, no bag, no folder brimming with information - and by the cut of her clothes, little more would be found beneath them.
A smile inserts itself at the sight of the gnawer, close-lipped and cool though her eyes cannot help that slight warming glance as it drinks in his form, before recentering on his face. "James, I take it?"
The accent does not slip.
(But then, James would not expect it to.)(james)
it doesn't take him long to reach the corner
Gnawers have that trademark land devouring stride
by the time she pulls up, he's leaning against the corner of the building
bricks digging into the curve of t-shirt clad shoulder
that smile twisting a little lopsided over his features
at least those she can see behind the frame of raggedy dreads"Mis......." it drifts off "Jos'phina." a tap of fingers agaisnt the notch in his jawline excusing the lack of formality by explaining the slur she must have picked up by now "What kin I do f'r ya?"
a glance to the car
not particularly for concern of it's poshly glaring neon light on such a rundown street
up to her to decide if it's safe to discuss on street corners
or if they should convene to another arena(nelly)
Bedroom eyes caught the tail lights of the expensive auto. Two faces. James one. She waved a hand to him as she passed on the opposite side of the street. Their territory, their business. She had some of her own.So her feet kept walking the three blocks towards the warehouse. Her brain twisting events of recent, and some that have not happened as of yet. Strange, fate's humor. A small frown creased her lips as she sauntered on.
Took a while to get there, but get there she did. Finding the front doors open was....odd... to her. And only caused the frown to dissipate upon her lips as a brow lifted gently. Omens.
(imogen)
You could almost say the kin looks out of place. She always does. It's almost a little more pointed now, because she's not actually dressed as she might, normally. Two modes, really. The business attire of her workday, or the more casual jeans and blouse that still holds some elegance, or perhaps that is simply the wearer. This is a third, with loosely fitted cotton pants, and a tank top, the black tattoo of her (former) tribe clearly visible on the curve of a single bicep. Running shoes.She glances at Roxanne as she speaks, and a shoulder twitches in a brief shrug, reaching out to grab the collar of her jacket with one hand, and her cell phone with the other, shrugging into the former, despite the stifling heat.
"Yeah," she says, straightening from her crouch, pocketing the cell phone.
(will)
*Seeing Nelly he ruffels his feathers and hops into the air. Flys softly over. Circles and comes to a light landing on her shoulder. Reaching up to preen her weat colored hair*
(nelly)
She paused just at the doorway, those bedroom blues drifting around the interrior of the warehouse. Face to face to face. No El Capitan. No General.She almost frowned, until the flutter of black wings caught her eye. A warm smile enveloping those pink lips, "Hey sugah, good to see ya again," one hand digging into her pocket to procure a platinum ring, lifting it to her shoulder, "For you. Ya'll made it out ok Ah take it?" she didn't turn her head, but her gaze cut to see him upon her shoulder.
(roxy)
Roxanne opted to sling the leather jacket over her shoulder, feeling the added weight of the pistols inside. It was too hot to even consider wearing it. A quick glance passes over Imogen as Roxanne cuts across the factory towards the couch."You still keep tabs on that sister of yours?" She asks in a casual tone, tilting her head at an angle. "I saw Miriam last week. Ain't sure if ya care to know what screwball activity she's up to now."
(will)
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! SHINY! *He takes it in his foot and bobs his head all fasinated by the ring. DING, there checked out will.*(virago)
This is his territory - its up to him to decide where they should hold the discussions - what is safe or otherwise, and she says as much. "Call me Josephina, or Virago. No miss." Tight, amused smile. "And are we fine to talk here, or would it perhaps be better moving elsewhere? Your call." She'll just take his word for it.And the truth? No she's not overly concerned about the vehicle - that oasis of opulence in this sea of desolation - holding the same sort of lack of regard for their belongings (replacement, rebuy, whatever) that many affluent people tend to have. Its questionable whether she has even really looked around her, examined the random, worn buildings, the pock-marked streets, a blatant trigger for the more security conscious mind. But then she's not here for the real estate, with work foremost on her mind.
(imogen)
A flicker of expression, too fast to see. "What screw ball activity is that?" she asks as she smoothes her collar briefly, before bending down to pick up the empty bottle of water.(nelly)
A soft chuckle shook her body gently, "Ah maybe ah should of given it to ya afta," one hand reaching up to rub his neck with a dirt stained finger, "Stories for anotha day then," before her gaze fell back to the interrior of the Eagle's nest. The two women who loved her o'so much in discussion. Kemp the only other face she could take solitude in. So she simply stood, a small grin upon her face, waiting till presence was noted and called upon.(roxy)
"Bank robbery. Hooked up with some wild group and a Walker I know," The expression she wore on her face remains neutral, the sobriety she opted that night allowed her to remember all the crazy shit mentioned.(james)
"Play't safe."muscular shoulders roll in a shrug
now whether James is playing precautiouarny tactics
or just wants a ride in the damn snazzy car
it's impossible to read intention on the Fostern's features
that quirkily lopsided grin could mean anything"S'go f'r a drive."
at least now when she's driving around in circles
it would seem she's picked up a local vagrant as a guide(imogen)
Eyebrow arches upward sharply, and her breath exhales in what might be gleaned as annoyance."When?"
(will)
*He looks at it all moon eyed and nods and looks up and leans into the scrinchings. He loves those* Silence is out back. Pissed off over what happened to you. I came by to give them the report.
*He settels on her shoulder gripping the ring*(roxy)
"Now that I ain't to sure of. The conversation died off after the cocaine and party drugs kicked in. S'all I know for now,"(virago)
That is, if he can be made out through tinted windows...The willowy Silver Fang inclines her head in agreement, returning to the vehicle and sliding back in. When James is settled, it pulls from the curb, angling lazily along those streets in random choosings unless James specifically suggests otherwise. "Your pack have been gathering information on Pyrells? Or perhaps, coordinating the attack the Wyrmfoe alluded to at the meeting, right?" Cut to the chase, her eyes remain on the road - but attention is almost indivisably elsewhere, a fact eased by the near emptiness of the roads.
(imogen)
Her head tilts briefly, in half question, or maybe she's listening to the repetitive hammering heard outside. "D'yeh think yeh might find out? When and where?"(nelly)
A flutter of lashes as her eyes cut to the left, "aw shite," a soft frown, "Figured ah'd get an ass whoopin of this," thumbs hooking into her front pockets. She didn't like Fenrir ass whoopins. Lot harder to take than momma's. Already her stomach and ass stung with the mear memories. She tensed slightly with an exhaled breath, "thanks for gettin mah back, sugahbee," a change of subject, "Ya seen Holly around lately?"(roxy)
"I'll see what I can dig up for ya. I felt ya should know before somethin' happens." She can hear the repetive hammering as well, briefly distracting her. Roxanne shakes her head, turning away from the couch. "I'll keep in touch. I'm out."(willy)
*He shakes his head, whispers to her*(imogen)
"'preciate that," murmered distractedly, as she finds the heat intolerable again and sheds the jacket, dropping it to the cooler floor, glancing toward Roxanne with a brief nod, "Thanks."(roxy)
"Welcome," a curt nod of her head to the other kin, before Roxanne heads out the door, leaving the circus behind her.(will)
*He waves a wing at Roxy as she passes* Hey!
*He holds out the ring and shows her. LOOK a SHINY!*(bnelly)
She stood at the opened baydoor of the warehouse, leaning against the frame with Will upon her other shoulder. Those blue eyes were cut to view the Crow's profile. A slender brow arched."No shit? Ah'd ask why but ah think this is for a latta discussion?" a question she put her words in. Those lazy blue eyes flashing to see a departure, Roxy, a soft smile, "sup gal," but her gaze fell back into the room.
(decker)
Door opens on the Modi just walking back in. Must've had enough of taking it out on a hammer, a nail, and some wood. Too damn dark to see outside anyway. The hammer dangling from one hand, nails between his teeth, he squints at Roxanne. Looks, sounds and feels a little calmer, at least. "Where you goin'?"(james)
the Gnawer's chin dips in a nod
at ease in the luxury of the car
even if he looks damned ridiculously out of place in it"Yeh, gettin wha' bits we can onnit." deep umber eyes swing over to the driver's side - cuttin' to the chase "Whatcha got?"
(will)
*Will nods to Nelly and the poor bird looks forlorn*(roxy)
Left hand lifts up to wave at Nelly and Will in passing, giving them a quick glance and a ghost of a smile. "Hey yourself."She turns her head back around, almost smacking into Decker on her way out. She catches herself, stepping back to allow him entrance and slips around the Modi. "Mah garage. Chinatown. I got some cars to fix. Figure it'd keep me out of trouble for awhile."
(belly)
Lower lip pouted in a frown as she reached up to scratch his neck again, "Don't worry sugah, shit pans out in the end.." those eyes flickered to Roxy...El Capitan's grand entrance. She pulled from the bay doorframe, thumbs hooking back into her belt loops.(will)
*Seeing angry decker he cowers down aginst Nelly's neck. Ducking his head and shielding his new ring.*mine.
(decker)
He doesn't stop, only slows, catching the door over from her and turning to ask, "Finished with my truck yet? Kemp busted 'is bike too."(newlly)
Her hand raised without thought to hover just upon the crow's shrinking body, as if sheilding him from the furry's fury.Um, what moon is it... her gaze lifted to the ceiling, then back down. Oh great.
(will)
*He leans aginst her hand. Will never makes allusions to being brave. Ask him, "you a coward?" and you get "You bet cha ass". Big pissed off Decker is enough to make him cower*(roxy)
A hand presses to the door, holding it open as she paused in the doorway, pivoting her torso to look back at the Modi. "Nah, ain't finished with it yet. Tacoma's in pieces at the moment and I already know about Kemp's bike. I'm luggin' it over to the shop when I leave here."(decker)
"Heh," 's all Decker has to say about the bike, and her assertation that she already knew all about it. Abashed, him? Naaah, never. "Later, Roxy," he tosses over his shoulder, and lets go the door.(nelly)
Her eyes narrowed just slightly as the rage collected in the room boosted just a bit from the Modi. She hand half the mind to do as the Raven and huddle up away from it all. But....A breath rose her rounded chest up and down, like two tanned ballons shoved into the tanktop waitin to pop, "How's ya sis?" gaze cutting to Will. Yes, the idal conversation continues until otherwise notified by the Eagles.
(will)
*He looks up to her and sits up a bit on her shoulder* All 5 are ok.. I think I'm stuck with this kinfolk one of you're people left in my care though... she's been gone weeks and stuff so I'm going to inroll her in school and what not.
*he bobs his head and looks around and back to Nelly* Thank you for asking though... Is there a way to know somone's tribe if they don't know it? I have no clue which.. um.. teachings Kat should be learning.(nelly)
She nodded, "Yeah, there are spirits to ask," a blink, "One of my people? Knight ya mean or wolvens?" brows furrowing slightly. She didn't recognize the name, Kat.(will)
*He shakes his head* i know where yall live. A garou. Mute, not the Get one. Another one. 12 year old girl.... She was left in my care like a month ago and well..
*he shurgs his wings* Not like I'm gonna put her out on the street. So I take her to work, feed her, clothe her, Teach her how to do stuff... picutres.. timed primer charges... pick locks.. you know. Important stuff...(decker)
Nelly and Will were talking. Damn, that bird did manage to sit on all the cute Garou chicks' shoulders, didn't he? Decker interrupts their little tete-a-tete, though. "Nell." -y. "You wanna claim 'is balls, ain't got a problem."(will)
*Will cowers again hiding his head under a wing but clutches the ring.*mine.(bnelly)
She smiled a bit, "Ah'll send Hal bah to take a see which..." she paused at Decker's booming voice. A blink, "To see which trahb she is," finishing her sentence at least. One finger rose again to scratch upon his neck as she stepped towards Decker, pausing a few feet out of arm's reach, just in case, "Claim who's balls, El Capitain?" that yes I'm a blond and no, no one is home look back upon her face.(imogen)
Roxy starts to leave and Imogen's fingers flick out in a brief gesture of farewell, turning away and brushing the palm of her head against her forehead, like that might ward off the impending headache. Will and Nell and then Decker talk in the background as the kinfolk crosses the area to drop the plastic bottle in the oil barrel.(will)
the guy from last night.
*little squeeky voice*(decker)
Decker just nods at Will's assertation. Guy from last night. Yeah. He still had a bottle of beer with him. It's empty now, though. He tosses it at the oil barrel trashcan......and misses. Anyone still surprised?
(will)
*At the crash. Will shudders. 3 black feathers POOF out and float softly to the floor*(nelly)
Those thick black lashes fluttered. She had half the mind to say, Oh, not Erik's? But why pull the tiger by its tail when its already pissed off? So she kept her retorts to herself, for now. A smile soft as she leaned her weight upon her left foot. The stronger leg that one."Ah, well bit odd an Nachfaren die fienrir AEtling would claim a," looking to Will, "What'd he say," brows pursing a moment before her gaze rounded back upon Decker, "Filthy Urrah to breed true," she took a breath, shrugged, "He's still round. Ain't makin no claim but saw to it his healins. He's safe, ain't no thang if ya don't got a problem with what happened," a bat of lashes. Yeah, chalk it off. No big deal, "Ya headman around?"
(virago)
"You may have some idea - you were there at the meeting with the Wyrmfoe, weren't you?" Warm, azure eyes slice towards the gnawer briefly, a light caress over his face, before returning to the run of the night-darkened road. Within the car, the engine is a muted, silent purr, as are any of the other noises from without, affording an exclusive bubble from whatever neighbourhood noises may attempt to penetrate."In any event, a subsidiary company, as well as my Montreuil Corporation and the corporation by James Vaughn have been set up over the past few weeks to obtain shares from the three head Pyrells companies - Acquisitions, Developments and Telecom. We've been waiting for some indication on when to move ahead with a takeover, hostile if necessary, in an attempt to assume control of all three corporations. The timing just happens to be ideal this Friday, if I am able to speak to the Wyrmfoe and get his agreement - an aspect I will not find terribly difficult given his ah, enthusiasm, for action."
On slow, sedate wheels, the Jaguar rounds a corner with the flare of its light scoring deep shadows and worn metal and wooden frames. "I'm not sure how much you understand of the workings of the stock market, but we're going to attempt to a takeover Friday morning which will set the executives of Pyrells, including the father, into emergency action. Montreuil Corporation plans to take advantage of this by an approach to arrange a meeting that night - time and place to be discussed. We expect the Pyrell to be aware, as soon as we enact the dawn raid that morning, that we may be behind it. But at the moment, Pyrell is desperate - the companies are sinking and the executives will not refuse a possible offer of refinancing from a reputable securities and investment corporation."
(decker)
A long pause.
"I got a problem with'it."Then a sniff. A glance around, like maybe he could check just by looking. Nevermind the maze of pipes and catwalks, boilers and ladders. "Naw. 'S out." That's it. The Fenrir always did play their cards close to their chest.
(james)
James nods
it's either that he's simply following
or has a basic high school book understanding of economics
but he mainly allows her to continue in his silence
pointing a direction here and there to make the drive at least interesting"Go'n"
he's not bothering to parrot this through to his packmates just yet
figuring there's going to have to be a simplified version
(will)
*He peeks out at Nelly and blinks. A bit... confused*(nelly)
Nodding her head, "Need the lowdown on what happened again, or somethin..." she trailed off, her gaze watching the Modi carefully. A nod of her head upon Adonis's absence. Or was he just hiding his Jarl from her? Who the hell knew.(will)
*He looks between them. Will was a reporter in the day, a corax for life, hes quick to pick up on things.*(imogen)
Downward glance toward the shattered glass some distance to her left, a brief inhalation of alcoholic fumes remniscent of his drink before stepping away and around it, walking back to where she'd left her jacket, cell phone, pager. Pager is hooked to the waistband, plastic sliding against her hip as she fits it against the cotton.Cell phone follows, small sleek. Clipped to her side. Hair pushed back away from her face before picking up her jacket and pulling it back on again, obscuring slender arms and tattoo beneath the unbreathable fabric of suede.
(virago)
"We have not been able to get details on the Executive's schedule - his personnel either did not know, or were not forthcoming enough," a faint grimace twists those pink-glossed lips as she grudgingly admits, "It was more difficult than envisioned in the short amount of time that we have." Admittance of failure? As close as she's going to get. "But I believe the CEO can be lured by the meeting. The only catch is - if he suspects its a trap, then he's not going to be coming alone. Given the importance of the meeting, however, his not coming at all would be a surprise. He's just going to ensure that he's heavily.. fortified. We need to counter that."(james)
if she's bordering on an admittance of failure
the Ahroun's discreet enough to ignore it
(even if he'd inwardly smirk at a Fang's hinting at such)
nodding to assimilate the information at hand"'n tha's where you think we c'me in."
(decker)
Decker gives Nelly something of a strange look. Christ the woman was strange. Wyldtouched all right. Since neither of them were speaking anymore, and since he had little else to say, he heads off. Just turns and walks away, like that. Pauses where the bottle had shattered, picking a few of the largest pieces up and chucking them into the can. It just makes the spill all the more dangerous -- in the dim light, the remaining shards, small, are barely visible as glistens of glass splinters on the ground."Who called?" He's talking to Imogen now, crouching, looking up at her. Another fragment of glass is picked up, tossed into the can.
(nelly)
Brows furrowed in confusion, "Um," watching the Fenrir skulk off, "Does this mean he does or does not want to.." mumbling softly before her voice lifted, "Would it be intrusive to ask for an elaboration on ya problem of it, sugah?" hey the man said he had a problem. Can't have that with the Eagles. Nope.(will)
*He ruffels* He's saying it aint right you were treated like that and iffin' you don't take his balls, Silence might take um himself.... I think. Or rather he's not all peachy cool with the actions of the slug.
*Head bobs*
Imogen)
She glances across the dimness toward the hulking Fenrir, head bent from briefly readjusting the accoutrements she sports. Cell phone, pager, "Josephina de Valois-Montreuil," she says, repeating the mouthful of a name with casual ease, "She sounded french." As if that qualification was somehow important.Dark eyes flick back toward Nelly as she speaks.
(Decker)
"Yeah?" He frowns at this, too -- as though her being french somehow offended him. "Hell'd she want?"Then he turns to face Nelly, rising back to his feet. Face blank -- a wall. Poker sharks couldn't read him now. One hand extends over the trash can, the fingers moving to dust themselves of glass shards, and the silence stretches long. He takes his damn time about it.
"Yeah. It would."
Not the type to cry out his troubles over a bottle of beer, Decker. On that note he kicks the last of the shards out of the way and heads out back, toward his newly (semi-) completed shed.
(nelly)
Her eyes cut to the raven. Translation from a corax. Yes, she's been too long from the old Sept. Guess it could be a good thing. As she was reminded so bludgingly the other night, she wasn't of them. Nodding her head with a frown. She didn't want to take anyone's balls. His balls would produce more of the purest breeds of Fenrir she had come to see in a long while. And still the fact remains that she WASN'T a Get. It would be lost on her. So knowing that, the man had to be disfunctional in some social standing within the tribe for them to send him for her. That, or someone from her past was making a really sore mistake. So, should she breed with the bastard or shouldn't she?One hand reached up to scratch her cheek. Man, and this shit isn't even the reason I came. Well, not fully. One of the reasons. Maybe. Fuckit.
"Look, man, whatever," shrugs, "Watcha backs on the GWs. Don't go runnin into combat against Pyrell until we get a cure for their bio warfare strand... well, atleast that is mah personal advice...take it or leave it...thanks for ya tahm, ya know where t'fahnd me..." she turned upon her heels then, heading out of the warehouse, "Thanks again, Will for gettin mah back on this. Ah'll be up at the caern this week, come bah when ya got tahm..."
(will)
*He bobs his head to her and then she's turning to go. Will looks around and decides to just hang out on her shoulder till she waved him off. He thinks the Eagals just closed open mic night. Best to leave while you're ahead and not missing yours* Shiny!
*he looks at the ring as he rides Nelly out*(nbelly)
Back outside, she made a beeline out of their territory and into her own... grumbling all the while, "Goddamn intratriahbalbullshit..."(imogen)
She waits until Nelly and Will leave, her gaze following their departure, before glancing back to answer Rohl, "To talk with one of th' Eagles." A brief flicker of what might be distaste flickers across her features. What six months ago was too fast to catch might be no slower but perhaps more recognizeable across her features. There and gone again. "And then I s'pose she wanted t' meet, since James left not long afterward."(imogen)
"How tha fuck she have yer number then?" And if she wasn't following already -- and he doubted she was -- "Well, ya comin'?"(imogen)
She shakes her head briefly, her brow furrowing for a moment before forcing clear, "Yeh can get it, if yeh know where t'look. S'like my pager." There isn't an actual answer to his question, response offered by way of the fact she begins to follow.(decker)
"Yeah whatever." Subject closed.Outside, night. Sun's gone. Dark's risen. Lake is a black splotch in the far hazy distance. Humidity remains high. Heat lingers in the air, somehow worse for the darkness. Shirts and shoes are obsolete in this weather. She'd passed his t-shirts all rumpled up at the foot of his bedroll on the way out.
Doesn't head for his new shack though. Just walks out. Leans against the side of the factory. Still in cargoes, rolled up, he's got plenty of pockets to go through and he goes through them, one by one, until he finds his matches, his joint supplies. Rolling one, "So fuck'dya git bruised from?"
(imogen)
One can almost feel the air cooling with the sun set, tangible, though the air is still heavy and laden with moisture.She glances at her wrist, briefly, fingers of the opposite hand pushing back the cuff of her jacket to inspect the darkening hues that smudge across her pale flesh. "Yeh still think I'm kiddin' about askin' James to show me how to fight?" a question for her answer.
(decker)
He stops rolling. "He bruised ya?" Question for question -- though, his was a good deal more hostile.
(imogen)
"Don't."
Hostility can and will be matched. Hers is accurately expressed in a single flat word.Her hand drops, her wrist flicking a few times to resettle the cuff as she looks at him, eyes narrowing briefly so his face is framed in a rim of copper.
"Just don't."
(decker)
"Don't what."Hostility? This is hostility. Every moment of his life was made for war. He was born for it. Bred for it. Raised for it. He has no other purpose. NONE. Nothing but war. Fenrir and Modi, his beginning, end, and every last breath drawn in between -- destined only for one thing.
War.
Battle.
Fighting.Fighting her: it just happens again and again, though he does try, he tries damn hard, to stop it. And no matter how hard he tries, nature wins out. Nature vs. nurture -- what's the difference, when it's one and the same?
"Don't what." He throws the half rolled joint aside. There won't be that salvation tonight. "Don't giv'a shit? Don't git pissed off when yer bruised? Don't worry 'boutcha? Don't care? That it?"
(imogen)
It's his excuse, though he never offers her one.
The war. The battle. The fighting. Warrior race. Warrior moon. Warrior tribe. A cycle that spins in on itself, brutally hard, brutally fast, in an eddying pool of the rage that she sometimes nearly chokes on.Her excuse is so much paler.
It always works out this way: an argument and they're miles apart, her standing several feet away from the factory door, him standing against the wall.
His litany of don'ts is answered by a quick fierce negative motion of her head. Silence ticks out and she's swallowing her words. Really, she doesn't want to fight either. Somethings are inevitable. "Who're you gonna be pissed at? eh? Him or me?"
(decker)
"Fuck off, Imogen." What a mature response that was: he won't deign to answer that. Or can't. He's pissed at her, at James -- at both, all, everything, fuck it all, kill it all. "Fuck's with you anyway? Always so -- fuckin' obsessed, goddammit Imogen, 'bout keepin' yerself independent 'n shit. Strong. Whatever."He still has matches. He strikes on. Has no joint to light. Throws it aside on a short, sharp, impatient gesture. Stalks off across the distance between the factory and the shack. There's no door, nothing to sit on inside. There's no point in going over but he goes anyway. It was his. She said it best. It was his.
And her? Well, fuck. She wasn't his. Not really; not ever. She was her own.
He tries again, the pot, the paper, the roll. In the staggering silence distances are unbreachable. The lake is so far. She's farther. She's somewhere behind him. He turns to face her again. He looks for words that run away from him. He chases them but cannot catch them. They slip between his fingers and scatter to the four winds. He's left bereft, nothing but the most inane things to say.
"Just don't like ta see ya bruised. 'S it." It sounds weak. His mouth tightens. He lights the joint clenched between his teeth and throws the match away, angrily, hurling it overhand, over and over, tumbling into dry brush where it could easily start a fire but, tonight at least, does not. "'S all. That a problem?"
(virago)
"Ideally, yes. I hear you're a war pack - and well... mine is not. I really do not know the arsenal this BSD has at his disposal though I assume that some remains despite the loss of the majority of his family. There has been well enough time for reinforcements to be called. The most I can do is set this meeting up and get him where we know where he will be so the assassination can be executed. He stands in the way of the executive board agreeing to this takeover in any form except hostile, and for the security of the Caern, that makes his elimination more than necessary. Once he is gone, I have no hesitation whatsoever in believing that the board of Acquisitions, and after then Developments and Telecom, will agree to my Corporations offer."Around and around the Jaguar goes, as smooth and precise as the voice which dominates the interior of that frame. When she finishes, she glances again at the gnawer to gauge the expression on his face - the offer of more information ready on her lips, should he need it. One more thing is added, however, "Of course, the Wyrmfoe still needs to be informed should we agree to a plan of action along these lines. I was unable to get hold of him before, hence my coming to discuss it first with the Eagles."
(james)
there's another nod, of which Josephina could really gague anything
street performer than James is, those skills carry over into under-enhancing, as well
casually nodding as the information clicks together in ways most useful
half of whatever expression he may wear is hidden by curtain of heavy dreads
since things began happening before the Gnawer was able to find the shower
jungle-vine hair is probably more disarrayed than normal
adding to the heavy dose of Rage trapped in the expensive car
(not to mention he could probably use sommore deoderant soon, titan strength only lasts so long - luckily it has at least a little while longer)
it must make an interesting conversational mix"Yeh, s'why we came a Ch'cago." Eagles reputation does proceed them, like it or not "I c'n find th' Wyrmfoe 'n get 'iz 'pinion a things. I'll need names, num'rs, any'n ev'ry preci'e detail a y'r plans so I c'n make sure ours' savvy 'n work 'geth'r." the unsaid part being if we decide to go this route, however the Ahroun feels she's sharp enough to catch onto that in order to keep his own slurred responses as breif and clear as possible in the name of expedition "'n c'n use whatev'r means a gettin' back to you deem' bes'."
a pause - the Gnawer taking his turn to swing dark gaze over
finger flicked to indicate another direction on this impromptu tour
while he mainly keeps to Eagle claimed territory
don't be surprised if a few blocks meander into other areas
the boundary borderlands shared by distinct packs
it's clear he knows his way around the town
just as it's clear that even though he looks anything like a businessman
raggedyman vagrant out of place in the lavish car next to pretty, sleek Fang
he's fairly skilled at conducting negotionations
(he's the pack PR guy, after all)
as well as reading his counterpart"What else y'go'?"
(imogen)
Fuck off, Imogen.
Her hands make a brief abrupt gesture, palms upturned toward the sky, sharp enough and hard enough to be almost a 'what the fuck?' gesture, as she turns abruptly away from him, taking a few sharp, heated paces away, uselessly because back here, there is no where to go. His words hammer at her back. Her independence, her strength.Are you mine?
She'd said yes. Maybe she'd lied.
It might be impossible.It was cooler with the sun down, and still too hot for her tastes. She strips out of her jacket again, dropping it to the ground as she turns to look over her shoulder at him as he stalks away, the palms of her hands brushing restlessly against the fabric of her pants, jaw tightening and loosening spasmodically.
"I don't want yeh goin' and takin' it out on 'im," she says finally when he's done, looking at him in the shadow. "He's doin' it because I asked him." As a favour.
In a way, Imogen is holding up her end of the bargain. She'd do this anyway.
(decker)
Her jacket dropped -- he stoops, fast, fast, unbelievably so for all his musculature, all his strength, catches it before it ever hits the ground. No, go back. Stoops? Swoops. Like an eagle. Snaps her coat out with a switch of his wrist, tosses it aside -- atop a rickety sawhorse on which much of the shed was constructed."Answer my fuckin' question," he fires back, immediately. What question, she might ask -- he doesn't give her a chance. Some nights he lets things go. Tonight, he dogs her. Hounds her heels. Demands answers. "'Sit a problem?"
And then, only then -- "Ain't gonna take it out on nobody."
(imogen)
Consider the dance between them: She drops the jacket and he swoops down to pick it up. Imogen steps away, abruptly, space arcing between them, turning back to watch him throw the jacket. Distantly, note the symmetry of the action."Then," issued almost through clenched teeth, "It's not a problem."
Or, if it is, she'll deal with. Take your pick.
(decker)
There's a second.
An instant.
A split-infinity of dreadful silence.Then he turns and puts his fist through the wall.
"Yer fuckin impossible, Imogen." It's not a shout; it's a hiss, a snarl of a whisper. "'S like no matter what I say, what I do, 's always a battle fer ya. Always a fuckin' competition. Who's gonna give in first. Who's gonna pussy out first, show weakness."
Brick crumbling inward around his fist; the knuckles almost certainly cracked, if not shattered; no matter. He pulls his hand out of the hole in the wall, the crumbling brick, the dust, the debris. His motion is always so fast, unexpectedly so; for all his strength, so evident in the perfect ripple of muscle from fist to forearm to bicep/tricep to shoulder, to back -- for all that, his speed was always his strongest asset. His lightning quickness. His devastating, vicious reflexes.
He shakes his fist out. She can hear the bones grinding and popping, and then, when he shifts -- just that arm, nothing else -- she can hear them fusing and cracking back together.
"Yer fuckin' impossible," he repeats -- spits -- and walks away.
(imogen)
Not
a
sound.There should have been something. A scream, a curse, a startled yelp. Some reaction to the violence that is auditory. It's only instinct. You scream so people can come to your rescue. You scream so people know you are in danger. That she nearly leaps three feet out of her skin in a flinch that is remniscent of instinctual reactions and self preservation is a given. Her muscles tense and coil like a spring, the flight or fight reaction. With Imogen, it's always fight.
She can smell the brick dusk in the air. And maybe his blood, even as it heals.
She stares in tense jawed silence at the indentation in the brick, and it's a wonder her molars do not snap at the roots at the strain. Toward him, and his back as he stalks away.
Their arguments all end one of a finite number of ways. This is one of them. He stalks off, and she walks in the opposite direction. Snatching her jacket off the sawhorse and pratically snapping it over her shoulders before she does just that, back through the back door and out toward the front.
(decker)
But he pursues her.(Of course he does. How many arguments end like this? Without end. Without conclusion. Without finish. Unresolved -- unended.
This one would be different.)
He pursues her -- cuts her off. Cuts in front of her and turns to face her, fast, turning on a dime, a fucking ferrari of a Modi, a fucking mountain cat of a man, heels digging into dirt and skidding back as he whirls, wheels, turns -- she almost expects him to show his teeth.
She's not quite in the door. He slams it behind him. Shuts the factory away. Shuts them outside.
"Don't you walk away." Never loud, now he's quieter than ever. She's learned to fear his silences, or at least be wary of them -- one doubts Imogen ever learns to fear anything. She learns to conquer her fears. Not the other way around.
"Don't you walk away," again. "Gimme a fuckin' answer, Imogen. You answer me this time. Fuck's with ya. Why's it always 'bout winnin' with ya. Fuck'd I ever do ta make ya think I was -- shit, tryin' ta dominate ya?"
(virago)
He mentioned speaking to the Wyrmfoe, and her glance is shifting across to him again - just a quick, corner of her eye look, before she's asserting quietly afterwards, "I will be speaking to him too." Its not just that she doesn't trust the bonegnawer to relay the information accurately - its exactly that. Of course, the chances of Mother's Riddle understanding the complexities of corporate takeover and executive responsibility are, from her previous observations, most likely limited. However, given the intricacies of this process - she was willing to try, and make him retain some form of appreciation for what was going on.It was all about timing, after all.
Most of the remaining information she had would not be of much use to him - unless he wished to know the intricacies of how what was happening on the corporate side was possible. That the company was going to fold, that the executive were in dissension - with the CEO clearly on one side and not wanting the removal of the company from the public market (a surprise. such a removal would give him greater control with the diminishing of shareholders), and being fought from within. It made that prospect of success of the meeting all that more possible, the pressure on the CEO to be there all that more complete - from himself to steer negotiations, and from the other executives to hear what Montreuil Corporation had to say.
The choice of bankrupcty - or dollar signs.
"You know of the daughter, right?"
The car is manouevred as James directs, along the dark streets lined with old warehouses, abandoned and utilised buildings, industrial wastelands spreading out and uneven like the growth of a blight on the land. It surprised her not that his pack would dominate such a place, the harsh exterior an assumed indication of the sort of denizens it would house. Not that the steel towers of downtown did not have its own distinctive favourites. Headlights beam around a corner, a three twin shining eyes look up - rats - Virago's gaze catching them with a repressed shudder.
"I only know of her. More information would be appreciated, if you have it. Knowing where she sits in the scheme of things is information we're going to need if we're going to use that meeting as a lure."
(james)
"Of cour'."the quickly assertive pounce of control seemingly taken in stride
it seems as if the lanky Gnawer didn't really expect otherwise
Fang or not, he respects her intimate knowledge of the plan
not to mention understanding of it's intricacies
seems the Fostern trusts her enough to deliver it clearly to the Wyrmfoe
he just wants to make sure he understands as much as possible, too
(knoweldge is power, after all)"Fig're i's jus' easier a me gettin' hold've 'im." the Ahroun pauses, taking a few quick whifs of re-circulated air, and not finding what he's searching for, takes a moment to extract the pack of Camel's from a cargo pocket and hold them up with a lifted brow of question - her car, her rules - and only at the inclination of her head does Zippo snap open, setting fire to the end tip of cancerous stick, and the instrument's of a mere mortal's death set on the center armrest within her reach should she choose.... he is a Hood beneath Warrior's exterior, and if she's providing the information, at the very least he could provide the nicoteine "We're'n th' same boat a you."
a pause, here
filled with deep exhale of fragrantly poisonous smoke
and the flick of automatic window sinking half an inch
creating a current to draw the grey plumes out into the night
Warrior, yes. Dirty, yes. Gnawer, yes. - but considerate"We know've her.... 'n tha' she s'me key a th' whole sh'bang..... " muscular shoulders roll against padded leather backrest, covering squeaking mutely as if the very rat spotlighted down the road "....but that it."
(imogen)
Don't you walk away.
"You walked first." Accusation.
And each word is bitten off in perfect british pronounciation. She falls a step backward, the distance necessary for her instinct. The distance necessary for her safety."Look at you. Right now." She is not deadly quiet. She has low tones, too, dangerous and cold, a tone that usually means she will be hurtful on purpose, stabbing precisely to find the way to tender spots. This time, she is, quite simply, furious. "Look at what yeh did," meaning cutting her off, the whole in the wall, or turning protector over a bruise.
Quiet tones now, thrown his way as she jerks her arms into the sleeves of her jacket, sealing her bare arms beneath suede once more, "s'not about winning. It's about agreein' f'r the right reasons."
(decker)
Look at you.He looks -- at the wall. The hole in it. The shattered brick. Had he even felt it give? Had he even felt his knuckles giving, is the question that should be asked. Does he even feel pain anymore -- or does the gift turn itself on automatically now, thoughtlessly, until he doesn't feel pain, doesn't feel anything; is numb, is a fucking robot of a Modi, the perfect killing machine.
He raises a hand. Brushes away the debris at the edges of the shattered brick. Brushes away bits of brick, bits of mortar. Brushes it away and then, only then, rub a hand over his throbbing, healing knuckles. A shake of his hand -- it snaps back to homid form, the form fitting the rest of his body perfect. No one could ever complain about his perfection of form. None of his many, many flaws were manifest there.
It was a wall.
It could've easily been her face."Fuckit," for all his snarling, he's the one to walk away -- again. Pulls open the door he'd just slammed shut on her. "'N I'm walkin' away now."
(imogen)
She doesn't follow the gesture of his hand with her eyes, to watch the tracing of his hand over the damage he had caused. To be truthful, she doesn't want to see the extent of it, the possibility behind it. Human (kinfolk) flesh gives much more easily than brick. She feels no need to be reminded at the extent of the damage he can cause.He walks past her and she takes a few steps forward, hand pausing on the door jamb, fingers drawing inward to the palm of her hand, forming a loose fist. Her knuckles rap briefly upon the doorframe, a hollow metal sound. A centring for her to make her decision perhaps.
"I'd rather you didn't." Quietly said so even his hearing was strained to have heard it.
(decker)
Fuckin' gutshot.The door open two inches. Two inches. Two inches, quivering, slightly, because he was quivering. Adrenaline/rage a potent cocktail in his veins, beating out of him like a soundless drum rhythm, thudding out of him, endless.
She'd rather he didn't.
And really, when it came down to it, when has he ever refused her anything?He lets the damn door shut again. His hand on the handle, his head down; he almost closes his eyes, to think, to gather himself, except that seemed so weak. So instead he turns, faces her.
Quiet now, quiet but not hardedged, "Why the fuck you do that, Imogen?"
(virago)
"She seems the key?"One pale, platinum eyebrow arches sharply - another peripheral glances blading his way. The dark of her eyes, plunged deeper within the this car and the striating street lamps which flicker and penetrate through, makes the cream of her face all that more paler and the subtle distinction of that brow even less, merging like a winged, furrowed line into smooth skin. Shadows of light.
Try as the gnawer might, some of that smoke enters the care, flaring delicate nostrils wide at the scent. Not a flinch, but the slight stir of craving, as she reaches over and flips open the gear box - rifling through to take her own pack without. Yves St Laurent - designer minty freshness, a thin elegant and ivory stick is twirled light between her fingers before placed (pink smudges, pink smears) between the firm grip of her lips. The fire reflects in her eyes in one, welcoming flare, before subsiding with the leisurely suck of fumes within.
Hold.
Exhale."I only know that she exists - if you have anything at all you can give me, I would appreciate it. Even if its just your thoughts."
(james)
dark eyes strafe left to follow her movements
merely the predator's response to periphreal flickers
curiosity spawning the smokeless inhale (Yves St Laurent) and placing it's culinary tone (minty) amongst designer shades (ivory) against flushed lipstick and creamy complexion
oddly, it's the cigarette he watches
not the mouth pursed around it
(twinge of a distant memory pushed away too fast for recognition)"Dunna much more'n tha'." again, that rat-chittering shrug pulling thin cotton between two forms of flesh - one tanned by Chicago's summer sun and darkened by devastating scars, the other tanned by some nameless professional and darkened only by the shadows interior lights throw obliquely off his lanky frame "Know she got s'm'thin' a do wi' gettin a sen'er, but we jus' start'd talkin' 'bout it t'nigh'. Dunn get far 'fore you rang up Dr. Slaught'r....."
the thought drifts away towards another, sudden, conclusion
the Fostern helping himself to the contents of the glovebox before him
plucking some forgotten gas receipt shoved into its depths
the pen he's produced actually comes from his own pocket
scrawling down two numbers and setting the slip on the dashboard within easy reach".... use tha'n, nex' time. S'mine, but a kin's got't f'r nah. She c'n fine me fas' nuff." a polite circumference of a request not to bother Imogen again, for she is not their answering service "'r you c'n ask 'er a not pick'p th' call 'n leave a mess'ge, I check'm of'n since I ain't go' th' phone. Secon' num'er's Tris'n, my bro, he c'n fine me 'r any a th' pack fas'r."
(imogen)
The corner of her mouth tightens briefly, a brief twitch that has nothing to do with humour.Hands slide into her jacket pockets and out again. Asking him to stay when he's chosen to live is quite possibly one of the most dangerous things she's done. It seems to follow pattern that when he walks away. She lets him.
Rage beats its own pulse in the back of her head, unnerving her and sending synpases firing unhappy messages. It's an emotion she controls, not an emotion she does not feel.
"Because I wasn't lookin' for a row," a little late for that, "no matter what yeh think."
(decker)
The pause could go on forever.
The distance could go on forever.
The night could go on forever--The plains about them. The flat expanses of the earth. The subtle curve of the horizon. The great blueblack bowl of the sky overhead; the quality reflected in her eyes, even as her hair was reflect in the dawn and the dusk. Not the color per se, but the feel of it; the burn of the dawn, the inscrutability of the night sky overhead.
In a city you can't see the stars very well. Sometimes, that seems a pity to him.
Exhaling, "I know you wasn't." He looks away. The wall. The crumbling brick. The hole he'd made. A sense of shame. Long ago he'd stopped feeling pride for his strength. Long ago, he'd begun to fear it. Again his fingertips brush it, brushing debris away from the hole, as though that made it better. "Wasn't neither. I just," pause; he looks for words and she can almost see him reaching for them, the small elusive creatures he will never, ever in his life master, "don't fuckin' git ya."
It's the closest he can get to the truth: he doesn't understand her fierce independence. He doesn't understand why she --
"Cain'tcha trust me?"
(imogen)
With what?
not a question she'll ask.Her eyes fall to rest on the damage caused by his fist and that might be an answer, really. How to trust someone so volitile. How to trust anyone like that with anything more than the assurance that they will never quite do what is expected.
Trust has so many different flavours. Difference between trusting someone to always punch the wall, and not your face, and trusting someone enough to share thoughts and experiences. Trusting someone enough to not always be fearing the worst, and to trust them enough to believe what they say.
To trust someone to offer you help.
And to trust them to share your bed.Different flavours of trust. Her dark gaze, eyes the colour of midnight spaces between the stars, like the farthest ocean depths, returns to him and away from the crater of his fist.
"Rohl..." the number of times she's used his first name can be counted on two hands. The sentence trails off, and eloquent she can be, but never in this.
Lips compress, jaw tightening briefly before the thread is picked up and she finishes the sentence differently, perhaps, than she had begun it, "I trust you more than most."
(decker)
It's more than he'd expected.
[ it's not good enough. ]And he's suddenly weary. Tired of fighting. How many times can he realize that? That he's tired of the arguments, tired of the disagreements, tired of fighting with her, tired of taking it out on her? Happily ever after's boring, but fuck, he's had about enough of excitement. And anyway, when you get down to it, she didn't deserve to the shouted at, threatened and bullied every other night.
So he slouches back against the wall. Tonight was not a night for joints. Two he'd started; two he'd failed. A third now, rolled slowly, taking his time, putting his effort and his mind on that, and only that.
Doesn't light it. Just holds it. Looks at her, as he must eventually. Rohl, she calls him. He has nothing to call her at this moment.
"Know that too."
It seems the best, or only, response.(imogen)
When it's not an argument words have a quota. There are only so many things that can be said, before the quota is reached, their time is up. Only so many words until it devolves into a fight. Only so many words until it peters out into silence that stretches between them, taut and tangible, like a guitar string that hums long after being touched.Only so long until she loses the energy to make herself understood. She only has a nod to offer his way as he speaks, no indicator that she is relieved by what she has heard, or skeptical of his veracity.
Her gaze dives away toward shadow, and just as quickly, back again, her teeth scraping across her lower lip in a rare expression of uncertainty. "I'm going to go," quietly. Four am. Monday morning. She might very well just intend to drive in to work.
(virago)
The frown creasing that silken brow is provoked not by the polite request, or the run of foreign fingers through her glove box [white bags. white pills.] in an intrusion uninvited. No, its for that damned accent - which had started out interesting, but as the slurs increase and her comprehension doesn't, begins to threaten a headache. She bites back the request to repeat - let the silence draw out as fingers accept the numbers from his hand - even while she's still deciphering the majority of what he just said.It was so much easier when there were only three words.
[Like a dawn.]"Ok, not a problem." Talk to her about English winters? She's been through them - and Imogen, by tone, seemed to embody it. Sharp contrast to the cool layer which Josephina often allowed to cloak her shoulders, rueful attempts to hide (either that, or it really is the drive of business) the sultry personality beneath. "When do you think to be able to get a hold of the Wyrmfoe?"
The circles continuing, in ever closing tightness. Familiar sights - marked very familiar to one whose territory this is - suggests a gradual return to the street corner.
(james)
the circles are dwindling to ever-tighter spirals
familiar sights beginning to pinpoint the corners
it's all easy enough for the guttermutt to recognize
yet he still offers the occasional prompt for direction
gradually returning them to the primary target of the eveningshe bites back the request to repeat
but the Fostern can sense the pause for her translation
or at the very least smell her growing frustration
(feel the flux of Rage.... but maybe that's only you, Mr. Full Moon, trapped in this car)
so he makes sure to slow it down a little more
all in the name of clarity"Gotta 'noth'r mission t'nigh'..... but I c'n send a mess'ge to'm we'll wanna fine 'm soon as possible, 'n drop by 'iz digs t'morrow, if it's a'ight wi' you." it allows them all time to prepare, not to mention gives James the opportunity to educate his packmates in the general concept of hostile corporate takeovers which will - hopefully - support their plan of more traditional aggressive negotiations in the near future "Wha's th' bes' way t' reach you'n yours?"
that she called Imogen - he obviously does not have her number
and while the good Doctor may embody the unforgiving winters of England
and Josephina portrays a less severe chill in her controlled serenity
James is - yet again - a complete and utter opposite
warm and easy from the slurred tones to the low shine of earth-colored eyes
hard to imagine the mellow Gnawer is truly just a ruthless killer pressed for precious time
not with that lopsided grin that never really goes away
or the casual negligence each phrase gets waved by
smoke coiling towards upholstered roof before the Camel's stubbed out in the tray(decker)
Another nod up; very slight; barely a response at all, barely seen.But when she reaches for the heavy doorhandle he turns his head to face her. His shoulders to the wall, slouched down, he doesn't move other than that. But it's enough.
Enough to see her. Enough to study her, his grey eyes moving over her carefully, thoughtfully, taking her in. She was older, by nearly a decade. She'd seen more. Learned more. Knew more. Accomplished more. Was more, though perhaps that varied upon whom you asked.
She's going to go, she says. After a pause, he replies, or asks, "Come with ya?"
(imogen)
His gaze on her, the studying of her, draws her attention from her departure, dark eyes turning to meet grey as she pauses, a hand on the door.After a beat, she nods, turning the handle to the door and drawing it open for the third time since she'd stepped outside with him.
"Yeah." Quietly, tipping her head in the direction she was going, "Com'on."
(virago)
The virago[--evidence of that, just bide your time] is being lazy with her own cigarette, held lax between two finger out her own window, before slipping between flesh to be sucked dry [I lavish on monsters. I am no gentle fiend.], slow exhalation, then the scatter fire burst of ash. A quarter left and his is out, a minute more and so is hers, scattering across the cracked and worn bitumen like a lurching falling red star."That sounds fine."
The car slows its pace and pulls to the same curb where they had met, the engine a rumbling quiet purr as one hand drops from the steering wheel. To the request of contact details, that same hand reaches out and over his leg to the gear box - its not accident, not when before she had deftly missed, when the journey of that action brings her warm skin in brief, close contact to his leg. Brief, close - leisured, settling - the upper expanse of her lower arm lightly supported by his knee. Business is settled, and new moon is approaching. And Josephina, if anything, is like a cat - with all as her toys.
Flipped open again, the scattered remnants inside reveals in makeup and papers and little black books - token feminity amongst a gathering of masculine belongings, though perhaps the gnawer would not recognise it. Like a sweeping tide, it was changing and hers. Amongst them, a silver cardholder is taken, coaxed open with the run of her thumb, and a card taken out. With a clatter the metals falls and hides, and the card is handed back to him. Then the contact is broken.
"Here," wide, luminous smile, the flash of teeth only with the pleasure of her voice, where English notes begin to diminish. "This is my card. All the relevant contact details - that is primarily my cell phone - is on it. Let me know what you arrange."
(james)
before she deftly missed - however this contact is scathingly deliberate
upper expanse of her lower arm supported on his knee
silkenly smooth creamy flesh against the tattered and worn camoflage fatigues
(which, then, is the abrasor...)
and it's something that attracts the attention of deep umber gaze
focus dropping in curiosity's inspection of her touch and excavation
(..... oh hello there.... friendly little thing, arencha.....)
the contrast of slender appendage above iron-muscled thigh
the cat's languid stretch blanketing wolf's raw power
agile fingers plucking the card from where she holds it offeredby all means and purposes - he should squirm away from the touch
(..... charach)
predatorily feline advances from such a strange woman
then again - the Ahroun would have to read beyond the casual reach
assign some purpose hidden by the confined space of the car's dictationhowever, this. is. James.
(still a man benath wolf's clothing)
who'd have to be hit by a mack truck of intention
(it's been. so. long.)
finally realizing any such deviances in a last ditch effort to catch the fleeting license plate
(fleeting glimpses of what waits beyond his mourning sorrow)
perhaps thus noting the bumper sticker that would explain it all
(... if only you'd pay attention, Jamey-boy)
if, of course, he was lucky enough it came into concussion's focus
(if, of course, he was lucky enough to let go of his reservations)so the only reaction Josephina gets is that same, easy, warm - forever lopsided - grin
"Thank'." the slight nod-up an automatic gesture of acknowledgement "I'll keep ya pos'ed."
true to his word: he will
alerting her when messages are sent and meeting times arranged
but that is an action taking place in the future
now? the Gnawer unbuckles the seatbelt and destroys temperately controlled atmosphere of the luxury car
swinging passenger door towards the curb
allowing the city's white-noise sounds of night to ebb tidal against whatever music played
softly enough to lurk comfortably beneath the range of casual conversation"'n thank' f'r the ri'e."
the smile quirks slightly wider across rugged features
he genuinely enjoyed the aimless drive simply for his chance to be in such a car
by his overall appearence, such expenses are not commonplace in the Eagle's life
and while he may not seek these things in the course of his existance
(he is a Hood, these things never occur to him as necessary)
the Garou is able to appreciate the little things granted occasional pleasure
dissociating the formal business meeting from the joyride to expose it for what it, simply, waswhen tomorrow is forever a question of tonight's survival
and each day beyond this one is a gift of Gaia's loving grace
a Warrior learns, unerringly, to live each moment as if it is his last
for all he knows - it may very well bebut such philosophies receive no chance to solidify
the car's door closes in solid whmp-clck
recreating the near-silent bubble of crumple-zone protected serenity
the card's tucked into a waiting pocket, and the raggedyman walks away
navigating some detoured route back to the factory havenfor even if they must trust each other and work together for the City's (Nation's) future, he takes any means necessary to protect the sanctity of his pack's lair
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.06.13.04. - passing information [plus nelly-virago] *p[riverfront - cont'd]
(decker)
"That's enough." Decker's jaw is tight and a pulse is throbbing in his throat, another on his forehead. He tries to change the damn subject again, "Naw. Diaz Altimay. Diez? Tha Glass Walker camp. Need ta find 'em."(william)
*He looks to Kemp* A big burly german proclaiming to be get, accusted her in the street. Saying he'd fill her filthy womb with nazispunk. Keep up man. He kept running off at the mouth about fucking her in the street or the alleyway and when she pushed him into the aley way he kept taking shit about handmaidens holding her down and for the better of the Fenrir and stuff.
She turned to leave and he sucker punched her in the mouth. Dropping her. So I jumped on his head.
*He points to the bit of hair and blood* After he was knocked out we left him there but I thought you guys would like to handel you're own problem so I came to tell you.*He looks to Decker and nods* I can see if I can find them.
(nelly)
The thing about territories in a Scab, can't exactly howl your approach. A phone call? Well, you would have to have a number first. Plan B, spirits. Well, there has to be someone on the receiving end with knowledge of these things. And from what she knew of the Eagles, which is little to nothing save for their battle-side stories and haunting omens, there wasn't one of the spiritual moon within them.Then again, she was not born under that particular moon either.
And so she paced, just upon the boarders of one territory to theirs, having sent word via spiriti. Hopefully, it would be understood.
Upon many feet it scrambled. Small, black, sleek. Winged though it be, it slipped easily thru the cracks of the wearhouse and scurried across the shadowed floor, finding steel to climb. Up, up onto the flat surface, and upon its edges did it pause. Wings spread, flurried with not flight. Only the slightest buzzings were heard... ~Knight. Entrace.~
(virago)
A male voice, and from that single syllable Josephina is able to tell very little. "I hope this is an Eagle." Imogen's voice may have been cold, rubbing the Silver Fang the wrong way - but none of it shows in the precise tones of that voice. Unless, of course, the nature of English is itself one of icy impressions, before the semblance of thawing can be garnered. Its business - that momentary distinction suffered by the kin has completely dissipated now.(kemp)
Groaning, holding his head. "I'm getting cancer of the brain."(william)
*The raven eyes Kemp. Probably willing to argue the need of a brain first but.. well he likes living and doesn't say such slanderous things. Kemp probably woudl fry him up toot sweet and will's a chickenshit*(decker)
Abruptly the Modi shoves away from the pipe and walks off. No excuse, no pardon, nothing. His rage beats like a migraine in his wake.A few seconds later the back door slams. A few seconds after that, they can hear him hammering on his new shed out back. He can't possibly be doing much good. It's pitch black, and he didn't bring a flashlight. Nevertheless, he'll be out there for some time.
(i gotta brb too. 20-40 min.)
(james)
"Might." the single syllable ebbs into a chuckle, though as he continues the battlescarred and slurred accent is more than apparent "Las' I check I look' like a man. Who are ya 'n whatcha need?"(kemp)
Frowning with a look around. Waving one hand like there was a bug bothering him. "What's that sound?"(will)
*Having a good chunck of gnosis will tilts his head* Sprit maybe?
*He looks around* This isn't my house.. couldn't tell ya.
*He hops and looks around*(kemp)
"Well fuck if I know. Can't you hear it?" Starting to circle, trying to locate the sound. Hell he wouldn't know a spirit if it kissed his pecker and called him daddy.(roxy)
Roxanne exits the bathroom with a bewildered expression. She heard the new voices, couldn’t place any familiarity to them whatsoever.Clean clothes. Clean body. She ties back the damp peroxide dreadlocks from her scarred face, lifting blonde brows as she pads back out the bathroom. She detours her way over near James to drop the damp towel on his head while he talks on the phone to snare his attention, “I heard ya. I leave a note on the fridge next time, dad,” she says dryly, stepping away to get herself another beer.
(virago)
"Josephina de Valois-Montreuil," through the English, rolls the French, lacing those names with silken ease before at its end being discarded. "I'm one of Brand's, though by family only."She gives him a moment to register her identity, before continuing. "I need to talk to you and yours, and tts regarding Pyrells. Perhaps better discussed face to face," another pause, the reticence to say anything further through the line inherent in those careful syllables, before she adds, "and preferably now, if possible. Should I be speaking to you, or someone else?"
(james)
it another situation, he wouldn't be too pleased with the damp towel dropped on his head
but it's fucking HOT in the factory, even with the doors open and the sun down
so she'll get away with it this time
a grunt following to show he heard
(Good.)"You c'n talk a me..." in the breif pause, she may be able to hear the destruction going on in the background, signalling perhaps that yes, let's just talk with James now, the other boys are out playing with their toys.... "Where are yeh? I c'n meetcha."
(nelly)
The roach spread wings again, but took flight this time around. A quick flutter, dipping to and fro before it landed directly upon Kemp's forhead..thud...the soft twittering of its wings upon perch ~Knight. Entrance.~(will)
*Will's eyes track the bug and his beek opens and closes. Watching it land on Kemp and skipping over that way. Peering up at him* Unless you guys are teaching you're pets some neat tricks.. I think it's asking if one of the Knights can enter. Perhaps Nelly coming to report what I just did.(kemp)
"Ugh!" He almost smacked the bug on his forehead. Almost but that would of been gross and he had warned Rumor about bugs being other things. "Gross! Ok, come in, fuck me!"(virago)
"I'm driving in circles in this territory I hear is claimed by your pack." The tone is wry, amusement directed at her self at such exemplary preparation to meet. "Just tell me where you want me to be - perhaps with some directions - and I'll get there."(nelly)
Too much rage. It took flight once more, beelining for the open doors and out into the night.(james)
the Ahroun can't help but sound amused
she probably IS driving in circles
the streets on the Riverfront are little more than a maze
names and directions changing at the whim of whatever goat the road planner's were following deciding to take a shit"How close are ya t'...." conversation drifts off, and the Gnawer provides directions to a corner not more than three blocks from the factory, but he isn't about to lead the stranger to their little haven, no matter how much noise Decker was making out back to draw attention "Meetcha there'n ten. Look f'r th' guy wi' dreads. Name's James."
phone's clicked off and handed back to Imogen with a nod of thanks
even if he is still rather perplexed at how the good Doctor was suddenly their answering service
(Wasn't that Tristan's job?)
the raggedyman up and crossing the room
shirt grabbed from a pile of semi-clean clothes on flyby
Mindline: Going out to meet one of Brand's, says she's gotta talk about something regarding Pyrell.
and the Gnawer's out the door and on his way(kemp)
Rushing to the sink to stick his face under it, scrubbing madly at his forehead. "Fuck me, that was so gross. Probably left bug shit on my head!"
(will)
*The raven eyes Kemp* You start shootin' you splooge all around like ah heard before I came in you better not hit me man.
*He hops skips away and waits. Thinking decker might have something to say when he finishes with that mean ol shead*(imogen)
People watching.Or Garou and kin watching. She did not have much in the way of propriety over her cell phone, it seems. She'll buy another, if James is suddenly inclined to smash it to pieces. Or else she simply figures he will...
as he does...
give it back. "Ask her not t'call again, if yeh would," she notes quietly, a thin thread of steel running beneath her voice as she takes the cell phone back and drops it back onto her jacket.
(nelly)
Those blue eyes stared upon the tips of her black cowboy boots. No longer gold lined. Noo, had to loose those in the sewer. Second hand these. But had a nice fit finally after being broken in; she reminded herself to bring Kelsey a thanks.A buzz in her ear brought her head up. Too much rage? Yeah well that could be any of them. Entrance granted.
Her lips parted, chittering away softly under her breath. It'd been a while since she had delt with the messengers of her tribals patron. She still wondered why it chose her in the first place, even so more recently it boggled her mind. But, can't question a diety, can't question the patron. Acceptance. It left a bad taste in her mouth.
Boot heals clunked upon the sidewalk as she sauntered her way towards the Eagle's warehouse. Black second skin jeans, black tank with the white letters AC/DC splayed across her well endowed chest. Wheat colored hair pulled back in a ponytail, exposing her tanned skin, undamaged from previous nights.
[cont'd]
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.06.13.04. - hoorafarfignewtwon...huh? [plus will] *p[riverfront - cont'd]
(roxy)
"What are goin' to do? 'Sides, bein' stuffed into a closet and told to stay put." Her eyes flick over to Kemp waiting for what he had to say.(william)
*Though the night on obsidian wing flys the local Information Officer. Tonight he banks east, away from the lake and towards the territory held by the german contingent. Spiraling down he lands out side the werehouse. Knowing better than to just bardge into a garou den he pecks the door. TAP TAP TAP*(imogen)
"I'll check records," she says, glancing up at James as he speaks, shrugging her shoulders lightly, "I've got a bloody plethora of databases I can try."She doesn't move again, resting her water bottle on the ground and staying half crouched as she is, resting the notepad on her knee.
(kemp)
"Ok, ya want to hear it? What the fuck good is having phones to keep in touch with the kin going to do if they call and babble some vague mystery, come and fuckin find me if you can shit?" There it was.
"I might be finding some Fomori. I might be doing this, I might be doing that. But I ain't saying where the fuck I am or where the fuck I'm going." Fuming, absolutely fuming. "Well I might fucking cum too. And I might fucking leave it there for everyone to see."(decker)
WTF, was someone knocking with an icepick? While the others talked, Decker breaks off from the group and heads to open the door. Over his shoulder, he answers Roxy, and she won't like the answer.What is she gonna do? "Stay put. Las' time we had kin fightin' with us, Lexi fuckin' bit it."
(william)
*William, now in the form of a 2 foot tall raven looks up up up at Decker as the door opens. Holds out his foot with the red woven braclet on it. Kinda a badge of duty and what not. "Good guy" "Information officer" what ever*(decker)
Decker stares at the outstretched claw. What was this, bird sign language? "Uh."(william)
*He sighs a bit and looks around and murmers* "Can I come in please?"(roxy)
Roxanne snorts, looking away as she sets the beer can down on the floor. She grabs the clean pair of jeans, standing up to head off to the bathroom.(james)
"Got'ih"sharp nod chalking up PR mission #223
and Imogen's .02
then his head whips around towards the young Rotagar
and there's a glare in deep umber which encompasses all currently resident kin
PR Mission #224:"'Cause.... right here'n NOW" amazing how clearly he can speak when he needs to "there ain't gunna be none a tha' shit no more. We chat, 'n chat clear 'n keep t'geth'r like th' Modi said b'fore. No maybe. No vagues. Sharp'n clean. Got it?"
answer to Decker, answer to him - or answer to the afterlife itself
that's more of a got it or get out.
(decker)
Decker grunts and steps back for the raven to walk in. That's right, walk, not hop. Ravens could walk. He's seen 'em marching around.Shutting the door with a crash that echoes off the ceilings and probably makes the bird side of Will want to take flight and shit at the same time, he starts back toward the living area.
Comp'ny. Got us a hrafn with news. Striders didn't run much way up north where the Get come from. Too cold for their short fur. There, the hrafns and the wolves had a closer understanding than most other places.
(william)
*He walked in. Limpig a bit because he holds something in the foot not with anything on it. Does infact jump at the slam and flutters though the air over to where people are. Lands and looks up at them. Waiting for permission to speak. Information officer he was, but you dind't just snark off to the Special Forces.*(imogen)
Body posture says a thousand words in clear unspeakable, particularly among wolves. She separates herself, slightly from the group. It's partly through location, though that may not be design. Her jacket and note pad were here. It's also in posture, somehow in the way she listens to them talk, in the way she watches them.She is behind James, so she does not get included in his glare, though her attention weighs his way when he states his command.
The pad taps lightly on a cotton clade knee as she looks at the bird, eyes flicking briefly toward the top of its head before it slides back down again.
(virago)
Whats it like for there always to be the possibility work may just call? Maybe she's grown so resigned to expect it - more so than a friend, more so than an acquaintance unassociated from the joys of her position. Its always gotta be bad news, right?Imogen's cell phone starts to ring, and its an unfamiliar number that flashes across the screen.
(james)
(Hoorahfarfignewton....huh?)
once the Raven hopwalkstartlestruts in, James puts two and two together
wayward thought hoping this one doesn't want to make a nest out of his dreads like the last
but his attention is more on the answers which should be coming to his snap
best greeting he offers now is a pack-style nod up(kemp)
He was still pissed even though James' words helped some and the comments from Decker. Turning his attention towards William just so he didn't flip out more.(imogen)
The cell phone ringer is innocuous. She does not bother with flashy tunes or music, just the simple dull ringing sound that has sounded in homes across America for decades.She snatches up the phone without thinking (pavlov would be fascinated) a hand cupping over it to muffle the sound, as she uncrouches with a movement only moderately hampered by a stiff muscle somewhere taking several quick strides away before answering the phone. "Slaughter."
(decker)
Decker tails the hoorahfarfignewton (hey. Decker don't know many official Fenrir words. he's gotta make use of the ones he's got, right? MODI. GODI. HRAFN.) in, cracking his neck as he goes. Taking up his old spot leaning against one of the standing pipes, he too settles his attention on the bird.Since everyone except Imogen was looking at him, it must be his cue.
(virago)
"What a comforting greeting," there is a lazy drawl in the (most likely) unfamiliar and English sullied voice on the other end, the clipped associations often made to that accent hazed by sharp humour. "Does everyone get that pleasure?"She pauses for a second, but not enough for the Fianna kin to respond, launching in with an introduction - she herself hates to guess - unless its a prelude to the possibility of sex. "Its Josephina de Valois-Montreuil. I've been trying to get hold of the Eagles but it seems your number was the only one available to me at such short notice. By any chance could you tell me where they are? Its urgent." Let humour fade to business cool.
(will)
*Will gives James a nod up. His head jerking and beek bouncing and looks around and to Decker. Waiting for him to give permission.
A nod up to decker too. Almost comic if it wern't serious. THe foot shoots out and flip flip flip. Slic.... A little bit of scalp and a chuck of flesh it was attached too hits in the floor.
It's not big. Quarter size at most but the garou can see it for what it is.* One of your kin has gone bugg nutty down town. THought you would like to know. By all accounts from the Gulls, Fenrir like to handel their own problems.... in house.he was mouthing off something fierce to a garou Downtown last night. Talking about fucking her in the street and sticking his spunk in her nasty Urrah womb and fucking her in an alley way. Fool fucker up and attacked her. Decked her and layed her out. So I fucked him up.
*A ruffel of feathers*
Sorta... that's his head there, well part of it. THought you guys could do what cha do with it. Your blood your right and all.Also I present as Corax to the Eagles, to transfer information you want wished, to the other packs about the upcoming events... should ya need.
(kemp)
"Um, ok, so why is the hoofadoofalwhatsitdoodle, doing here?" Pausing with a frown with what came out. "Huh?" That was a good response.(decker)
Great: now Decker's fuming, eyes darkening like thunder on the horizon. He snatches up the bit of scalp. Sniffs it. Then tosses it down again."Thanks. Know any Diaz Altimay?" And then he has the gall to correct Kemp, "Hrafn. Means 'raven'."
(james)
a brow lifts towards frame of dreads at the Corax's account
highlight arch above a scowl deepening from an already dark expression
how..... lovelyone point of light:
it's hrafn not hoorafarfignewton and it means raven
filed away(will)
*He tilts his head* I belive that was the moniker he threw at the garou before he punched her in the face with out warning.
*He looks up at decker. To Kemp, then to Decker*(imogen)
What a comforting greeting.
Does everyone get this pleasure?
"Who's this?" ice could form glaciers on the consonants of her tone.Josephina de Valois-Montreuil makes her introduction. Imogen does not bother the courtesy of returning the favour, nor even providing the silver fang with assurance that she would pass on the message.
Instead turning on her heel and walking over to where James is sitting, tapping his shoulder with the cell phone, "Would yeh be so kind as t'talk wi' Josephina de Valois-Montreuil?" Eyebrow lifts slightly, the expression not quite counteracting the tightness at the corner of her mouth. "I believe she called th'wrong cell phone."
(kemp)
"What garou?" They didn't have any female garou in this pack. Starting to get confused now. "What was the name?"(will)
*He looks up* The KIN was German dude, not the garou. She was from BAMA!
Nelly. Dude was a total cumbubble. Said he'd fuck her right on the street.
*He ruffels his feathers and points to decker* Used old parlance to name your tribe as to why Silence... said it was his right as one of you and her dirty filty pussy would take his sperm.
*Ruffels again* Riled me up and I'm a coward.(kemp)
"Wait, I am so confused. A german kin tried to fuck Nelly? Is that what you are saying?'(james)
there's a tap on his shoulder, and expression changes when it's directed towards Imogen
mainly because she can out-glare and out-scowl him on a less-than-par day
brows furrow in altercation more towards confusion
.... who?Josephina de Valois-Montreuil ring a bell? shot over the totem line as he shrugs and takes the cell from Dr. Slaughter, tipping it up a bit to show his packmates why he'd ask ..... course.... with what Will's blathering on, it may be safer to be on the phone.....
"Yeh?"
[cont'd]
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.06.13.04. - ... unless you can dedicate kin [plus decker-kemp-roxy-yuliya] *pd/*p[riverfront - cont'd]
(decker)
"Ain't ever wanna hear that again," mutters Decker, bringing up the back. They had a ride again. Not Decker's. Not even Kemp's. Some beat-up old rental pickup, the cheapest in the rental-equipment yard: nothing but four wheels, a cab, a bed and a stick shift. Radio is nonexistent and A/C is a distant dream. $15 a day, gas not included. Still, it was better than nothing, 'specially when one's carting around a large amount of boards.Decker's been working on a new pet project lately. Out back behind the factory, there's a ramshackle little shack coming up, all naked wood, nails and trusses. He needs his private time, damn it.
Dropping the tailgate to the old truck with a squeal, he starts pulling out planks and 2x4's. "'Ey," raising his voice to call after the younger Fenrir, "earn yer livin', boy." Underhanded, he tosses one of the beams at him.
(kemp)
Grunting, one foot going back for balance against the beams tossed at him. "Crap! I'll come get it." Fuck that hurt. "Now I can really feel the sweat between my cheeks." Turning to lug the board around back.(decker)
"Gonna feel my fuckin' boot on yer ass too if ya don't shut up 'bout it." Decker hoists a stack of wood beams over his shoulders and starts after Kemp, turning sideways to fit through the door. It's humid and hot in Chicago today, as it has been for the past few weeks. Temperature's in the 80s, maybe 90s. The lake humidity makes it a lot worse.Inside the factory it's dark, but not exactly cooler. In some ways the close confines of the pipes and boilers, the darkness, makes the heat worse. Suffocating. Though they can't see James and Imogen, sounds echo and carry in the high-ceilinged space; each can hear the others.
"'Round back," he tells Kemp, nodding his chin in the direction of the back door for lack of free hands.
(kemp)
"I'm going that way." Sheesh, was he blind? Lugging the beams towards the back, trying not to trip while his eyes adjusted. Thinking it best he not mention who's boxers he had kiped that morning.(imogen)
A brief scoff, almost a laugh, "They do at that," agreement.Her bruises will linger, brief splashes of black and blue, smudges of pale purple across her skin. Her fingers flex, flickering as she turns her head toward the sound of Decker and Kemp toward the front of the factory. Voices and the sound of a tail gait squealing, her brow contracting briefly at the sound, which no matter how cheap the rental was never a good sign.
A smirk and maybe she can faintly catch Kemp's words, or at least part of them, through distance and open door. "I don't want t'know," muttered as she straightens, making a brief attempt at tidying her hair, chaos in the heat. Her hair is always chaos, flames and fire, escaping from braids and buns and coils low on her neck. The humidity makes it worse. It's hot in the factory, the suffocation oppressive, and she wipes a hand across her face again, exhaling air sharply, as if it might assist the breezeless atmosphere within. It doesn't. Cotton breathes well, and her sleeveless shirt (tattoo shifts across the curve of her bicep, half alive on her flesh, a brand belonging to a tribe to which none of the eagles claim kinship), and loose fitted pants help, but still, the air feels like it sticks to her.
Her head tilts as she turns her head to look at James over her shoulder a coppery eyebrow lifting as her attention divides toward the sounds of the Fenrir Modi and Rotagar struggling with their bounty, not quite visible, "S'there water wort' drinkin' 'round 'ere?"
(james)
truck rolls up out back
boards clatter and words snarl
footsteps echo in the factory's cavernous interior
yup.... boys are home"Water's ques'n'ble....." called from where James is bent over an Igloo cooler, rummaging in mostly melted ice, handful of it's packed into the shirt and used as a quick means of cooling off, the rest shoved aside until he can reach a can..... pause before that hand darts deeper and pulls out a plastic bottle "Gotta love tha'boy."
one remaining bottle of water tossed to Imogen
Tristan's denmotherlyness saving the day once againby the time two Fenrir make it back to the rental truck
there's two beers sitting on the tailgate
another load of lumber hauled off in the Gnawer's wake(decker)
It's like a maze in the factory. Pipes running every which way. Overhead. Along the sides. Slung high above. Twisting up, twisting away from one another, coming together, joining, separating. The pipes alone would take a year to memorize. Then there were the conveyor belts. The boilers. The vats and racks whose purpose is obscured with the dust of anonymity. A thousand years from now these relics will look incomprehensible to the dominant culture of the time -- if one even remained.Through the screen of pipes and belts the two groups can glimpse one another in flashes and hints. The redhaired englishwoman and her raggedy companion. The boys from Alabama and their bounty -- or the boy from Alabama, at least, and his younger packmate. He realizes, oddly, that he doesn't know where the fuck Kemp comes from.
"Where ya from anyhow, Kemp?" grunted, as he steps out the back door into the blinding lake-hazed sunshine of the late afternoon-into-evening. Tacked on, "Jus' dump 'em here," and he throws the stack down, wood clapping on wood, the way an olympic weightlifter throws down the weights when he's finished.
Then he's heading back to the truck to discover the cold beers left there. Or as cold as it'll get on a day like this. "Heh," says Decker -- appreciative.
(roxy)
The directions weren't hard to follow as they were pointed out from the passenger reclined back in the Lancer that makes its way through the Riverfront. Roxanne motioned for to a spot about a block from the factory to pull into it. Relatively, quiet and the car would be left alone.She steps out of the car after it parked, looking down the street towards the factory and leans into grab her leather jacket, tossing it over one shoulder. She waits for Yulya to join her, before walking towards home.
Her gait slow, boots scuffing over the cement. The stains of blood and grime, hers and something else's, left dark blotches in her torn clothes. Peroxide dreads pulled back from her scarred face into a ponytail.
yuli)
Yulya drives in smooth easy assurance of knowing exactly what the Lancer will do whenever she's behind the wheel. Following the directions given by Roxy, she eventually parks. Sliding from the car she's forgone her leather jacket in the heat, taking a chance with ehr life in a way, as she left behind a level of the protection she wore almost constantly. It was a pair of ripped jeans, the bandages across her thighs clean ones, instea dof the scraps of tee shirt they'd been last night. Knowing how much Cliona had done for Roxyk she'd brushed off any healing, knoing she'd be fine all too soon, with new scars to show for it likely. Whats left of her tee coveres whats important but not the old scars anymore, the claws marks on ehr lower back and side and the roughly triangular shaped one on her upper chest. Dark hair was in a tight ponytail to match Roxy as she walked along with her for the warehouse. If she was armed, it was well hidden. Her movement seemed only a trace inhibited though... she bore pain well.(kemp)
Dumping the load on the pile with a groan and one hand dragged across his brow, leaving a smear there of dirt. "Um, I was with you, remember?" Maybe his packmate was losing it?(imogen)
"Ta," smirked as she plucks the bottle from the air, the condensation causing it to slip against her moist hands and making necessary a second hand to reach up and assist the other, catching the butt of the bottle before it can slide.Cracking the cap, the kinfolk comes out with a brief glance toward the truck and then the efforts of the Garou in hauling it and comes to the conclusion that she cannot effectively help without risking putting out one of their eyes. What they were carrying likely weighs more than she does.
Content or at least inclined to watch, instead, then.
(decker)
Decker scowls at Kemp. Smartass, the look says. "Meant 'fore that. Before Jersey." He picks up another load of lumber, cleaning out the truckbed, and pushes half the load into Kemp's arms. Then, snagging up the beer, he starts inside. Stops, turning slowly to face the street when the Lancer comes down the street toward the factory with clear intentions to pay a visit.You don't see cars coming this way much. You almost never see a car that nice. When they do, it's almost always friend or foe, and never a stranger.
(kemp)
Holding on tighter with the added load. He'd not touch the beer himself, even if he could pick it up. Grunting out. "Jersey man, I came from Jersey, where else?" A grunt and frown towards the car before he was heading back with the added load.(james)
there really isn't much of a difference between inside and outside temperatures
one's the humidly stuffy climate of space heated by greenhouse effect and exertion
the others fueled by a nearby lake and the sun's relentless downpour
at least, inside, James can see
after his eyes adjust anyway
wood tumbles to clatter, and he's back at the truck"Lissen to'm talk." chin jerks up towards the youngest Eagle, juuuust as he reaches out to balance the pushed load so Kemp can adjust it "Ain' i' obv'ous?"
kid's accent is almost as bad as James' own
but since the truckbed's empty
he'll... uh.... carry that last beer in
teamwork.
that's it.(roxy)
They could almost be twins, this pair. Clean bandages covering battle wounds, showing through ripped leather and denim clothes. Roxy's shirt seems far worse than Yulya as the shredded tanktop barely managed to cover heavy swells of her chest. The thin cotton no longer white, but an off brownish-red that stuck to her skin from the humidity. The hard lines of lean abdominal muscles exposed, baring a fresh pink scar just above the navel.Looked what the cat dragged in. The sounds of coming from the truckbed and the back of the factory caught her attention, she looks over at Yulya, nodding. "Sound's like th' boys are home. Might as well come say hi." She heads around the back following the sounds of activity.
(kemp)
"Um, thanks." A nod to James for the balancing help. Each step short and quick with the load so he could get it through and dumped fast. "That sweat is starting again!" Calling over his shoulder.(decker)
(Decker's still out front, btw)Ain'tcha never lived anywhere else, Decker wants to ask. Having driven across the country multiple times himself, he can't quite fathom the idea of someone who'd willingly stay in one city for most his life. There's something inherently restless at the root of the Modi; maybe he shoulda been a damn Strider.
...Nah.
We oughta talk, he mentions over totemphone, casual. 'Bout Erik. But for now, he turns, the last two or three planks over one shoulder, to face the two scuffed and damanged kinfolk trudging up the drive. Some inappropriate flicker of dark humor crosses his mind: they were starting to fit right in.
"Roxy," he nods up at her, "look like shit."
(yuli)
Despite weather, its black yulya wore and though it hung in half array on her lithe body now, it sowed little of the blood that existed on it. The smell was faint now though... maybe sensitive noses could tell. They were both a bit worse for the wear, and neither seemed to mind.Just another day on the underside.
"Da, if you like." Yulya is NOT the social one typically, but her dark eyes skate back over to Decker as he addresses Roxy. She's silent for the time being again, the Russian accent of her earlier words may have been caught. Few knew of this cold kin Sputnik had once claimed outside her Tribe and the few contacts she'd maintained in Chicago
(imogen)
"Yer all yankees," notes the redhead at James as he walks past her, smirking briefly as she watches Kemp walk by laden with the last of the beams and then James walking by, considerably less burdened as she takes a swallow of her water. From her angle, she cannot see out front, but hear it, somewhat, her attention flicking briefly toward the sound of the Modi speaking.James was inside. Kemp was inside. she was inside.
Either Decker had gone off the deep end, or someone else had approached.
Brilliant deduction skills, Dr. Slaughter.(roxy)
"Decker..." She responds, nod up returned, "I feel like shit." She casts a look to the Russian kin, smirking slightly. "We were out playin' ya could say." Walking up the rest of the way until she wasn't too far from the Modi now.Roxanne didn't stop to chat, "Ya remember Yuliya right? Alright if she comes in for a drink at least. Thought I might be hospitable to the femme."
(james)
James' reply is a just as casual grunt over the totem line
his attention is otherwise on Imogen"Ga'd'n Sta'e boy" nod jerking towards Kemp "I'm th' Yank."
smirked in a somewhat playful grin
cause he knows all American accents sound the same to the good Doctor
regardless of her brilliant deduction skills(kemp)
Coming back through with a nod for both James and Imogen. "I'm a pack mule." He was sweating and heading for the front again. What the fuck is going on with whacko Erik? Sending the question across the link adding. Ask Roxy about chasing Fomori and calling stupid Random about it. "I got a river running down between my ass cheeks."(decker)
Later, the one word reply re: Erik.Glancing Yuliya over, he eventually nods again, up again, slightly. "C'mon." Turning, he almost brains both of them with the wide swing of the wood posts over his shoulder. Heading in, he kicks the door open again as it starts to swing closed behind him.
Aloud, over his shoulder, "Chasin' fomori 'n callin' Random?"
(yuli)
"Da... playing." Cool irony in that word, now that the pangs of fear were past for Roxy's badly mauled state. Little impinged on her conscience anymore. Decker given a once over of his own, glad she was a bit light to the feet on a good day, and on this medocire daym enough to avoid being hit by poles, follows along.Dark eyes were wary though, because it was a new place. maybe last night had made her moreso.
(kemp)
"Is that the last of it?" Nodding to the posts Decker had on his shoulder. Green eyes narrowing slightly on Yuliya and then Roxy. He wasn't going to say anything yet, but it wouldn't be long before he told them exactly what he thought and he didn't give a flying fuck what they thought themselves.(roxy)
Shoulders rolls back in a quick lean, moving out of the way of the swinging wood beams to not be hit by them. She makes a face at Decker's back, shaking her head a little."I called James' cellular phone, thinking Rumor still had it to let her know what I was up to," she says, hanging back a little as the door kicks open. She waits until Decker clears it, before entering. "I wasn't sure what we huntin' down. Just went to do a little investigatin' and found a fomor. It's dead. The place we were at needs to be cleansed before it breeds more shit. End of story."
(decker)
Decker grunts affirmative to Kemp: it was the last of it, yeah. A jerk of his head toward the living quarters - the sofa and table and other assorted junk clustered in a circle in a small clearing in the steel jungle of the factory - indicates to Yuliya and Roxy where they might find the others."James, you got tha cleansin' rite?" 'Cause he don't. Decker was strictly frontline. Point. Unleash. Destroy. Move on.
Decker, himself, heads out back to dump the last of the wood down next to the rest. They hear the clatter, and a curse as one or more lands on his foot. A little later, he's coming back in, favoring the right foot a bit.
(james)
"She bet'r still 'ave it."barked from the Ahroun that's off thattaway from center
choice spot picked near Dr. Slaughter for a place to park it
except he's sunk on the ground
drawing what chill he can from the concrete slab floor"Only if they been eatin' manflesh."
apparently, cleansing rites are one of the things they kept Livingston around for
(kemp)
"Oh fucking bullshit." Pausing right there with his shirt hiked up in both hands to rub the sweat and dirt from his face. Belly showing and a large star shaped scar on his ribs. "You called the girl and had her freaking out by telling her you were going after a Fomori. She asked me what the fuck it was. She was going to try and fucking find you!" A another shake of his head and he was shoving the shirt back down.(yuli)
She'd been fairly ignorant of any plans Roxy'd made aside from Yulya's inclusion in it. Listening silently for the moment as she came inside the large warehouse, and glanced around more.Kemp's outburst got a slight frown from the otherwise quiet russian girl. Thoughts withheld for the moment as she looked aside at her partner in crime. "Friend of yours? I feel the love, da..." Then the smirk and she heard James.
"Gutterboy... where been you?" Apparently Yulya knows James, her eyes going in his direction. "Cliona will take care of... she can do. Did it months ago, for last time we found infestation."
(imogen)
A brief smirk passes her mouth, glancing at James and his explanations in comparison to her generalizations. Old argument. Their accents sounded close enough to her that she could mistake one for another, including a New Yorker for an Alabama boy.But she's called Australian from time to time. Irish. Scottish. Welsh. Tit for tat.
The kin stands while James sits, her shoulders resting against the cement wall for the same reasons that James sits upon the cement floor, drawing cool air toward her heated skin.
Eyes pass over Roxy, then Yuliya, the doctor's eyes flickering wider for a moment before resettling as she glances toward Kemp and his outburst, a frown drawing across her brow.
(kemp_
His own narrowed look was right back at Yuliya. Bristling like a stomped on pole cat right now and barely risisting grabbing his package with the offer for them to blow him.(decker)
Rumor this. Random that. Funny, Decker hasn't even met the girl. Beer still hanging from one hand, he hangs a left and comes into the living area, where the others were. Anyway, he had his own concerns --Brow knits into ravines and folds, a full-on glower that could drop a grown man dead of fright. He closes in on Imogen and grabs her by the hand, lifting it into the light. The slender wrist, the fine skin. The bruise.
Way too quiet: "Fuck's that."
(roxy)
Roxanne starts to head towards her little nook of the factory, where she kept her shit and slept on occasion. The voices of the others heard as Kemp's outburst hit her back and caressed over her ears. Not all the plans of the endeavor were laid out to the Russian kin."I didn't come right out and say I was fomori huntin' I didn't know what the fuck we were dealin' with. I said there might be." this tossed back over her shoulder to Kemp. Roxanne drops her jacket on the mattress, crouching down to find her duffle bag and drag it over.
"Rumor still has the phone, James," She tosses back towards the area of the others, ignoring them for the moment as Roxy pulls off the torn remnants of her tank top. Back to them all with a quick flash of skin and digs around in the back until she finds another one to slip on.
(james)
"Been 'roun'. Recov'rin' from a las' time you took me outa eat."tossed back at his kin with lopsided grin
neither of them were known for regularity of schedule
but easiest to pawn things off with humorthen there's that all but silent hiss
Imogen's standing against the wall
James is sitting on the floor
that puts Decker... oh... right behind him
James is wishing for a hole to open up IN the floor
Roxy's ascertation met with a toast of his half-empty canthe Ahroun's gonna busy himself with picking what should he splinters out of the raw spot on his shoulder
only problem is those are bits of dirt and rock and grime from the factory floor
not shards of board propped there most recently to carry inside from thet ruck(kemp)
Cold and flat, his words echoing through the place. "Why?"(kemp)
"Ya got a brain, right? Why the fuck call the kid, just to tell her shit when she was just going to get stirred up and worried? Why call her when you knew she would be upset? Why call unless to do just that, cause if it was for information purposes or help, then you'd fucking tell people before you left and not leave some vague. Oh I might be hunting fomori. Message with the girl. Don't fucking try and tell me otherwise."(yuli)
"Cuz it need be done..."Maybe Yulya doesn't know him but she moves over into the more lived in area, where Imogen ['sup last tme I saw you was with a bullet Tristan put in ya], James and Dekcer had convened.
Yulya then looks over at Kemp. Its always the young ones who get angsty. Yulya could seem so old at times, for all her scant twenty some years.
She let Roxy field the rest. These were her people after all. IF anyone claimed Yulya, that was a rarity.
(roxy)
Kemp continues to yell, Roxanne doesn't turn around to acknowledge it. She hears every word of it, new shirt replaced. The duffle bag closed up, she reaches into her jacket. Removing the new pistols, ejecting the empty clips, only to replace them with new ones. The guns slipped back into the holsters in her jacket."It ain't mah intentions to scare Rumor, Kemp. I had to call someone and let'em know what the fuck I was up to. Unless y'all don't want me callin' in to let ya know I'm doin' somethin' halfcocked and crazy like that shit again."
She turns around to look at Kemp, "'Sides, you were the one I wanted to talk, Kemp, you handed the phone to her. To busy talkin' sex shop with fuckin' Butta."
(kemp)
"I didn't have the fucking phone and don't give me that shit! You called and just oh so vaguely mentioned you were looking for Fomori. Well big fuckin, ta do for you! Next time I want to let someone know where I am, just in case, I'll try that method. Oh hey dudes, I might be off, dying somewhere. And hey, who knows the fuck where. Just look all over the fuckin world for my ass." Huffing with a snort after that. "I give up, I fucking don't give a flying fuck." Stomping for the door.(imogen)
Her wrist caught in Decker's hand, forced into better light, drawing her away from the wall the defined muscles of her bare arm clearly tense in the hued discoloured light as he inspects the discolouration of her hand.She has more strength than most. She can withstand quite a bit more than she should. Decker's glower tightens her, but while fear is a part of it, frustration has its own heavy dose.
"A bruise," she answers, swiftly quietly, sarcastically. "I think we've had this conversation before." Small and slender, Decker dwarfs her with his height. It's never been nearly so poignant (for those who don't know her well, at least) as when he holds her wrist in his hand and it is a bone he could easily break.
"time and a place, don't you think?" a pointed glance toward Kemp stomping off from the injured or recently healed Roxanne.
She's speaking quietly. It would be deliberation to hear her. But those who do might catch from her tone that she doubts he will agree with her assessment that this is neither the time, nor the place.
(decker)
If she jerked hard enough, he'd let her go for fear of breaking her arm. She knows that. But maybe it's the fear that he would, in fact, break her arm rather than let her go that keeps her from yanking away. Or maybe it's that godforsaken dignity of hers."See that," he replies, sarcastically slow. "Fuck fr--?" And pivoting, over his shoulder, "Kemp - wait." Wasn't easy that almost the whole damn pack was in the same place.
Turn back. Another beat; another long hot stare. Then he drops her wrist hard and turns.
She trustworthy? -- totemphone, mainly to James, regarding Yuliya. Decker wasn't the type to talk about their missing fuckin' alpha in front of strangers.
(james)
there's a brewing storm behind him
there's a mini-tempest storming off
there's the eye of the storm casually changing her top
and there's...... beer toasts up again.... hey Yuliya, help yourself to the coolerDiscreet. Blood. meaning she is, as far as James knows Just don't let her take you out for dinner.
(kemp)
He stopped. Still bristling, wanting to put his foot up an ass and his fist through the door. Breathing heavily with the effort to hold it inside. Nothing made him crazier than stupid damned shit.(roxy)
Her head drops down, shaking it slowly. Peroxide dreads slither across her shoulders and back, pivoting around to face the mattress and toss the duffle bag back into its corner, after pulling out a clean pair of jeans. She stretches out to flop down upon her ass on the mattress, leaning over to remove her boots.She doesn't say anything else, looking up every now and then at everyone. It was rare to see almost the entire pack here in one place.
(yuli)
Yulya slides over to the cooler, pulling out beer for hserself and one to hand off to Roxy. The fresh bandages over her thighs white under the sliced black jeans. She moved with minimal problem from the wounds beneath thankfully."So James... found Indian place. Will burn your stomach inside out I bet." her smikr as she broguth Roxy a beer.
(decker)
Funny: he can even grunt on totemphone.Then, aloud, "So Erik's gone. Don't know where tha fuck he is, says don't follow. Got a garbled message 'bout Pyrell's daughter, 'n his name. Ma... what was it 'gain?" He looks to his packmates for help.
(kemp_
Jaw clenched tight enough to have the tendons jumping just beneath the skin. He was going to totally blow with the wrong word said. Unnecessary shit flipping him out. Not trusting his voice to answer Decker's question barely heard through the throbbing pound of his heart in his ears.(rozy)
"Sounds appetizin'." She remarks dryly to Yuliya, reaching up to accept the offered beer. The can brought up to the side of her neck, using it to cool off her hot skin. Figured she'd be used to the humidity by now."Erik's missin'? Is that even possible?"
(james)
"Wha'..... you still tryin' a kill me?" there's a smirk mirroring Siberia's "Mo'dah'goes. 'R s'mthin' like 't."(imogen)
Hot glare. Cold stare, her dark eyes reflecting the light into which he'd drawn her hand.He drops her wrist, and she steps back, lifting her other hand to draw a deep swallow of her half finished water, listening to the conversation, almost absently.
(yuli)
The can of beer opened and Yulya took a long pull, swallowing it easily without face or cough. Hardened drinker thanks to Sputnik's years of tutlage."You big boy James... your wolfy tummy can take it. You gnawer, da?"
Didn't know who Erik was but listened some... nor anything about Pyrell. Yulya might well be the only one ignorant of what was going on, ensconsed in ehr underworld as she was.
(decker)
Decker snorts, a wry smirk tossed at Roxy. "Yeah. Really missin' this time." Glance at James, nod. "Modagos. So it's just us three now. Plus tha kin. Imogen, Roxy 'n Tris. We stick together much as possible. Ain't losin' no more'a you. Anyone know'a gifts, rites, talens ta keep us in touch with tha kin? We don't got a Godi 'n we's feelin' that bad. So keep yer eyes out fer a good one."Firs' thing we do is finish this Pyrell business. Figger out what the fuck tha Blood Eagle meant by 'use tha daughter'. 'N 12th floor --"
Breaking off as Yuliya and James keep bickering, "Shut up."
--well then. Back to business. "Second thing we do, we go git Erik back."
So much for not following.
(roxy)
Roxanne inhales a slow breath, she had an answer to his first question. Tricky part was obtaining it. "There is somethin' called a Bonding Rite. It's only found in a certain camp of the Glass Walkers, which incorporates kinfolk into packs temporarily. The rite allows kin to bond to the pack's totem, gainin' its benefits and communications temporarily. I know of its existance because I was told about it before th'split of th'Knights. You find a Glass Walker willin' to cough up that right and teach ya. Then ya got a way to communicate with us kin." she pulls the beer can from her neck, feeling the moist condensation slide down her throat. Fingers crack it open, pulling the can up to her mouth to sip.(james)
attention diverts for a just a moment
slipping a glance towards Yuliya
casual lopsided grin twisted free
just as strong hands twist empty can into a much more space-saving shape"S'on."
what did he just say about not letting the kin take one out to eat?
(gonna regret this one, you are, Jamey-boy)
glare shot at the Modi equivalent to Fuck off. Unlike you I can concentrate on two things at once.
but James knows better than to say it ........at least infront of the kinhis head shakes to the rest
unless one can dedicate a kin
he's falling short on rites today"Rum'r go' my phone, 'n Yuli's here nah....." chin jerks over towards his counterpart in bickering "S'all th' kin I got'n town nah." shoulders roll in a shrug "Know who's'iz daught'r?"
(yuli)
"Need new phone... or many?" Yulya of the connections. Shes not your typicall BoneGnawer."Can get you things to keep connection that way. Phone, pager, fuckin' pds if you want..."
((PDA, not pds, and I gotta runa... assume she hangs around kinda being smirky and a tad helpful for Roxy adn james sake?))
(decker)
"Bondin' Rite?" Decker echoes, frowning. "Which camp?" There's reluctance in his voice. He ain't met a Walker he's liked yet. 'Cept Rune, but Rune didn't count.Then to James, a shake of his head. "Ain't know nothin' you don't know." They all heard him. And his garbled message. 12th floor. Daughter. Pyrell and Modagos. "Ain't even know where ta-- y'think she's on tha 12th floor?"
Why the fuck would anyone keep their daughter locked on the 12th floor of their building?
(mogen)
A steady gaze rests on Roxanne as she speaks, no reflection of what she thinks echoed in the finely carved planes of her face.After a minute, she steps away from the wall and walks to where she'd left her cell phone,note pager and jacket, pulling out a note pad with small pen hooked in, scrawling something quickly across it, as the rest continues to discuss.
(roxy)
Roxanne thinks for a moment, racking her brain. "Dies Ultimae camp. I'm ain't too sure if there's any in Chicago or not. Ya'd have to talk to Binary on that one." if they wanted to bother with such a task."It's worth gettin' yar hands on, Decker, if ya want to rely on non-technical commications." Cobalt-blue gaze swings over the others, catching Imogen in her line of sight.
(james)
there's a nod, thoughtful, not expecting much more
exchanging beer for smoke as something to occupy his hands
James is a notorious lightweight, indeed, but it should mean something when even he's being this cautious"Maybe." another shrug of deeply scarred shoulders, accompanied by smokey trail of absent wave "We bankin'on she's hum'n?"
he wouldn't be surprised if "daughter" was the easiest and simplest form of commnication whatever the fuck it was on the 12th floor that may hopefully be a key
"Bes' I c'n do b'yon' tha's dig inna city record.... 'n take up Yuli's offer a tech's out f'r th' time bein."
(kemp)
Seething, not saying a word because what he said would be point blank and honest. Not something some would want to hear. Standing across the room near the door like he was at the starting gate, waiting for the gun to go off.(decker)
"Diaz Alltimay," Decker grunts, nodding. Didn't like Binary's gang much -- arrogant fuckin' Urrah. (Like he was one to talk.) "James," PR mission #223, "find out if tha Warder's theurge's got the Rite. Don't hit Binary's crew up 'less we gotta. Don't trust that Spider fuck. Smiles too much. Fights too l'il."Raising his voice to reach the Rotagar who was having a bad day of his own, "Kemp. Run yer mouth."
And then James again: a shake of his head. "Ain't bankin' on nothin'." Pyrell managed to shoot three Garou sons out of his loins. Decker wasn't gonna bet daughter was anything less than riproarin' fomor, if not BSD. Or both. Or abomination. Fuck knows. "Wyrmfoe's puttin' most'a us on front lines come Friday. So we go fer tha daughter, we do it beforehand 'r not at all. 'll talk ta Barny 'bout it."
(roxy)
"What are goin' to do? 'Sides, bein' stuffed into a closet and told to stay put." Her eyes flick over to Kemp waiting for what he had to say.[cont'd]
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.06.13.04. - don't cushion the enemy [imogen] *pd[riverfront]
(james)
it's the sound of fist hitting palm
wrapped cartilege smacking soundly against rough callouses
then the exhaled whoooph of a body pitched off balance by momentum
footwork shuffling to regain stance and ready
all echoing off the dust-blanketed machinery in the factory's main cavern
heated by exertion's body heat and the afternoon's soon-setting sun"Nuh." words bounce off a far wall and creep hesitantly back "'mem'r y'r smaller'n me..... get 'nsi'e my reach."
James had just blocked another attempt
hip and thigh stepping in to shove Imogen off balance
all in a long line of procedure teaching the good doctor one decisive throw
she'd so far caught on to the basic nuances of slap boxing
now it's on to the fineries of closer-quartered combat(imogen)
Fist smacks palm and her weight rolls backward, recoiling from the force of his repell of her attempt. Exhale through pursed lips, frustration escaping in the breath, hard enough to blow a few strands of hair from her face, only to resettle, clinging to the curve of her cheekbone."You'd think," she says, her wry tone not quite lost in the breathless edges of her voice, "that I'd never forget that."
That she's smaller. Dwarfed by nearly every person she's met, no, you'd think she'd never forget that. Though look at the way she reacts in day to day life, as if the height difference was nothing, and maybe it's not so hard to believe, after all.
Weight redistributes, finding its way back to the balls of her feet. She still doesn't bind her hands, and by the end, her knuckles will likely be scrapped again. Bruised.
Attempt number three. yes, she's counting. Pivot on a foot, pull up close on his weak side and ...
try again.
(james)
her hands aren't wrapped.... again
(he didn't offer.... again)
so each time he blocks with an open palm
it's like Imogen's trying to knuckleball a brick wall
probably the only reminder that she is smaller than he
for if you hang with the big dogs long enough.....his answer is a huffed chuckle
alongside yet another hipcheck sending her stumbling
(try again)"Nev'r." smirked, rather canid shake of head sending dreadlocks back out of his field of vision "Go' bigg'r balls'n mos' G'rou I know," it didn't last long as gravity draws jungle-vine ropes back over deep umber eyes "dunn surpri........ OOF"
lesson number one, Jamey-boy: don't talk smack when you can't see
the petite redhead finally able to latch onto his left arm
leveraging it over her shoulder to twist. and.
WHAM.
unfortunately for the Gnawer, he didn't have the benefits of strewn mattresses for practice padding
landing in a shoulder-based pile of tangled limbs on hard concrete"Goo' job." - his tone quite lost in breathless voice
taking a moment to wrangle the wind back into his lungs(imogen)
Stumble, her hand going out in automatic balance, finding her centre. She bruises easily. Even something like that might leave a mark, a faint welt across her hip bone, pale purple against pale porcelain. He doesn't even need to prompt her to continue.Imogen has a fierce sense of competitiveness. Or perhaps it's a fierce need to succeed. Try, try again. She's turning on the axis of her balance to face him again, almost before she's barely caught her balance again, wiping the back of her hand across her brow, even as he's speaking.
She isn't really listening, though she absorbs it. Looking back, later, she will likely be able to pick up what he said. Her focus, currently, however, is elsewhere. Get ahold of his arm, over the shoulder for leverage, twist and ...
"Bloody hell it worked," turning to look at the Gnawer, flat on his back, a smirk crossing her mouth as he compliments her, wiping hair from her forehead with the back of her hand, "Thank you," reaching out to offer her hand to help him up again.
(james)
"Welca'."sound drifts off in standing grunt
lanky Gnawer untangling himself enough to stand"Though nex' time...."
the quirky grin is too breif for her to catch
most likely as it's covered by another sweeping curtain of loose dreads
however by his twisting wrist in turn wrapping fingers around hers
(it's a light touch which will bruise anyway no matter how hard he tries)
the good Doctor knows James well enough to see it anyway"Try a lan' it -"
Imogen is shorter than he by about a foot
which puts her weight hovering around 100#
if she's wrapped in a blanket, soaking wet, with several large bricks in her pockets
(he throws bags of feed heavier than her each night at work)
making it far too easy for the Ahroun to pull her weight towards him
and right on up over a shoulder, thighs angling down its blade"- li'e this."
the arm wrapped around her waist all that keeps her from kissing concrete
Full Moon letting his knees buckle and weight drop
his sheer height compared to hers a goddamned saving grace
because slicked hair peels from forehead
firey curls reaching to gently poke all-too-near concrete"..... 'r...... close."
he doesn't have to explain again the necessity of angle in this playful reminder
or how someone's body weight dropping to the ground precisely like this
would snap. their. neck.
he doesn't have to explain, too, his understanding if she's a little off during their practice
(he's a Garou, not Superman)
leaning to the side an letting Imogen regain her feet(imogen)
She senses what is to come in the twisting of his hand as he wraps his fingers around hers.He can feel it as he pulls her toward him: the sudden coiling of muscles and the pressure of resistance, the way her weight shifts to make the throw harder to maneuver. The way she fights back the demonstration.
The brief flicker of instinct in her eyes.
It gives a glimpse that even without his training, the education she's asked of him, Imogen would never go down without a fight, inadequate or not.
It gives a glimpse that despite it all, perhaps, she can feel his rage, and the instinct goes beyond her trust of him (for she knows him well) into a reaction. Or perhaps that she'd been thrown or dragged before and never quite found herself amenable to the issue.
Imogen is devastatingly light, her bones small and slender, her frame lean and taut. To feel the shape of her ribs as he catches her is to recognize that fragility, even when recognizing her strength of will and person.
He angles away, and she rolls to her feet, fingers scraping the ground for balance as she half turns to look at him, one hand lifting to push back strands of hair, falling free from the braid that had been tight and coiled when they started and was coming loose now, flames and fire and all the colours of the sunset. The setting afternoon sun sparks it in blonde. "I'd assume," She reasserts her dignity (because for her, something like that was a loss of dignity. A loss of control over the situation.) as she straightens, a slow deliberate movement. Had she been born a Garou, she would have had a sharper edge to the movements, something more warrior. As a kin, the movements are smooth and poignant as it is, almost grace, without being frivolous, "tha' th'move is t'be done wi'out the catchin' at the end," smirk shadows as she reaches down with a hand, straightening the hem of her shirt.
(james)
Imogen is devastatingly light
her bones small and slender
her frame lean and tautand within the coil of Ahroun bicep and forarm
he could crush that frame easily as tinder
but he doesn't - instead letting her draw back lost dignity
(he knows well enough her assertation of control)
dark eyes drawing away when she straightens her shirt
(........ Jaaaaames?)
an intial retort visably, physically swallowed back
a moment's silence before he finds suitable substitute"Yeh... s'much more 'ffecti' tha' way."
the dark glitter in those eyes when they return
more than obvious first retort's still on his mind
but he somehow thinks better of not saying it without prompt(kemp)
Freakin hot and it wasn't even August. He was going to melt by the time summer got here. Seriously considering hacking some of his hair off when it stuck to his neck like it did now. Tromping towards the factory door in shorts and a sweat soaked faded tee. Muttering to himself. "I can feel sweat going down my crack."(imogen)
Silence noted or not, retort swallowed noted or not, she effects not to notice, as a hand reaches beneath the fall of her loosening hair to rub at the back of her neck, "Righ'. So what I'll take 'way from today: 'Don't cushion th'enemy.'"She sinks down to a crouch, reaching down to tie the lace of her shoe, pausing mid-loop to push back strands of hair from her face, before completing the action, "Quit while I'm ahead, shall I?" knuckles bruised and sore, but having at least caught the jist of the lesson offered.
(james)
there's something in the Ahroun's grin
that quiet honestly says the very same thing
though, instead, his chin drops in a curt nod"Nuh." she's finishing shoving rabbit ears move with those shoelaces, he's straightening slowly to stand "They ten' a get back u' when ya do 'at."
something grinds as his arm's pseudo-windmilled around
rotator cup protesting it's offense at the insults endured today
bruises and strains that won't even be a memory tomorrow morning
shirt peeled off to function as a makeshift towel
or at least something to pull. those fucking dreads. outta his face.
until he can find something more appropriate for the job
(decker)
"Ain't ever wanna hear that again," mutters Decker, bringing up the back. They had a ride again. Not Decker's. Not even Kemp's. Some beat-up old rental pickup, the cheapest in the rental-equipment yard: nothing but four wheels, a cab, a bed and a stick shift. Radio is nonexistent and A/C is a distant dream. $15 a day, gas not included. Still, it was better than nothing, 'specially when one's carting around a large amount of boards.Decker's been working on a new pet project lately. Out back behind the factory, there's a ramshackle little shack coming up, all naked wood, nails and trusses. He needs his private time, damn it.
Dropping the tailgate to the old truck with a squeal, he starts pulling out planks and 2x4's. "'Ey," raising his voice to call after the younger Fenrir, "earn yer livin', boy." Underhanded, he tosses one of the beams at him.
[cont'd]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 08, 2004.06.08.04. - make him pretty [ratchet][southside]
(ratchet)
every monster for him(her)self.steven working later then usual, then home with alex in fancy bed. jo doing what jo does. tucker doing what tucker does, and by amazing coincidence, this leaves ratchet to do what ratchet does. scrape of metal along cement as skinny form pulls dumpster away from wall, grunt of effort escaping as it is heavier then expected, until runtish waif squirms into the filth and grime to get at what caught the eye. something shiny, something glinting in the depths of darkness pre-dawn.
gaunt form scurries back out from depths of dirty shadows, to sink to crouch and examine treasure found. brushing off on edges of threadbare denim that barely covers knees despite the patches jo attempts to keep sewing on a little hmmmm of pleasure at what has been found, steady click born in other hand, absent, content.
(james)
every monster for him(her)selfthat would place James taking a stroll from somewhere to somewhere else
he could just as easily be on his way home from this week's job
or simply out for a meandering stroll to clear his mindfunny, that
the city - even pre-dawn - is filled with the endless white-noise of civilization
countless strings of musical interlude combined all at once
engines, horns, airplanes, nightclubs, and other nameless machinery
cacophany buzzed into singular hum of population
even the dingey hours before the sun chooses to wake aren't silent
there's always something going on that's practically maddening if one concentrates on it
probably why most Garou are always slightly uncomfortable in the scab-world
it does not possess the silent serenity so oft found in naturethen again, James is a Gnawer
and to him, this noisy city is home
not exactly the quaint timlessness of Albany
or even the glamorous hubbub of NYC
but it's as close as the Ahroun's going to get these days
and when it all boils down, one city is generally the same as the next
it's only the little things that make it personable
and sometimes, those little things don't even mattersort of like now
in which the Fostern's found just strolling down this avenue
one hand lazily tucked into a pocket
the other currently employed flicking the ashes from his Camel(ratchet)
endless cities she’s been in, each much the same as the next. the bottomfeeders are always the ignored, the forgotten, the hated, the abused. she has been all of these and more, yet still she survives, still she managed to find chicago and all the new ideas that fester here, in a gritty underworld the likes of which she’s never seen.in the scheme of things, however, it is always the little things that matter. when one has nothing, the smallest kindness means the world. when one knows only pain, the touch of affection is something both feared and craved, each little thing treasured, coveted, held close and appreciated for what it is – the reminder that sometimes, someone, on occasion, finds her almost... human.
back to the dumpster, and skinny form shoves dumpster back into place with angry screech of metal against cement, before little form scurries forward toward the street, to examine treasure better under filthy streetlamp. mouth of alley vomits gaunt waif, who sinks to crouch almost directly in James’ path, oblivious it would seem, as dirty fingers disappear into random pocket, and handful of such shiny items are found and spread across the sidewalk, examined closely in the halo of yellowish dingy light that spills from above.
(james)
dumpster screeches
waif shuffles
Ahroun..... stopsCorcoran IIs reflect the dingey yellowish halo
testament to the shine they once held
at least in the toecaps poking out from frayed cuffs
soon catching a tiny spot of orange strafing across one boot
the ember of his smoke going from pause in midstep to recovered inhale
pinpoint highlights carrying to her examined shineyobject surfaces"'lo Ratch't."
slur making her name sound past tense action - ratched - instead of the tool
tones low and even as if the exhaled smoke spoke instead of rugged Warrior(ratchet)
head snaps gaze upwards at that, having been so engrossed in making sure tonight’s loot is acceptable to her, and thus to the one she forages for, she did not hear him come near. duck of head is sheepish, as she folds tighter into crouch, fingers still moving through the little handful of colorful glass and plastic and metal she’s been collecting. random, the pieces of the pile, yet a kaleidoscope of shimmering shape under yellowish glow.“lo, elderman..” as fingers scoop up the handful, only to spread them again, much as someone plays dice, or tosses bones, reading futures in each little fissure of broken material.
glance up again, shy, before nails dig at shoulder, along collarbone, before falling around knees again.
(james)
"Wha'cha got th're?"curiosity tilts his head
dreads swinging to rest against opposite shoulder
the construction of shadows changing on his face
but not enough to reveal the almost healed bruises(ratchet)
a soft hmmmm of content as she scoops them up again and holds hand filled with little glittering treasures, lips tugging into almost a suggestion of a tiny grin. “presents for hermie.”fingers pat pocket close to heart, before peeking inside, though knows he can’t be seen on this side. hand cups, as if the little crap were actually there, physically, as she pulls the handful back down. “he likes the little glass bits the best. fix his shell, make him pretty...”
a pause, and shyly asked... “elderman like to meet him?”
[paused]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 05, 2004.06.05.04 - something wicked [this way comes][downtown]
(something wicked - ST)
downtown. place of freaks and geeks galore. sights and sounds thick and heavy, the city comes ALIVE on Saturdays after 7pm... slow and sleepy, but surely waking up.some wake up rowdier then others.
(chuggachugchug...chug. shit goddammit! chuggachuggachuggachugga WHOOHOO!)rip that chord baby. alleyway, just down from the
two (three?)
kin.
walking.
[Deadman walking! walking the green mile! dead man walking here!]chainsaw ROARS into life, and the screeching squeeeeeeeel of edged teeth being drug along brick. closer. closer.
(and underneath, a child SCREAMS “no daddy NOOOOOOO!”)
(sophia)
*blinks hearing the noise* What the ... ?(imogen)
"A pleasure to --" the sound of chainsaw teeth scratches rends in her nerves, causing her spine to straighten and the hair on the back of her neck to curl, the slender woman twisting around to look in the direction of the alleyway, jaw tightening, pulse pounding in her throat (... the saying "heart leaping into your throat" comes from the tighttaut feeling you get in your chest and the way your throat tightens, when you're afraid...) as she stares."Jesus fucking christ," her hand beneath the fall of her jacket. Habit, really.
This doesn't have to be anything, she reminds herself. A kid playing with a tool. Construction. She's too jumpy, she tells herself. It's been too long amidst Garou and Fenrir and too long with fading scars beneath her clothing.
Never the less.
Clickpop
The restraining flap on her holster comes free.(something wicked)
If the sound of chainsaw doesn’t set the teeth on edge, the laughter that follows will... mockingly “no daddy no! don’t hurt me!’ Waste o’flesh you are! fuckin waste o’flesh, th’best part o’yeh ran down the crack o’yeh momma’s arse, didn’t it now! now STAND STILL! It’ll only hurt for a second.....” and the laughter again...followed by a childs terrified screaming and the sound of wild scrambling over boxes. Chainsaw teeth scream across brick, bounce off as if swung and missed, the mad cackling continues....
(sophia)
What the fuck ... ! *she thinks child ... chainsaw ... child ... chainsaw ... child and starts moving swiftly towards the alley*(imogen)
Consider this:
Imogen doesn't care that it's a child screaming. She has no soft spot for children (none that she will admit to, anyway) or a belief that of all things, children should be pure and left unharmed, uninjured.Consider this:
She'll go anyway.
She would have investigated the noise, even if there had been no screaming. And maybe it says something to think that she would react to save an adult as much of a child, or react simply because she feels it is right, and this is what one should do.Or perhaps as one Fenrir Modi put it in the middle of the night, when she could barely breath with cracked ribs, she has a death wish.
"Yeh got somethin', or yeh just gonna use yer hands?" caustically inquired as she doesn't wait for an answer, the hand beneath the jacket again as she pulls her gun, a revolver. Full out run toward the alleyway.
There are some kinfolk who should have been born a Garou.
Imogen is not one of them.
She'd have died before her rite of passage.(sophia)
*only has her two knives, not much against a chainsaw*(james)
it wasn't that long ago that James had untangled himself from whatever provided itself for bed in the hours following Marissa's party, though from the tangled jungle-vine mop of dreads falling over his shoulders in a semi-permanent state of bed-head-disarray.... one really couldn't tellhe could have perked up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to greet the rising sun
he could have crawled out of some hole five minutes ago
there isn't much of a difference from his normal appearence
faded BDUs are too worn and soft to accomplish sustaining anything so structured as wrinkles
t-shirts clinging to muscular torso in about the same, weathered state
in fact, the only details which would remotely suggest the Ahroun's groggily hungover state
would be the careful temper of his walk.... and the rather obvious aroma of beer still clinging to himas enthusiastically as Dougie hosed him from the keg last night
he'll need a damn sandblaster to fully eradicate the evidence
and that's where he's strolling to now - one steamily hot shower that will have to substitute for sandblasterbut intentions are interrupted by the deafening sound of the chainsaw suddenly destroying the street's white-noise ambience (sounds like a motherfucking JACKHAMMER).... if that wasn't enough to make him regret ever setting foot out of the grave representing being conscious....
..... the sound of the child's screaming is
dark shadowy circles under his eyes do little to dampen sudden ignition
deep umber irises flare immediate eruption the Full Moon's drunk-and-schmooooked-to-passivity Rage
spinning mid-stride to make a bolted bee-line across the street
closing in on the alley mouth opposite Imogen and Sophia's approach
(unknowingly trapping the modern-day Leatherface between himself and the two women)inside it's gateway shadows, oblique streetlamp highlight is unnaturally deflected by eerie glow
inks on inner right forarm swirling, crawling towards gravity's relentless call
dropping a three-foot length of steel pipe into his hand
dedicated weapon shining wetly in twilight's glow
unforgivably sharp tip of the 9" railroad spike welded at one end sparking
(just like a sick, merciless, blood-hungry diamond)
long strides devouring the distance leading within alley's covetous walls
not too hard to realize the raggedyman's murderous intentthe fuck is going on?!
the FUCK couldn't it wait until after he found some Tylenol?!(something wicked)
Consider....this.when the mouth of the alleyway is breeched, there seems to be nothing out of the ordinary to be seen... alleyways always look about the same, just the placement of boxes is different, the amount of debris, the number and angles of the dumpsters. This one is no different. One dumpster, about halfway down, angled to partially obscure the back half of the alley. Boxes strewn across the area, and garbage that doesn’t make it into the dumpster a stinking smelling mess of flys and....well. you don’t want to know what the grayish slime used to be. trust me on this one. and avoid it.
Darkness is the order of the day – and for a moment, half a second, perhaps the thought crosses that you were imagining it all, it’s too calm, it’s too normal it’s too.... insane - for sounds like that cannot be all in your mind.
The deeper parts of the alleyway are covered in shadow, blanketed in sound, and suddenly illuminated with the sparks of chainsaw scraping brick again....
Dark figure stands, easily 6’5” burly as a lumber jack with his chainsaw in hand, holding it up above his head for a moment while that cackling laughter breaks through the night, before the ‘saw falls, scraping brick in languid, lazy trail after a group of shadows that resemble a scrambling child running toward the mouth of the alleyway, and the all too curious kin... growling laughter... “Come to papa! time to take your medicine...”
a swipe toward the child and it hits them all.
scent. thick. coppery. undeniable. blood.(....and the child screams..... arching forward, eyes wide and terrified... hands reaching for the kin... but they are too far away.... 20 feet... 19.... 18....)
And the figure..... sings..... deep gravely wicked laughing song... “Camptown ladys sing this song... dodah....dodah.... then they fuck all night long, aawwwwwww dodah daaaaaaaaaaay...”
(sophia)
*picks up the space, running full tilts to grab the child. Her heart is pounding in her chest, pressing herself to her maximum speed she can manage to get to the innocent child*(imogen)
Imogen does not quite run to the mouth of the alleyway, stopping half a second before reaching it, and angling herself for a view. She doesn't need much.As always, this seems almost surreal to her. Her mind works in scientific fashion, and the wyrm, the Garou and this war is anything but scientific.
She always feels somewhat disconnected in her rare brushes with the wyrm.
The gun must sound terribly loud to Sophia. The bullet must seem terribly close. Because she is running into an enclosed space after a victim, and Imogen just pulled the trigger directed into the same enclosed space, focused on the perpetrator.
7 bullets.
six.(james)
it's really nothing too far out of the ordinary for a Chicago alley
oodles of trash, treacherous gray slime, blanketing darkness, unearthly silence, showering sparks....
even the madman weilding a chainsaw really isn't THAT novel in this day and age
(you've been to Wonderland, Jamey-boy, can anything earthly really top it?)
however, the coppery scent of blood assaulting animal senses pushes it just a bit. too. far.red splatters brilliant swath across dirty alley floor
red floods to fill the Ahroun's narrowing tunnelvisionCamptown ladies sing this song... doodah... doodah
beneath the mop of jungle-vine dreads, the raggedyman changes
closing to little more than a handful of feet behind Leatherface, he seems to grow
cant of head hiding Glabro features pushing the humanity out of his face
shadows patterning features deepening as ropey hair swings instinctual cover of the shiftThen they fuh-uck all night long... oooh doodah daaaaaaay
Thunder. Claps.
shockwave rolling through the filthy alley
narrow walls precisely directing it's riptide flow
(something wicked this way comes, allright)
Imogen's firearm blast surely couldn't be... that... loud
however the timing is immaculate
and while his Gift may send the injured child and rescuing women sprawling
it sure does serve to purchase majority shares on Leatherface's attention"Ev'r think a pickin' a some'ne y'r own si'e?"
primitive orthodontics mangling already slurred words into something only recognizable as a murderous growl
Bring it.((yes, using gift Clap of Thunder))
Sophia's WP: 6D10 Dice Roll: 1; 3; 5; 6; 6; 10
Child's WP: 5D10 Dice Roll: 8; 2; 4; 3; 1
Leatherface's WP: 5D10 Dice Roll: 3; 3; 10; 8; 9
Imogen's WP: 8D10 Dice Roll: 6; 7; 9; 1; 7; 8; 4; 2
Imogen's shot: 7D10 Dice Roll: 5; 10; 2; 4; 5; 7; 6
Imogen's damage: 7D10 Dice Roll: 7; 8; 9; 7; 6; 10; 7(something wicked)
”gonna fuck all night!”Sophia is running for the child, putting on a burst of speed that sees her go all out, holding nothing back in efforts to reach the child in time... sensing freedom is close, the terrified little one screams again, falling forward and scrambling on all fours toward as blood, hot, thick, slippery wet pours down her back...
“Aw it’s just a scratch, where ya running to honey?!? sing with me! gonna fuck all day! spent my money on the five dollar whore”
Shot fires into the alleyway aimed for the chainsaw toting madman, who is in mid swing toward the child once more scooping it low... double shot of sound pounds through the alleyway.
SLAM
the child goes sprawling to the ground, stunned, unable to move (...so much blood...)
Sophia falls stunned.
and yes indeed, Chainsaw’s attention has been successfully diverted as he staggers back from bullet that hits him square in the chest “Fucking hell!” though it seems it was more the momentum, and the sudden lack of breath as one lung collapses that just... pisses. him. off.
Squaring up to James then, he snarls and finishes his song... “so now lets fuck your way...” and he rushes James, chainsaw swinging in mighty arch, intending on cutting the interrupting fucker in half.......
(imogen)
She did not quite get sent sprawling, but her ears were ringing from the dual assault of James's gift and her own gun going off.Gaze diverts toward James squaring off with the beast with a chainsaw, and one might very well say she's relieved that the raggedy Gnawer was there, as she starts to edge her way cautiously into the alleyway, heading for kinfolk and child, the smell of blood filling her nostrils.
(sophia)
*her ears are ringing and her head feels like someone has slammed her head against a wall. Crawling in her knees, she reaches the child and does what she can to stop the flow of blood by pressing her jacket to the child's wound*(james)
when Leatherface turns as obligated by James' purchase
he's faced with the portrait of the Ahroun calming standing there
three foot pipe propped on top of his right shoulder
one feature his dreads don't cover shining in all its forever lopsided glorythe Gnawer is smiling
it's the expression so recently introduced to his gesturally communicative repetoire
fanatic's intent twisting what was once so easy a positive grin
into something downright frightening compared to his more commonly known mellow and casual demeanor
(it's the beast's primal lust for blood spilled in war)
to some, making him almost unrecognizable
(and bloodscent's thickening in the confined alley)until of course he leverages the pipe off his shoulder, tip nodding towards his temple in mocking salute that accepts Leatherface's dance proposal
chainsaw's swung in a mighty, charging arch fueled with lung-collapsed wrath
the horrible, crescendoing sound of chugging motor screaming most unfairly unto his hangover's ear
and the quite possibly percieved as utterly insane raggedyman takes a step into it and down
taking himself under the swinging path of crazily rotating chain
leveraging his weight into sending the steel pipe - and hopefully it's pointy tip - into the monster's belly
(Swing home, Jamey-boy!)
(spend 1 rage: dodge plus attack)
Leatherface attack: 5D10 Dice Roll: 7; 1; 4; 7; 10 - HE MISSED! BOOYEAH!
James attack: 7D10 Dice Roll: 8; 2; 6; 10; 9; 9; 6
Reroll 10s: 1D10 Dice Roll: 8
James Damage: 12D10 Dice Roll: 9; 9; 7; 9; 7; 9; 6; 9; 10; 3; 3; 4
Extra die cause Mei forgot his modifier: 1D10 Dice Roll: 2, 1D10 Dice Roll: 3
9 sux - one FLAT fomor(something wicked)
squared off, the collision is deafening, raggedly man smiles, and steps into the swing and the shock of such defiance, such impudence causes swing to go wide and completely miss the raggedy man.The raggedy man is far more seasoned, and with mighty swing (...batter up!) the lead pipe finds home and swings into Chainsaw’s soft belly, already slippery with blood from single mighty shot from unseen gun... shock paints itself across his face – it’s not supposed to happen this way! and with last fetid breath, he slumps forward, final whisper an ominous... “...daddy.....”
Who’s your daddy, bitch?
Behind James, the shimmer of something, the displacement of air that signifies... he is not alone. You thought it was child and daddy, but it seems it is child, big brother... and here. comes daddy. Massive Crinos of mottled grayish black fur appears behind him, and with a wicked snarl from slobbering maw.. in twisted version of Gaian’s High Tongue “He. was. MINE...” (Should have stayed in bed, Jamey boy....) no matter the fact that James’ back is to him (spirals do not play fair) Daddy swings, twice, in rapid succession....
~~~~~
And let’s not forget the child. Sophia crawls toward the child, coat pressed against his back, and he scrambles up, crying hysterically, into sophia’s arms, little arms wrapping tight around her neck, tight due to the all out terror suffered, blood now sliding down the both of them....
little face is nestled against Sophia’s neck, breath falling in harsh cries, jaw open, little teeth....
...little.....teeth.....
Jaw dislocates, suddenly, spreading maw impossibly wide, too wide for a child and CHOMP lock on to the side of Sophia’s neck, holding wicked tight....
(kemp)
Zipping along on the bike with an inward smirk to himself. Considering naming the motorbike, Precious. Helmet in place, face shield down. Hunkered over the bars.(imogen)
"Son of a --" that there is a war formed Garou in the small environment sears across painful nerve endings, even as she dives for Sophia and the child, covering distance as best she can.Hell was paved with good intentions, and calloused or otherwise, she cannot in good conscience blow the little kid's head off.
It has nothing to do with the child and everything to do with the fact that its jaws were locked on another kinfolk's neck.
So a blow to the kid's deformed head with the butt of the gun will be a good substitute. Yeah. We'll go with that.
(james)
STEEL pipe hits home. hard
knocking air out of the remaining lung
nine inch spike sinking uncomfortably deep within soft belly
then. RIPS. FREEred slashes angry arch over brick wall
but the raggedy Glabro doesn't spare the time for smugly satisfied grunt or victory's dance of joy
(daddy's comin')
black ghost filtering in from the dregs of pounding hangover
far more reasonable explanation it would seek revenge for the party's killed keg
yet.... its closing in far. too. fast to classify as a shadowperson fucking with him
not to mention those talons look remarkably real... and pointy... andHe.. was... MINE
... ow. check the volume, dude. and that breath.....Spirals don't play fair..... neither does James
especially when influenced by the swollen moon high above - and one helluva headache
wrath exploding for the simple offense this happened before he found Tylenol
much less any tactics learned having fought this War for far too long, alreadyEagle's answer to his call screaming lightning across spiritual skies
(.... lend this faithful son your mighty strength....)
just before he turns. army-issue field boots wedging purchase on the stained asphalt. and swings. twice. in rapid succession.[Then you should take better care of your toys, bitch.]
(drop 1 rage for additional attack, add eagle totem strength)
Child attack Sophia: 4D10 Dice Roll: 7; 7; 9; 5
Sophia dex+brawl: 5D10 Dice Roll: 4; 1; 5; 8; 5
Damage to Sophia: 7D10 Dice Roll: 7; 7; 6; 5; 5; 8; 8
Imogen bonging kid on head: 6D10 Dice Roll: 4; 5; 5; 9; 1; 8
Imogen damage: 9D10 Dice Roll: 2; 5; 6; 9; 6; 9; 9; 8; 9
James attack: 7D10 Dice Roll: 10; 2; 2; 5; 5; 10; 5
Reroll 10s: 2D10 Dice Roll: 7; 6
James damage: 14D10 Dice Roll: 4; 2; 2; 6; 1; 5; 7; 1; 2; 7; 2; 8; 4; 4
BSD soak: 4D10 Dice Roll: 2; 8; 1; 1
BSD soak: 3D10 Dice Roll: 7; 3; 5
BSD attack: 8D10 Dice Roll: 7; 2; 1; 5; 9; 8; 8; 2
BSD damage: 11D10 Dice Roll: 7; 4; 4; 3; 9; 4; 6; 3; 9; 4; 10
James soak: 6D10 Dice Roll: 5; 1; 8; 7; 2; 3
James attack: 7D10 Dice Roll: 2; 4; 4; 2; 9; 4; 8
James damage: 12D10 Dice Roll: 9; 6; 8; 1; 1; 2; 7; 9; 1; 5; 7; 6
BSD soak: 7D10 Dice Roll: 8; 4; 8; 10; 8; 3; 9
BSD attack: 8D10 Dice Roll: 10; 7; 7; 5; 6; 2; 4; 7
BSD damage: 13D10 Dice Roll: 9; 3; 1; 10; 10; 10; 2; 3; 1; 9; 2; 3; 10
James soak: 6D10 Dice Roll: 10; 6; 6; 5; 3; 3(kemp)
Swerving with the sudden familiar feel. Just about crashing into a parked car before gaining control of the bike again. "Oh fuck me!" At the same time his mind was clicking along with the rapid speed of his heart. ~ Who the fuck?!~ Trying to locate where that just came from and get there quickly.(decker)
"This way," out of seemingly nowhere (the eagles: they just come outta the woodworks) Decker jumps on board the bike behind Kemp, reaching right around the skinny kid to haul the handlebars around the way he wanted to go. Already in Glabro, his additional weight almost makes the tailpipe scrape the asphalt when they go slamming over the curb and through an alley.Shortcut.
(kemp)
Sudden arrival of his packmate behind him was enough, added with the sudden jerk of the handle bars and jump of the curve to have him yelping. "Oh! Fuck me!" Again. Man, he was never going to hear the end of this cause he was about to split out of another set of clothing in a matter of seconds.(something wicked)
The bite hurts. Really. really. badly. Blood flows like a river through too-large maw, and the fighting of the kin is ineffectual at best – doing nothing at all to dislodge the kid hanging from her neck. Imogen swings – and nothing, nothing! Talk about hard headed! the kid doesn’t even flinch, and is still, locked on tight, muscles and tendons ripping under the assault.~~~
James spins, and it’s clash of the titans once more. This time, one hit will not do it. This time, Daddy’s here.
And someone done pissed in his cherrios. Both swing twice, and both strike true. A grunt as the sharpened pipe finds it’s mark, fueling his swings that much more, wickedly claws slice at James’ soft belly, slicing him open, not once, but twice.
Daddy? Laughs. It’s not a comforting sound, it’s nothing but straight madness that SCREAMS through the system even as he rages, and swings, twice again.....
Bring it.
~~~
Kemp and Decker – ShortCut. Bike rushes through the night – here comes the calvary...
(....are they in time....)(decker)
A low brow, jutting jaw and suddenly longish hair and sideburns (...that looked just a little like the tufted ruff framing a wolf's face) rippling in the wind, he looks like a goddamn prehistoric Viking turned Hell's Angel. Can we fit any more contradictions in there? Letting the smaller, defter packmate do the driving, Decker focuses on hanging onto the seat under him while they go rattling and bumping around dumpsters, sharp turns, alley cats streaking by hissing their displeasure. Helmet -- who needs a helmet.Preflight checklist shouted into the wind next to Kemp's ear: "Callin' on Eagle?" (check/no) "R'sist pain?" (check/no) "Razor Claws?" (check/no) "'d go blurry too if I was you."
(kemp)
Oh that should be interesting. Blurry was something he could do. Leaning with the turns to weave around obsticals and pretty soon it looked like the Decker beast was holding onto air while the bike drove itself.(james)
Daddy's here. Daddy's pissed. Daddy's.... laughing.
James seriously. SERIOUSLY. should have stayed in bed
at least it would have saved him the alley showdown with some yapping poodle on crack and his leatherface boytoyguts doing their best attempt to tapdance past his belt to the rhythm of that infuriating laugh don't help the matter
the Ahroun falls back a recuperative step and those narrowed eyes don't begin to tell the half of it
now it's far more personal than a ruined bowl of cheerios
Staredown.
gives him a moment to get gears connected and reverse his direction
animal-man features distorting into the creatures purely residing in nightmares
[You think -you're- having a bad day, Daddy?]
Crinos handpaw clenches fist around the three foot pipeclash of the titans, baybee.
leveraging warform weight into volleying swing
followed by vicious backhand matching the Spiral's double blow
It's comin. You ready?
following through with a third just for good measure(staredown, shift crinos, drop 2 rage for extra swings)
(imogen)
Alright. Hard head. That was discouraging. She had considered the child to ... well. Be a child, regardless of dislocating jaw, dangerous teeth and still moving despite the blood that pours down her back.Mistake that might well cost Sophia her life, if either kin doesn't get the upperhand soon.
Change tactics. Blows to the head not working. Bullet through the neck, the angle awkward and the shot difficult with the struggling.
She can't think of much else.
(decker)
His own checklist playing out in his head:feel no pain (check)
take no harm (check)
fear no evil (check)All geared up. The bike explodes out of one alley with a shriek of gears and engines. Both packmates, visible and blurred, lean left in unison. The bike veers, and the battle is in sight: a blur of monsters right now, really, the kin barely of note for the snapping-snarling of the two dueling Garou. Is that a laugh or a growl that sneers past the Modi's inhuman lips?
[ Lo, do I see my father; lo, do I see -- a hell lotta bitches that need some asswhuppin'. ]
Decker's got an idea, "Gonna throw ya at tha Spiral while yer blurred, alright. He ain't gonna 'spect it, seein' jus' me." It's not really a question. Decker's already grabbing hold of Kemp by the scruff of the neck in one hand, the back of the belt in the other.
Let's hear it for pack tactics.
(kemp)
"Oh fuck me!" Doing his best to shift before he takes flight. So much for the bike. Oh this was going to hurt like a bitch. Throw kid through air, new tactic and he was the ammo.(decker)
Someday. If they survived tonight. If they survived a hundred other nights like this. If they ever developed a real sense of humor. If they ever had a chance to sit back and reminisce....someday: they were gonna laugh their damn asses off over this.
The bike screams closer and closer, wide tires eating up the asphalt. Decker, Glabro and outmassing Kemp by a good two hundred, two fifty pounds, hauls the kid right off the bike and tugs him into the backswing. To the casual observer it looks like he's pantomiming a heave-ho! moment, with a large chunk of oddly blurry (flailing) air as the package-to-be-thrown.
Thirty yards... twenty...
Ten yards away, the Modi snaps to Crinos (the bike buckling under his weight, the proportions of a toy tricycle to a russian olympic wrestler) and hurls the blurry Rotagar forward with all his strength.
(FLAP THOSE WINGS, EAGLE BOY!)
[okay. heh. we're caught up. waiting for lessa to post before we post again.]
(james wagner)
James had gone back to the ruins of Claddagh's earlier, to see if he could salvage another keg of beer. Crows were known scavengers, after-all. He found nothing unfortunately and so decided to head back. That is, when his ears were alerted to the din created by the bikes, Decker and everyone else, so when he rounded the corner, all he had to say in his irish accent was, "Wha', th'fook?!" Decker in Crinos, Kemp being thrown like he was being used in a game of darts. This city was becoming a madhouse.to explain the absence of rolls:
Bodhar (21:00:50): heh. I'm not gonna keep track of anything at all. I'm kinda just gonna roll damage based on existing stats for things and that's it.(something wicked)
Two fomore. (Fomori?) One Spiral.(...these things run in packs, don’t they? Good or bad, there are always more then you think..)
........shimmer........
The roar of the bike gets louder, closer, almost here?
here.And this is what they see:
James against Daddy.Kid attached by wickedly distorted jaw to Sophia’s neck, injuries building, more blood loss as bones crunch under pressure. (5agg)
Imogen at her side, gun to the child’s head. BANG. The child seems made of steel! The shot rings true, blood spills, but it still. hangs. on. Imogen, however, is unhurt and still able to fight... if she could just get him to let go....
~~~~
They’ve got a plan, they’re big and bad and most importantly - they have arrived.
And so are reinforcements. From the umbra shimmers brother’s dearest. Two. (TWO Spiral Brothers, ah.ah.ah...) Twinned in looks, in abilities, in temperament. In other words, thought thought daddy was pissed? Times two – and these two go all out, balls to the wall, ready to resist pain until they can resist no more.
Daddy stands over James, who – while valiantly doing his best through wicked, wicked hangover (regretting that kegger now, aren’t you Jamey boy?) – staggers and falls, Daddy’s blows, though fewer, much better calculated to land with precision. James is not out for the count yet, but he is preciously close.... Daddy takes the time to laugh again, unaware that he is the target of flying blur heading his way... He rears back to finish James off with over-confident single, mighty, swing...
While one brother, upon seeing something flying through the air (in a beautiful, my beautiful ballooooooon) he turns to help, racing that way and with a mighty leap swiping twice at flying....whatever it is.... (Its a bird, it’s a plain it’s SUPERKemp! the wiry little EAGLEBOY!!) hoping his aim is true, in order to buy daddy time to finish off the Gaian...
The other, brother number two, is all about the newest arrival (Decker) on the now crumpled bike and with a RAR of outrage leaps and swings not once, not twice, but count them, four times in pure battle fueled fire....
Show us your might, Eagle boys.....
(james 7agg - INCAP, daddy 4 bashing 4 agg, sophia 5 agg, imogen unhurt)
(sophia)
*her breathing is hoarse and gasping, little strength left to fight this thing off as blackness is creeping around her vision and she fears she is going to lose consciousness altogether. Breathing is more and difficult as she continues to scratch at the child, breaking her nails as she digs into the eyes.*(kemp)
He'd started out with arms and legs flayling like a windmill but as soon as he was in the air, he was balling up as much as he could. Clothing splitting, helmet starting to give under the strain as he worked to shift while being launched like a missile. And what the fuck was that coming out of the corner of his eye? Better be Santa or the good fairy.(james wagner)
Whelp, if Decker was in Crinos, then why the hell not? James ran full-board to whom he felt needed the most help: the Kin about to get her ass handed to her, Sophia. While he ran, the Fianna shifted forms from Homid to Glabro, to Crinos. His features rippled, turning ito a blend of black furr with a grey underbelly. His tongue flicked out to lick his chops, those wicked Crinos fangs, as he came upon the Kin. Howling in the beautiful way only a Galliard can, he reached out with his hands to box the thing's head that was latched to Sophia's neck. Of course, this was no ordinary boxing of the head. A 9ft tall death machine was doing it, and putting all his force into the blow. He hoped to high shit it crunched the thing's head, but if Imogen's gun didn't work.. Well, we'll see.(decker)
Brother number two, with a RAR of outrage, leaps at Decker ready to split into a veritable Hindu god of multiple attacks, only--Y'ain't worth my time.
--to be faced by a snarl that lays back grey ears against grey head, bares teeth the size of a smilodon's incisors, flashes eyes as pale as ice.
True fear.
(one.)Brother #2 moves fast. But this is one Modi that's faster. Count them, the individual actions in a blur of fur and rippling muscle:
dashing past, axe swung around to chop into the spine of brother #2 (two); ripped out with a grind of bone on steel and aimed to cleave brother #1 right in half before he clove kemp in half (three, four, five).
(william)
*And from above comes every one's favorite.... information officer? Fucking kinfolk. Always getting in trouble.
He flys in from above and behind. Shifting to Crinos as he does. Massive black feathered monster thing as it swoops from behind... Screaching out the call of the "Eagles" From the Return of the King movie he makes Daddy spiral turn around. Just as his wickedly taloned claw feet go for the eyes in a fly by* SCREEEECH!!!!!!(something wicked)
Chaos. Total and complete chaos, and more reinforcements joining the fun...Sophia is dying. There is really no softer way to say it. She’s fighting with all she has and failing, as Imogen tries desperately to help... enter Sandman (exit light.....enter night... take....my hand....) who rushes past Imogen in full crinos to put the squeeze on the little (boy) monster’s head. [Squish your head.]
It does precisely...nothing. (we’re off to never, never land....) Except get the little bastard to let go – in that he succeeds, as the kid turns from Sophie and launches himself at Sandman, grotesquely large jaw now aiming to clench on crinos throat.....
but manages only to deep throat Sandman’s index and middle fingers, promptly biting them clean off. (James, 2 agg)
Imogen takes a step back – being that close to Crinos is not something anyone wants to do, and being in the way will likely get her killed.... when the kid disengages, she grabs Sophie and pulls her away from the fight, grabbing the Fianna kin’s coat and pressing it tightly to the wounds. Imogen Slaughter Field Medicine, 101. Fast and Dirty. Ever the calm one, one hand pressing tight to the wound, she turns, takes careful aim, ready to fire.... (Aiming this round)
~~~~~
It’s a bird!
No, really! it is! Will comes swooping down from on high and shifts to the hated corax version of crinos, aiming for Daddy as his hand rears back to strike, and with the luck of the Irish (see red band tied around ankle..) he miraculously blinds Daddy in one wicked claw – daddy flails, and Kemp, the amazing flying EagleBoy’s first wicked swipe sends Daddy falling to the ground, dead. Now that’s the way to cannonball! Unfortunately, Kemp is not unharmed, as Brother Dearest nails Kemp on the fly by, wicked claws slicing from hip across back. (3agg)The other Twin, deemed not worth Decker’s time as mighty ax swings into action, and he catches the full force in the back, but soaks it completely, feeling no pain at all... he turns, still in the thrall of True Fear, just in time to see his twin completely cut in half with a single strike of Decker’s mighty Ax – and in true spiral style, gives into the fear and turns tail, running for his pathetic life.... Decker, with a furious roar gives chase, ripping shreds from the cowards back with his claws... the remaining twin runs on....
Kemp, when daddy falls, spins and tags the kid in the back of the head, claws finally reaching through the thick skull to do damage, making the boy shake his head, a cry of fury let loose from grotesque lips as he leaps for Sandman again....
((total tally – Jukebox, all but incap, Kemp 3 agg, Sandman 2 agg and missing fingers, Sophie 5 agg, being tended to by Imogen, unharmed, Will unharmed..Daddy is dead. One Twin is dead, the other running for his life at 3 agg, Fomori kid 2agg....))
1. True Fear works for 7 rounds (it won't take that long, i think)
2. Brother 1 hits Kemp for 3agg
3. will miraculously manages to gouge eyes out on a flyby (EXTREMELY difficult)
4. daddy should be dead already, if he's got 4 and 4, so we'll lower that to 2B 4A *LOL* but either way, kemp still takes him down in his first claw strike.
5. James W bonks the kid on the head and succeeds only in hurting his hand. The kid now turns and goes for him.
6. Brother 2 gets hit in the back (decker's run-by) for precisely no damage
7. Brother #1 gets gooshed in ONE axe strike because his 11 soak came up with 4 successes, and 3 1's, reducing him to 1 succ total. HEH. BOOYEAH MOTHERFUCKER, WHO'S YOUR DADDY. *goes kiss kahseeno's ass*
8. other twin, seeing this, is gonna run for his life, considering he's still TF'ed.
9. kid bites James' index and middle fingers off for 2 agg.
10. kemp goes smack the kid upside the head w/ claws, for 2 agg.
11. decker chases after the running BSD
12. decker smacks him for 3agg, but he's still running.(will)
*willim fresh from his fly by squalks out* HIT UM LOW SILENCE!
* Zooming over Deckers head in crinos he rakes the fleeing spiral high, hoping decker is in enough control to listen*(kemp)
Snarling in pain and fury as he lands in a shower of blood and the remains of his clothes and helmet. The one that got him was already dead, that left the little shit running and the littler shit with the big ass jaw. A quick rake of claws over the wall to sharpen those razor claws before they swung scissor fashion for the kid. Left and right.(sophia)
*tumbles backwards and lets the blackness come, she can't fight it anymore. So tired ... so weak ... *
(decker)
If he's heard--
If he listens, there's no indication.Until, of course, the axe abruptly retracted into his arm and he hits the ground on all fours, huge and bristling and grey and hispo, faster, snapping at the escaping Dancer's hamstrings.
(sandman and simone, post! quick! *wants to start rollin'*)
(wagner)
He let out a howl of Rage, surpassing his Gaia-given Anger, gutteral and full of malice. However, he did not let that hinder him as the spirit of the fray of battle came to him, as his dark eyes turned virtually to dark flame. The Sandman struck first, with the undamaged clawed hand (one), to rake downwards diagonally from James' right to left with his right, while jerking his maw forward to quickly bite at the thing's own throat and probably most of it's upperbody (two).( Summary - Two actions: claw and bite, 1 Rage spent for bite. Spirit of the Fray in use.)
1. decker is running
2. bsd 2 is running
3. will is flying
4. kemp is sharpening claws
5. sandman claws for 2agg
6. decker chomps for 3agg, and hamstrings the fucker
7. will divebombs and rakes the back of the BSD's head and kills it
8. kemp claws twice in quick scissor-succession (both hands at once pawing in, if you can picture it) and hits for a cumulative 3 damage, reducing kid to incap.(something wicked)
The smell of blood hangs thick in the air, as Decker hauls ass after the fleeing bsd, the mighty reluctant hero, Will, flapping wildly behind. In tandem, they hit the fleeing spiral, Decker hamstringing him with one mighty CHOMP, and as the fucker staggers forward under the momentum, Will swoops and rakes the back of his head.Goodnight, sleep tight..... the last of the Spirals falls to the ground, dead.
~~~~
Seeing two garou attacking the kid now, imogen turns the full of her attention on Sophia, doing her best to stop the bleeding with what meager abilities she has when armed with gun and soaking wet crimson stained jacket. Sandman claws rake again and again, hurting the kid who recoiles with a wounded cry while Kemp is sharpening his claws. Kemps mighty arms sissor together, criss-crossing the kid, who with a final gurgling cry falls, loosing consciousness and bleeding profusely....
((total tally – Jukebox, all but incap, Kemp 3 agg, Sandman 2 agg and missing fingers, Sophie 5 agg, being tended to by Imogen, unharmed, Will unharmed..
The first fomore, Chainsaw, has been dead long time. Daddy is dead. Both Twins dead. The kid is at incap.)
(william)
*He banks hard and levels out. SNAP! A rain of black feathers and will hits the ground at a jog. Moving towards Imogen* Holy shit! SHe's one of Cliona's gals!(sophia)
*her breathing is gaspy and liquidy a horrendous sound as the flow of blood does not cease.*(awgner)
With a quick glance to Kemp, James delivers the coup de'grace, since my French kicks ass, and flips the kid's body over to slice apart his back with a savage rake of his claws, to sever the spine. It was only after all was said and done did he realize he was missing fingers, and the stumps were bleeding.(kemp)
Breathing heavy and pissed, his first thought when the kid went down was to do a dance on it's head, instead turning his attention to his fallen packmate when James does the deed to the kid.(decker)
Out in the street, the Modi clamps down on dead spiral's leg and, by that, drags him slowly back into the relative seclusion of the alley. The ground is painted in a wide swath of red behind him, the color glisteningly dark under the streetlights.His fur's still all on end. And he's not even going to ask wtf brought about this latest disaster, though Imogen's presence is, as ever, noted.
Fuckin woman wants ta DIE.
(fuckin woman scares tha shit outta me.)Noted, but largely ignored. For now. He pads to his packmate and nudges him with blood-stained muzzle, a clear entreaty to get up if he could.
Garouspeech, a low rumbling growl, "Who is the kin?" The other one: Sophia, gasping like a beached whale.
(will)
*Will looks up to Decker* Sophia MacDougal. Fianna kinfolk, bartender. 555-4345, 1345 West street.(kemp)
His speach just as growly. "Pain in the ass." Sending over the link. ~Fianna~ A snort and he was feeling for a pulse on James.(wagner)
James left Kemp to deal with James (Heh), and made off to see what became of the girl he'd rescued, if crudely. Still in Crinos, in the alley with Decker, Will, and the rest. "Fianna Kin." Garou speak. Amazing how his accent carried over. "Neva' seen 'er before, t'be sure. Seems like th'nearer we get t'D-Day, the more these fookers appear."(james)
one nudge
two nudges
three nudges, a shove, and fingers at his throat finally get the Gnawer to come aroundfirst reaction: bloodscent, trouble, Daddy...! RAR!
second reaction: vision clears - oh, hey guys
third reaction: owsomewhere around the fifth in the series of actions James is able to untangle himself
twisting in the pool of blood (sniiiiiff... yep, mine.... urfgh.) to sit up
brows furrowing in trying to comprehend through splitting skull
not quiet putting his thoughts into form, yet, but his confusion is clear
(Kin? There were kin....?)only after what's left of his shirt is stripped away to press against the worst of the wounds in his belly does vision swim towards the gasping fis...er.... woman down the way, and the others accumulated during the bloodbath
No clue. words clear as a bell in their minds, but sluggish Too involved with Leatherface to notice anyone else around.
(decker)
What a mess. Someone was staying late to clean up, tonight.Tha Fianna kin take care'a their own. Totemphone voice is always that southern drawl. Digging claws into the asphalt, the hispo-wolf shakes out his fur, blood and guts and god knows what else flying off in all directions. A few seconds later, he crouches, homid, his clothes stained and bloody, but largely still in one shape.
He looks right at James. Says nothing. But on the totemphone: Thanks.
He knows what for.
(kemp)
Hip and thigh starting to burn like hell. He'd heal faster in this form, but he had to get home, on foot now too and he couldn't like this. When he shifted back, he was going to be butt naked too. Streaking wasn't going to be too smooth with the slices across hip either. Not too good with the healing stuff, but he was trying to poke James' guts back in to his belly. "Gross."(sandman)
Well, he just sat there, and decided to shift back to Homid. He wouldn't heal fast like that, but once he got back to the E-Sixx he could sit in Crinos or whatever until his fingers came back. Stung like a motherfucker. Ripping a piece of shirt off, he wrapped it aroundhis hand tightly to stop the blood flow, and took the rest of his shirt off to place it beneath Sophia's head. "Dinna worry, lass. 'Elp's on th'way." Cliona! Git yer round arse over 'ere but quick. Downtown area, and 'urry up. We got kin here needin' fixin'.(james)
the Gnawer's nose wrinkles to portent a rather disgusted scowl
carefully tallying the extent of damage currently making his hangover approach unlivable
the Rotagar's attempts to help him reconstruct his GI system not. helping.
(seriously should've stayed in bed, Jamey-boy)
Decker's gift of blood, guts, and all other types of gore shower just icing on the cakeTell me about it. muttered across their minds, the Full Moon isn't even going to attempt producing sound much less organizing his tongue enough to form words Should've fucking stayed in bed.... Kemp's handpaw used to brace a particularly slippery and uncooperative bit of guts in place while his belt's removed and wrapped around t-shirt turned make-shift bandage ...... Fuckin' mess......
the complaint, of course, only half valid
it wouldn't be the first time he put his life on the line to protect someone
(even if he didn't actually realize she was there, intially)
and most certainly, it won't be the last
that much said in silence when the Fostern looks up at his packmate
deep umber earth meeting stormy grey skies for a few, clear moments
chin dropping in a nod[Always.]
(cliona murran)
Few things would make her leave where she is right now – but people needing her help is definitely one of them. A kiss for Logan as she untangles and crawls from the bed, jeans and t-shirt on, and into the bathroom. Snapping umbral, she shifts to lupis and runs... ~ On m’way – how many are hurt and who needs me th’most?~Thankfully she was at Logan’s, which is in the downtown area. Hold on – help is on the way.
(sophia)
*her eyes flutter open ... Christ, this is NOT the best way to make a first impression. She is vaguely aware of the people around her and accent of Sandman as it cuts through her hearing. Swallowing is impossible, breathing is hard going ... her lips are so dry. Damn kids!*(wagner)
Jukebox, Kemp's a little banged up, meself's missin' a few fingers, an th'Kin. Will was 'ere, but I dinna think 'e got 'urt. Looking down at the girl, he stroked her hair and nodded. "'Elp's on th'way, lass. Nae a thin' t'worry 'bout. "
(adding) Th'Kin's 'bout ready t'die.
(sophia)
*curls her fingers around William's hand and weakly squeezes. His is a face she knows ... *(will)
*He looks to James* You callin' for help man? You got that glassy eyeed look.
*He squeeses Sophia's hand* Hey... hold on. I told you to watch out for the bars.
*A soft smile*(wagner)
Looking up. "Aye. Cliona's on 'er way." James really needed to learn that healing trick himself, too, but that was best left to the healers.(sophia)
*her eyes betray none of the panic she feels. She can feel her life slipping away ... and she grips William's hand tighter as if holding on to this life.*(will)
*Will strokes Sophia's hand* Cliona is coming. Remember her? I told you about her? She's coming. Hang in there Soph.(sophia)
*watches him, unable to speak, short gasping breaths*(kemp)
Fuckin mess, shit, this isn't gonna come out of your clothes I bet. Trying not to hurt him while pushing the slippery organs around. Man, I think ya got extra parts or something.(cliona)
aye, runnin as fast as m’wee legs can carry me...And it doesn’t take long, as she truly was not that far away. skidding to a stop in the next alley over, she shifts to homid, and crosses once more to realmside, immediately falling into run again to the alleyway in question.
she knows the drill. Fight, heal, clean, get the fuck outa dodge. Rounding the corner and stopping short to take in the.... mess... she blinks... “Well nah, yeh all done went and had all th’fun without me. Someone call f’a medic?” a wink for Kemp, before she’s moving to her beta’s side, settling down next to the lass, offering a bit of a smile for Will.
“Well nah, who ‘ave w’here?” even as she’s already reaching for the coat, pulling it away from the wound and laying her hand against it. letting th’blessed touch of the mother flow through her and into the kin with the added benefit of breath of Gaia herself....
(will)
*He looks up* I'll call my Kin for clean up as soon as somone heal's m'girl here.
This is Sophia MacDougal... I called you about her eariler today?(cliona)
She nods to will. “Pleased t’meet yeh lass... aye will, I got th’message, was going teh call tomorrow. Guess nah it willna be necessary.” And the shoulder wounds, as massive as they are, heal to perfection under her hands...(kemp)
Allowing himself to shift down so he could handle the guts a little better. Butt nekkid, bare hip sliced open by claws, blood flowing down his knee to mix with James. "I got guts over here and they belong inside James."(cliona)
She winks at Will and James, before turning around to look at Kemp, chuckling. “Aye lad, hold him t’gether, here I come.” she pats Sophia, and stands, slipping a bit in blood as she reaches over, grasps the insides that are still falling, and shoves them in. “Sorry f’being forward, James... dinna hold it against me..” and once again, she lets loose Mother’s Touch into the gnawer.(Jumping in cuz he has to go.)
to Jukebox: 5D10 Dice Roll: 6; 7; 7; 6; 6(sophia)
*sighs with relief, her free hand goes to her throat ... her other hand still in William's*(wagner)
"Go, shortstack. 'Elp Kemp 'an Jukebox." Nudging Cliona on, he smiled down to Sophia. "James Wagner, at yer service, lass."(will)
*William helps her sit up and offers her his hankie. Then the silver plated little wisky flask. She IS fianna after all* Feel better?(kemp)
Moving back to give her room to work with a mumbled. "Thanks." And then he was limping for the remains of his bike. Mooning all of them with his turn and bend to try and lift what was left. "Oh man, oh this so sucks." Well at least part of the bike would cover little Kemp and his hairy cousins on the walk back to the factory. "Awshit."
(sophia)
*swallows and tests her voice by clearing it* What a great impression, James-Rhya ... *she frowns at herself*(james)
grunted after mind-numbing wince: I'll sort out the extras later.....most likely the young Fenrir was right
far as James was concerned about half of it looked like it didn't belong
but right now his priority was breathing past the tight cinch of belt
and leveraging himself to stand by a hand vice-gripped around Kemp's shoulder
gaint pool of coagulating blood mangling traction slowing ascent enough for Cliona to draw near
pull away the shoddy excuse of a bandage and shove. his guts. back. in. to. place.and if he regretted crawling out of the nameless pit that served as last night's bed before?
he is REALLY hating himself for it now.
ho. lee. chit.luckily she isn't privy to the Eagle's totemphone line
for what words it is the Gnawer discovers are still in his vocabulary
are certainly not appropriate for mixed company of any typefew tense cycles of breath pass before James' succeeds in eeking out a tiny "Thank'." past gritted teeth
genuine appreciation shows in the depths of umber eyes - but CHRIST that hurt like a bitch.
color returning to his face as stranglings tides of pain progressively ebb away
soon enough he's found his legs and thus completes the journey to stand
path to join youngest packmate by the bike's wreckage a far cry from direct or constant
soaked to the point of dripping shirt held out in apologetic offering
not the most fashionable of attire, but it covers more than what pieces of the bike would
Eh.... you were outgrowing the frame, anyway.....
shrugging any possible eulogy for the machine before he steps around and heads the hell home(kemp)
"Thanks." Taking the offered shirt to slide it on. Man, he looked like he was wearing an ugly mini dress. "My Precious, it's totally broke." Worse yet, he couldn't afford a new one, nor legally buy one if he could.[and out!]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 04, 2004.06.04.04. - no cups! [marissa's party][downtown]
(james)
loads of people, wall of sound, enough beer to make a frat proud and thick smokey cloud of (sniffsniff... aaahhhh)
weeeeeeeeeeedwithout a doubt, it seems the raggedyman has found the right place
folded up flyer that passed through several hands before finding his seems to buy passage in the lobby
though it might have been the swollen moon high above that bought privacy from escort
doorman more than willing to maintain his post and let the tall, dreadlocked man make his own way to the elevator - thank. you. very much. - doing little to hide the scowl at James' appearence not exactly corresponding with the height of trend or club-fashion or even the hopeful expectations of this very refurbished buidingif he had noticed any of the looks that assured his ascent in the elevator before turning back to the street...
it doesn't particularly show - not when any observant and even vaguely sober being witnesses his peeeeeeel from the back wall of the elevator and into the welcoming atmosphere of the highly publicized party ahead
slippery as that grin is on the urban primitive's face
it would probably take neon signs to make him notice such trivialities
not to mention an act of Gaia herself to make anything like that stick in his now ridiculously short termed memoryDavid's sorority pink "Kiss Me" boxered greeting is balanced with an easy wave
animal senses perking up and (sniffsniff...sniiiiiff) taking the lanky man on a direct interception course with the most inviting thing he can, at this moment, comprehend
that right hand keg's wealth of cotton-mouth curing beeeer(vast)
Wry amusement, "I've more call to be here than you, wouldn't you say?" He turns her -- behind her now, his hands on her sleek belly. The room and all its people are a wash of colorful anonymity: the drunk, the stoned, the hardcore partiers. Wine must be getting to her head. And him and his chilly blue-gray gaze; his warm hands."I'd like to take you out to dinner," he murmurs. She should, at least, be worldly enough to know that boys like him had one thing on their minds in the end.
[ you have been warned. ]
"I'll only ask once."
(sereleina)
She stumbles across the beach volleyball court/fight club setting, ending up on the dias with Marissa. Overbright blue eyes flicker at the surroundings, and she grins brightly, "Wow..this place is great!" Did her words just slur a bit? The knowledge gives her pause for a moment, but then she shrugs it off, grabbing a nearby seat.(william avian)
*He watches Lacey with a bit of a wry grin. You know the one. The one you give people when you're sortof humoring them so they don't get mad or anything.
He shakes his head and steadies her. Letting her lean agins him. The alturnitive was letting her drop to the floor.* I don't leave my friends. Sorry Lacey. You can hang here with me if you like. But I'm kinda stupid that way. Don't leave my people.
*He smoothes some hair from her face and nods.*(marissa)
Dougie and the boys are still trying to figure out how to take the keg upstairs. Not a single one of them can lift it, and they have not, apparently, gotten together to realize that - perhaps - two of them can try lifting it, or three or four. A few of the guys are still sober enough to shy away from Jukebox, as he closes on the keg, but Dougie is so far gone that not even an act of god could pierce the veil of jolly good feeling and general camaradarie with the world he has built up.He shakes his "face" at James, makes the mouth talk, and holds up then spigot, ready to spray beer straight into the dredlocked whiteboy's mouth. "s'fer the environemtalization of it. No CUPS!" When Dougie says no CUPS, the other blotto'd boys take up the words like a chant, make it into something dirty.
"NO CUPS!" The words are starting to spread across the room.
--
"Hell yeah - " Marissa and her waspish grin, beams right back at Sera as the other girl declares her approval. "I looked around, made sure I had - " Of course she did. Probably, the party facilities were her single most important criteria for choosing a school, maybe that's why she never went to Caltech. Sera looks for a seat, but Marissa urges her to the edge of the platform as she herself steps up. "All the sophmore girls who want sophmore homecoming attendant - three rounds, I rule. Line up, whoever wins the heats will fight Sera, winner's it. C'mon!"
Marissa doesn't glance at Sera for approval or disapproval, she doesn't even ask. She just smiles that wide, sure smile and tears into another breath like she owned then atmosphere.
(evie)
She doesn't like being given ultimatums like that. Choose now or forever hold your peace type deals. But..oh, she's sorely tempted by this silver tongued charmer. Of course she knows what he wants. Isn't that what they all, inevitably, want from her? Pretty face. Nice body. Let's fuck and then not be friends.She feels the slide of his palms over her stomach and the muscles contract beneath those exploring hands. She allows herself just a moment of pleasure at the sensation before the brown eyes flicker open and she lets her head loll back against his shoulder. Her essence rolling over them both. Soft Vanilla and something delicately spicey. Her scent. It's a sweet aroma. Her words are thick. But there's a sobering quality to them. Does she sound almost..hurt at his question?
"And if I say no you'll just vanish right? You're all the same. And here I thought maybe you were different."
She untangles herself, turns slowly, her eyes glitter.
"Now go on and shrug your shoulders and tell me that's just you. Bad to the bone baby."
My, my. Listen to the spitting kitten.
(marissa)
"She doesn't like you." Lacey murmurs, leaning back against Will, feeling her hair smear all over his chest like runny driblets of silk. "I know, this guy I liked, he liked me until Lily came up and started with her stupid games. Liked having me around, you know - as a side fuck, sort of an extra, but didn't really give a fuck about me. You wanna know a secret?"Lacey's full of secrets, and now that she's sobering up a bit, it might actually be more meaningful than the last.
(william)
*Will blinks at Laceys' words. His fears being voiced there. Word for word. One hand slips around to her stomach and he raises his brows. Her words driving cold ice spikes into his heart* What's that Lacey? * His voice softer as he watches*(vast)
And he does, exactly, that.Shrugs -- and the gaze he gives her is level, steady, patently uncaring. "That's just me," he says, parroting her perfectly - even boredly. "This is who I am."
Bad to the bone... or something like it.
Letting her go without fuss when she draws away, he nods in Will's direction. The song was mixing into the next one anyway. "Better go back to your boyfriend," he says, and zips up his motorcycle jacket, ready to split. "It's been real, Ev'."
(marissa)
"It was David," she sighs against him, her blonde brows rising as she tips back another mouthful of Gatorade, probably still thinking that it's alcohol. With the X in her system, she's all about the fucking contact, and keeps touching him. "You know, Miri's guy? Back the first month of the year. He dropped me and Lily when Miri wanted him, and it wasn't nothing, he still calls me, though, Miri doesn't know that. He hates her sometimes, but she's got him all twisted up. Not like Lily, though."*will)
*He watches the floor softly as the girl speaks. Holding her up softly so she doesn't fall* You deserve better than that Lacey...
*Or is it WIll? Hard to say.
He reaches around and takes the gatoraid and takes a sip before handing it back to her*(victor yelsukov)
Considering Downtown was Raptor territory, what other reason did Victor need to be there? Regardless, the Silver Fang walked, strutted, or sauntered.. Whichever you prefer.. down the street, hands in the pockets of his top coat, which was wisely drawn around him. It made a protrusion beneath the coat that much more noticeable, but he didn't care. Some might mistake it for a shadow, since the sword's hilt wasn't that noticeable. Still, Victor walked on, heedless. Most mortals strayed away from him, his Rage driving them away. He was used to it, the Russo-Dutchman was.Victor was looking for a nice place to grab a bite to eat, or a little amusement, as he pulled a few stray strands of hair from his face.
(james)
funny thing when a guy forced to slur through native New Yorker accent because of a battle scar has to deliberately slow down someone else's speech to make sense of it
Dougie's environmentalist pitch paused and replayed several times before James just gives up on it
the "NO CUPS!" chant sufficing for a better translation then any linguist could provide
and true to born and bred showman's form, Jukebox isn't about to let the crowd downbalance shifts and knees bend until camoflaged pattern of BDUs hit the ground
muscular arms held out to the sides in wiiiiiide (woah! watch your balance there, Jamey-boy!) invitation
lights flashing on the inks patterning the inner right forarm revealed by short t-shirt sleeves
dreads flipflop down his back towards the call of gravity - but Jukebox will have none of this interruption!!
jaw dropping enough to force that smile's appearance up into (bloodshot?) eyeswhat? an Ahroun turn down a challenge with the moon shining so swollen above?
Bring it.
(evie)
Does he think she's going to crumble? Fall into a blubbering mess and beg him to reconsider? She doesn't. But there's a certain look she's giving him that cuts a lot deeper than anything she could have said. It says...she doesn't believe a word of it but is going to accept it because...what more does she think she's going to get from him anyway?"Of course it is."
With that, she turns, but she doesn't head for Will, or for anyone else for that manner. Her head is buzzing and the graceful figure..stumbles. Her heel catching on something. Drops to her haunches in the middle of the dancefloor. What was in that drink?
(marissa)
Upstairs, the fights start. Marissa presides over them with a fair amount of whimsy. She has then same sense of fairness as Lewis Carroll's Queen of Hearts, bestowing honor on one and defeat on another, without any apparent relation to the actual achievements of the gladiators. Sera sways and shudders, on the verge of passing out. When the last of the sophmore girls has fought, Marissa pushes Sera into the jello pits, watching the girl stagger, fall, and pass out.Sera is declared the winner. Sera will be sophmore representative on the homecoming court next year.
---
Lacey mumbles and nods to Will, then gives him a bright smile. She's a smart girl, smarter than all this would indicate, smarter than she is under the influence, and a helluva lot smarter than Lily (who incidentally took a whole bowl of cocktail weenies to the rooftop for the fights). "Yeah" Lacy smiles, a bit sadly, picking herself up from Will's chest. "You do, too."
She turns back to the bar. She knows how this story was written, and how it ends.
(vast)
Jaded -- Vast sighs, more irritated than worried. Jesus. Anorexic dancer/model/whatever girls and their fragile metabolisms. After Evelyn's somewhat less than graceful swan song, quite a little circle of gawkers is forming --(Hey, is she ok?
Is she freakin out?
Did she just pass out? Just like that?
Awwwwesome.)-- and Vast reaches out and grabs the nearest convenient fella by the scruff of the neck. Some semigeeky mooching little freshman who wanted to get in the good with the queens and kings of the party scene: Vast gives him a hard shove toward Evelyn.
"Help her up, for pity's sake."
Vast, himself, turns and swims countercurrent against the growing crowd of gawkers. Still had an unconscious 17 year old 'cousin' to fetch from the spare room.
(marissa)
"NO CUPS."Some people take this to mean NO BRAS, of course, because that is what was on their mind. Dougie, like most young mean of his age and avocation, would support such an interpretation, and would be pleased to know how he meme is mutating throughout the room. At least two bras ARE stolen from people in the corners, though one of those is from a draq queen who never got implants, and relied instead of rolls of toilet paper, so that was not the most satisfying of thefts.
Dougie, though, boogies away, the "face" painted on his pale paunch with Marissa's expensive MAC make-up, and snicks on the spigot. "NO CUPS!"
Here comes beer, from six five and a half-feet up, with a dancing, fucked up boy-man as the administering the sacrament. Moving the keg has been forgotten as the others gather round in a circle, chanting. Because - hey, why the fuck not? There's beer, and then there is free-ass beer.
"NO CUPS!"
(will)
*Lacey turns away and William sighs. Ok. She'd stumbeled. Vast was making an exit. That's probably his cue.
Starting towards Evie he's held up a bit by the crowd. He simply doesn't have the bulk to push his way though the knot of people. But he has other ways.
Reaching out one foot taps the back of some guys knee. The guy stumbles and will puts his foot on the guys theigh and then his shoulder. Up he goes. A few light leaps. The lace up boots barly touching the shoulders of the guys and he Hops into the circle. The long black coat flaring out all John Woo style. Catching the guy Vast propells towards Evie William redirects the entergy and trips sending him falling and slidging across the dance floor and he kneels beside her. Offering her a silver clad hand*(evie)
A hand reaches down to touch her arm and she swings her head up and around, lips twisted into a scowl, dark eyes blazing."Don't touch me. I don't need your help."
That latter comment is directed at the figure skulking away into the mass of people. Evie gets back onto her feet, combing her fingers back through the blond hair. Eyes digging holes into Vast's back. Tears starting to catch in her lashes. Jesus. What a mess. She stands there (Will having gotten through just after she got to her feet) and doesn't even look at Will. How can she?
"It's okay Will. I should just go. I'm sorry."
That said, she begins to push her way toward the door. Ignoring the startled exclamations and the calls of "he's not worth it" and "is she freaking out for real?"
(james wagner)
A little while after James had gorged himself on food, he felt quite satisfied with himself. Hummingbird was a very taxing spirit. He had gone back to his own nightclub, which was fun in its own right, but on the way he found a flyer for some underground party. Always up for some rowdiness, he decided to bring a keg full of Irish beer. Guinness, if you must know. Salvaged from Claddagh's ruins. Now, you can't actually walk down the streets with a keg in tow, so he loaded it up into his F-250 and followed the directions to the party. Once there, he got out, unloaded his keg, and proceeded into the place.True, he wasn't your typical teenager.. Hell, he wasn't a teenager at all, he was 31, but still.. You think a bunch of kids are gonna refuse free beer?
(will)
*William very seldom roused to violance and even more seldomly giving into it back hands the guy that screamed the first out. A lightning quick motion and the guy is back handed across the mouth. The silver rings taking their toil. A scowl around at the circle. They should be ashamed. He turns and follows Evie as she heads for the door. Swimming in her wake, Catching up*(james)
as Dougie boogies himself around to prepare for administering the sacrament
the raggedyman has a rather breif moment of clarity beyond the smokily induced bravado
if the boy-man was struggling with formulating base phrases of the English language
he is most likely totally and completely unable to coordinate himself enough to AIMwhich means the Gnawer is going to be wearing far more beer than he could possibly catch.... even sober....
fortunately for the growing and chanting crowd not focusing on the dramatics across the room
Dougie's enthusiasm is quite capable of registering enough cohesion to generally direct action
and, thus, spray - even if he would be more successful in dousing a fire with booze than quenching anyone's thirst
Gaia bless Warrior-instinct reflexes that give Jukebox a semi-reasonable fighting chance
disappoint the public he does, most wetly, notthere is beer
and there is free-ass beer
and THEN, there is free-ass beer spraying through the air with the glee of a rabid fire-hoseonly once he's managed at least a -few- respectable swallows does James try to surface from the growing pool of amber suds spreading on the floor, blindly waving in the next boisterous gamesman as he, himself, attemps to re-familiarize himself with breathing not interspersed with carbonated gold
at least his cotton-mouth is cured
(marissa)
Hell, no, the kids aren't refusing another keg. Another keg will get them through the evening. And James is hardly the only thirty year old there, either - the scene's all over the place, every walk of society, from royalty on down. The building isn't what one would expect of a kid, though: way too posh, someone's spending his or her daddy's money like yesterday never happened and there's no tomorrow.As Sandman walks in, the elevators disgorge another belching knot of partygoers. Someone mumbling in passing about that bitch, the fight on the roof, others are discussing where to go from here. The bored doorman - in a crimson uniform decorated with gold braid, no less - stands there staring blandly at James as he walks in, offering a four fingered wave and a set of bored directions. Third floor, yadda yadda, and so on.
David is back on greeter duty, a lean, hot fratboy dressed in some sorority girl's t-shirt and a pair of KISS ME boxers, he slouches against the far wall of the elevator and gives James a hand with the keg. "Cheers. What's it?" With a nod to the keg, the young man is fairly dignified, despite the ridiculous outfit, and despite the ridiculous levels of substances in his blood. "You goin' to the roof? Or Miri's apartment?" As he stares at the glowing panel. "Jello wrestling on the roof."
(evie)
She reaches the front entrance and almost bumps straight into James. Looking less than composed. Her blond hair a tousled mess. Big brown eyes wide and unnaturally bright. Cheeks flushed. And behind her...a group of gawking onlookers. Following the dramatics. It's a party for Christsakes, of course they're watching the pretty girl who's upset because the guy in the leather jacket was a jerk and now she's fallen over and her boyfriend has hit someone... Whew!Evie looks past James at Vast, and then just stands there. Feeling foolish. And embarressed. And her ankle is hurting.
(will)
*Will comes to a pause beside her. Rubbing his hand. No. Of cource she wouldn't look at him. Big blue eyes falling from the Ballet dancer. His concern there to see. Dropping to the floor. THen back up and around.*
(wagner)
As soon as he got to the door on whatever level this party was happening on, his keg in tow (posted before incase any missed it) the doorman readily allowed him entry because of the keg, and the flyer he carried. When the kid comes up to give him a hand, the irishman smiles a little bit. Damn, everyone looked bombed. "Guinness, lad, anna fine brew if'n I say so meself. Salvaged it from Claddagh's. Aye, a loss, that, but nae 'nything I kin do, now is it?" The lad's probably too fucked up to be concerned about the Galliard's Rage, which was why he liked the party scene. "Dinna matter where ah go. Where ever th'party's at."Then Evie barrels into the Fianna. He smiled good-naturedly. "Easy, lass. Dinna be in such a hurry." Glancing behind him to the departing bloke. " 'E givin' ye problems, lass? C'mon, dinna let the night ruin 'cause of some dumbarse."
(will)
*James ignores him too. Wow. He's batting 1000 tonight. Sighing he sucks a knuckel*(wagner)
When he saw Will coming up behind her, he gave a hearty greeting to him. "Will, me lad! Dinnae expect t'see ye 'ere. Drink up, me friend."(evie)
She opens her mouth. Looks over James's shoulder one last time and then her shoulders slump. Let it go Evie, it was nothing worth getting herself upset over. Besides, has she seen the man standing slightly behind her? Punching people out in her honor?Murmurs toward the floor. Voice slightly husky.
"Yeah. I guess it was nothing worth getting worked up about. It was nothing."
She turns, finally lifts her eyes to Will and opens her mouth. Closes it. What can she say really? I'm sorry just seems to stupid.
(will)
*Wills brows raise and he looks to James* Ah think we're leavin'. Thanks though. You should try the roof. Jello wresteling.
*His voice a bit low with the thumping bassline and all. He looks to Evie and when she tries to talk. He shrugs and mutly offers his hand. Yeah.. Good guys finish last but they do finish*(vast)
Outside, Vast seems to pay very little heed to Evelyn and her two, er, admirers. Whether or not he catches the last look is up in the air. If he does, he doesn't show it. Cell phone sandwiched between shoulder and ear, he's tugging his gloves on and speaking quietly into the mouthpiece."Yeah. Fourth and Crennell." The address is around the corner and maybe a block or two away. "I'll be waiting at the curb. Right. Make it quick, got baggage."
Snapping the flipphone shut, Vast jams his helmet on his head, flips the visor down with a crisp click, and kickstarts the Hayabusa in growling, yowling life -- unconscious Arabella slumped over the handlebars in front of him. The high-hp whine of the sportbike falls off into the distance. Later on, he might or might not find the helmet superglued to his head by one vengeful fratboy. But that's another story.
(marissa)
Somewhere behind the bar, Frink is rolling his eyes at all the hysterics. He fucking thought the sorority girls were bad, but at least they, you know, wrestle in jello. And drink his Blue Hawaiians. With Marissa gone, away, upstairs and most importantly, at least five minutes away from staring her peculiar sorts of daggers at the DJ, Frink drifts out from behind then kitchen-counter bar and waltzes over the to DJ.ah-ah-ah-ah- stayin' alive!
Pink elvis is thrilled, and begins - again, five hours later - tossing off "John Travolta" moves beneath the glitterball suspended over the dance floor. There is a knot of partygoers forming around him, chanting him on (absurdly: "NO CUPS!"). From the door - scooting around Will and Evie, James and Vast, the first of the loser girls comes streaming in from the rooftop garden, covered in - yeah, jello, little congealed driblets slopping off blonde or brown hair, squelching onto the fine hardwood floors.
Dougie pumps his fist and gives Jukebox and wide-ass grin as the dredlocked man regains his feet. "BOOYAH! NEVER ANY CUPS!" Dougie, who is not bright, announces with glee and gives another gelatin roll of his stomach as farewell to Jukebox. Someone else takes the BG's place on the floor, and Dougie, apparently the keeper of the spigot, starts a new system - a squirt for you, a squirt for me, a squirt for the crowd, because who doesn't like getting coated in FREE BEER?
(james)
there's a fist pumping in the air to his left
spotlighted by a wide-ass grin bright enough to put the Kool-Aide man to shame
the movement's enough to get James' head to swing back around
(oooooh and the world just keeps. on. a'swingin' there for a few more moments)
dreadlocks skittering over his upper back in their own little tribute to Frick's newest anthem choice
(when the hell did the disco-ball arrive?)
there's a few more increments of time allotted to one Ahroun pulling his best impression of a deer caught in headlights
(....aroo?)then translation kicks in
the BG's ever-lopsided grin coming out full force
quite lubricated by the soaking in of far more swallowed beer than he estimated
not to mention the pre-party joints that had him basically arriving with a permagrin to begin with
lean abs not quite suited to return the gelatin roll salute
he catches Dougie's attention long enough to nail a hi-5
rooting on the next victim of the spigot for a few camaraderie inspired momentsthen James is deciding it's high time for some fresh air
loser girl streaming in covered in jello from stage....left
which suggests either a balcony or rooftop thattaway(evie)
She looks to his hand. Obscurely remembers that she's dropped his rose somewhere during the evening. It's probably being stepped on and squashed..She looks horrorfied at the prospect. "The rose!" She cries, and dives back through the crowd, searching for the flower. Was it by the bar?
She's acting slightly strangely. Her movements jerky. She's horribly confused right now. And slightly drunk.
(will)
*He looks at his open hand and sighs. Turning he follows Evie. Reaches out to gently take her hand. Turning her and lifting her up. He hefts once. He's not umber strong. And heads for the elevator* I'll get you another. I think it's best if we depart.
*He carrys her bridal style back towards the lift. A sigh and soft shake of the head*[exit james]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 03, 2004.06.03.04. - ball in play [tristan][riverfront]
(james)
it's not much more than a hole in the wall, really, this seedy little nickle-arcade
shoved in amongst the other half-neglected and decaying once-businesses
but classic Pinball games it does - gloriously! - have
and it's enough to wrap up the Ahroun's moon-inspired attentionthe dreadlocked raggedyman is settled on one labeled "Space Cadet"
near twenty-year old machine parked on the habitat borderline
barely contained by the security gates which roll ricketyly down in another few hours
shaded by the awning, it's meant to draw the video junky crowd further in
but right now it works to keep the Gnawer Elder occupied
yet constantly cooled by the ever-present early morning windfingers snapping buttons to keep the rocketship symbolizing ball in motion
beeps, blips, clangs, and other various sound effects spilling onto the street
concerted with the cacaphanous sounds clamoring further inside
brilliant display of fractious neon lights bounce off skin bared by A-line shirt
wifebeater clinging to the sweeps and planes of leanly muscular torso
every one in a while, the strobes highlight dark lines hidden by thinly white cotton
matching up bodymod patterns to the swirly inks tribalizing inner right armas the metal ball careens uncontrollably out of a blackhole hyperspace launch
there's little James can do that lengthens the paddles enough to stop it
much to the owner's relief, instead of punishing the saucey machine for such affront
he digs into a BDU pocket for another quarter before the game's irreversibly overRelaunch in 10... 9.... 8.... 7.... 6...
(tristan)
Riverfront is full of little holes in the wall, be they arcades or hotels, or a certain hotel just down from a certain arcade all on the same little street that hides the dregs of society from the other, finer, more expensive areas of town. There are a ton of hotel-notells when they are needed, and no one – no.one. has seen or heard anything from the kin for the past 3 days other then some message on James’ phone thats with Rumor so maybe he got the message and maybe he didn’t. Said only, though some heavy breathing laughter, “won’t be home for 3 days. am fine. oh no you don....click”Well. Anyone who knows the pretty boy kin can guess what he’s been up too. And if you don’t know him, that big ass grin on his face pretty much tells the story as he sees raggedy man playing pinball, and heads that way.
As the countdown continues (5... 4... 3...) Lean form presses up against James, long arm slung over his shoulder to allow fingers spread across Eagle Branded chest as he murmurs across his ear. “Well helllllllllllooooooo handsome...” and rests chin on his brother’s shoulder.
(james)
lean form passes the swath of Rage crackling around the Full Moon
chin nestles into the pillow of dreads slipsliding down one shoulder
the others seeming to reach and tangle around the slung arm as James' head turns"Well h'loooooo y'rsel'."
chuckled as another quarter's liberated from the lint armies of his pocket
there's little doubt he saw that Kool-Aide grin on his brother's profile
not to mention the Fostern has the ability to, y'know, smell
all but cracking up as the little hints expand themselves into full-fledged scandalit's only the zipping pinball that saves his decorum and Tristan's sure-to-come teasing
honest"Dunn think I need a ev'n ask wha' you been up to.... 'r.... " snickered "IN to. C'n he ev'n wa'k?"
(tristan)
He just grins knowing full well that James always knows. Even though curls are still damp from the shower taken just before finally vacating the motel room with the broken bed, and the paper thin walls... and he also knows the teasing has only just barely begun.Dark eyes (sparkling [worried very, very, very carefully hidden away underneath] even) watch the ball being put into play, fingertips teasing across branded chest in lazy man’s caress as he tips his head to bury his face in James’ neck and inhale deeeeeeeeeeeply of his scent, and of the rage that drives everyone else away and mostly? drives him absolutely crazy... teasing nip of skin there, before chin returns to rest on shoulder.
Wicked grin spreads wider still. “Barely, but he’s a long ass flight during which he can recouperate.” [Ah – there’s reason for the sadness/worry buried so deeply] hand pulls away from chest and shoulder, then returns, a picture in hand.... Dustin. Full. Dress. Uniform. (oh and we knoooooooooow the boy’s weaknesses....) “Something about a man home on shore leave....” all but puuuuuuuuurrrrrrred across James’ ear.
Scandalous, indeed!
(james)
the ball rockets around the machine to a constant racket of electronic sounds
lights strobing erratic reflection all along the lazily teased chest
even though deep umber watches the zipping ball with raptorous intent
fingertips can feel the shuddering muscle that signals laughter
(ticklish, Jamey-boy.... or is it another response, altogether, to that negligent nip and moist, humid, exhaled breath.....)
sound rolling soft thunder out of his chest lost in the arcarde's wall of video noise
(... oh and that puuuuurrrr....)then there's the unmistakable sound of a game's mechanical pity
Crash Bonus! 1500.
now unoccupied hands reaching to SNATCH the photo from the kinsman's fingers"Whee'heeeeeeeellll nah." punctuated with a low but rather loud whistle, picture delegated to one hand - at arm's length, of course - so the other can wrap up in all-too-loose to be effective sleeper hold, finger's buried in damp curls about all that could really be considered a hold on the prettyboikin "Dunn ev'n know he mil'tary..... dunn he look all sharp n manly.....'n -"
neck twists
grip tightens
ball waiting for launch completely ignored
directing one Tristan ear to the vicinity of one pair of James lips
and their chuckling, deliberately and unforgivably, un. merciful.
(we know the boy's weaknesses, indeed)
growl"- seeeeeeeeexy."
(tristan)
“hey!” fingers flex and reach automatically for the picture now held at arms length away from him, startled laughter as fingers trail along arm, not trying overly hard to get that picture back, knowing it will be returned, teasing blunt nails over sensitive skin of inner elbow, curling along bicep before smoothing across chest again...smooth rumblings felt under the masking sounds of the game, his soft moan as fingers slide into his curls is barely breathed past parted lips as fingers tighten and pull and...
ooooooohmygodhejustgrowledand we know... ohhh he knows exactly what that does to him... and the chosen words don’t help much (or....uh... help a lot) the sensations that scream under still highly sensitive skin... he lets loose a soft whimper, that grin impossibly got just that much bigger as his knees feel a little weak... good thing that arm is still around his brother... contented sigh follows.. (was it good for you?)
“Doesn’t he though....? Of course, with the wrinkles we put into that uniform, he may have to get a brand new set rather then attempt to iron them out again...” Chuckled, not in the least bit sheepishly either....
(james)
the deep growl rolls into the cadence of amused chuckle
(oh yes he did)
twitching diminutive struggle to shy from tickling nails
relaxing as attack turns to smooth
gripped fingers softening from steel to fond ruffle through curls"Carefu' nah, kiddo." the Ahroun is still far too amused, slipping the picture carefully into Tristan's wanderingly smooth touch so that it won't wrinkle by any fault of his, now free hand patting his brother's still stuck across muscular chest "Got me 'noth'r.... ball...... here a take care a.... won' catch'eh if yeh swoon...."
case in point - lever's stretched and piston slams home
sending the pinball screeaaaaming back into orbit
weight shifts to lean a little more over the play arena
countering Tristan's collapsing weight against himself as well as the sturdy fiberglass-metal side
fingers slapping paddles into play as he pretends to ignore the violinist's oozing melt"Dunn need a siddown, do yeh?"
pretends!
for.... not. even. a. second.
not with how viciously sharp that smile is hiding on the other side of dreadlocks creating a heavily swinging curtain
(for at this point, he expects the ruined and wrinkled uniform to be discovered tucked securely into his brother's pillow)(tristan)
Got me another.... ball...And he’s laughing again, and after fond ruffle, tucking his face into those dreads before nipping at soft skin of James’ neck once more.. playful, affectionate (....horny. what is it about getting some, that only makes you want it mooooooooooore...) as he pulls away to tuck the picture into his pocket again... admitting what they both already know.. “growl at me like that again, and I will most definitely be swooning... at the very least.”
a tug on dread, as he pulls away, only enough to give the Ahroun room to continue playing, sliding to the side (oh, but still so very close) to watch the ball as skilled hands send it careening through the little point-giving mazes....
As for the uniform? Oh no. got one better. Fingers finally pull away, to tuck into the chain draped around his neck, hooking into and lifting enough to jangle the dogtags hanging against muscular chest. Yes, Dustin will get into a little bit of trouble for ‘loosing’ them, but both agreed it would be worth it. And an oh. so very. bland. “So, how’re you?” that doesn’t at all match the teasing grin....
(james)
James growls again
whether it's at the nip, tug, or blatant admission....
only the Ahroun will know
he's being very careful to swallow growing - lopsided - smile
head ducking down in gameplay concentration
highly convenient dreads swinging to gravity's call
blocking whatever indication the action couldn't hide"Niiiiiiii'e."
though this time, his eyes don't pull from the game in approval
diligently working the pinball towards the mission selection targets
then winging it up onto the launchpad for acceptance and an oodle of precious points
Tristan isn't the only one contradicting tone and intention
as he's blithely trying to pass off his more than obvious fuckeredness
James does a little of his own verbal magic
the casual ease of his tones don't match the darkly dangerous glimmer in deep umber eyes
or the line of tension through his shoulders that may hint at what else inspires such deep-chested growls
much less the reason the Full Moon is out alone, tonight, taking out his aggressions on nickle-games"M' good." slapzingbaBINGwhoopwhoopwhoooooopSCORE "Jus' playin' s'me ol' fav'rit's.... waitin' a Im'gen gettin' back a me 'bout tho' print'."
(tristan)
dearsweetgaia
he did it again.
(and there isn’t even a hint of ‘whoops’ there either, is there...) and he just rests a hand on the edge of the pinball machine, careful not to obstruct his view, even as the shivering delight tightens in bands through his spine.... “ooooooooooooohyourevil....veryveryevil....”very. obviously. reaching down to. ahem. adjust. rather obvious. um. problem.
He reads his brother well, and knows there are other things going on, having gotten the lowdown from Kemp, and a bit from Rumor too. A nod, slight then as he watches the play before lifting a brow with a grin. “Well, if you finish anytime soon, how bout dinner and drinks... my treat...”
which brings laughter then, though it’s not exactly certain why until further words explain... “Dustin gave me what he’d saved from his pay... said he coulda gotten more but they didn’t accept me as wife nor kemp as our kiddo... though now? they call him Klinger....”
(james)
James was doing damned well during the eeeevil tease
and the obvious reach to adjust away an obvious problem
and, even, the invitation for dinner and drinks
at most betraying his attention with a covertly smug expression
or the lifted brow of indicative interest
mmmhming appropriately as information surfaces
and he even seems to avoid producing another oh. so. deliberate. growl
almost at the point of glancing up to offer a pretty "see I'm behaving" smilebut that curve of flushed lips does not quiet make an appearance
for it is only at the very end that the Fostern bursts out in barked laughter
pinball a sudden lost (CRASH BONUS! 1500!) cause rattling into the proverbial docking bay
lanky raggedyman half collapsing onto the acrylically-plexiglassed-plastic scratched and dented surface
suddenly getting the mental image of Dustin in Tristan's cheerleading outfit, with AK accessories and issued field boots....
.....and it's entirely. too much. to bear."Please tell me you dunn lennim y'r......"
he simply cannot complete the pleading phrase for the laughter falling out of control
a practically collapsing giggle-fit from the Rage-torn Ahroun
not exactly the expected behavior beneath a heavily pregnant moon
but they do say the full does strange things to people.....long torso folding smooth curve, allowing forehead to rest on wrists
dreads spilling spiderly tangle across the Space Cadet machine
utterly unable to bring himself to launch the remaining pinballbecause he won't be able to look at the play area again, for the rest of his life, without seeing Dustin standing mightily astride two of the decorative planets.... in Tristan's cheerleading getup.....
(tristan)
The bland reactions, the grinning innocence, all pale in comparison to the Big Mean Monster of an FullMoon Fostern suddenly.......collapsing.....
in a giggle fit....Laughter is instant, even if at first it doesn’t quite click, until he realizes the –only- thing he could lend him that would insight such riotous laughter would be the now infamous cheerleading outfit.... and he’s fully indulging in his own collapse in laughter, leaning against the side of the machine, shoulders shaking as he is shaking his head, managing only to sputter a “What, want pictures of him in that too?” to match the others already given (and hopefully hidden safely away)....
....oh god, if Decker only knew the depths the kin will sink to in order to get a laugh from his brother....
and after several more hearty gaffaws... and yes – he’s past laughter to all out gaffaw! – he shakes his head... “He refused to shave his legs.... it just didn’t look right.... I’m far prettier.”
And yes – that’s said with a pose, and a toss and primp of corkscrew curls...
(james)
breath heaves
big badass Warrior struggling to get it back into his chest
at least long enough to oxygenate instead of whoosh! right back out into laughter
it takes while
quite a whilehands waved blindly in desperate negation of the newest idea
(safely, safely hidden)
several minutes passing as the game bleeps protest at being ignored
finally, James is able to reach down and pull the launching piston
sending the ball careening around the contained quadrant of space
unmanned vessel finally skittering enough to pass dormant paddles
machine finally playing it's GAME OVER! anthemit seems electronically inspiring enough to get the Ahroun to his feet
arm wrapped over belly in order to hold the growing stitch at bay
trying to glare at his bro..... but like a lot of looks tonight, it's just not workingthe Fostern finally giving up
shaking his head
jungle-vine ropes of hair dancing on his shoulders
those themselves still hitching in latent, breathless, laughter(tristan)
the blind desperate wave to try and get him to stop only inspires more laughter from the admittedly pretty kin, head falling to the top of the machine while he tries to remain upright on already weakened knees from previous activities and James’ wicked, wicked teasing... (oh the dreams he will have inspired tonight)....James manages to pull the piston.......
(...............ahem.)
and the game over anthem plays, signaling an attempt to stand again. He runs his hand over his face, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, while catching his breath between little escaping continued chuckles....
finally... clearing his throat enough to ask... “so... how about that dinner date?”
(james)
it's only a matter of minutes before the Ahroun is near collapsing again before Tristan's inspired outbursts
this time, he saves whatever dignity is left in the rain of GAME OVER! chorus delightfully paying
resting both hands flat on the scratched and graffiti'd surface of the machine
head hangs as a moment is taken to regain something resembling composure
(his shoulders still shudder occasionally in tiny fits of laughter)
breath HEAV.ing into lungs and shaking the hysterics offone. two. three. fou-..... alllriiiight.
dark eyes lifting before skull tilts
deep umber fixing on his kinsman with glare's mock ferocity
and Tristan can tell another growl is starting in his chest
with the way larynx bobs in swallow before the deep sound rolls tumbling forth
lip ever so slightly curling to indicate the behavior's resultant expression.....but James... knows... better than to start that again
curled snarl smoothing out into lopsided grin"Sure.... long' iz yeh promise a nevah ta mention this'gain." the sweeping gesture of hand about hip level is supposed to be angry, it's more dramatic flail "Spe'sh'lly af'er ya try'in kill me laughin' li'e tha'! Leas' yew c'n do...."
scowl.
glare.
snaaaarr......chuckle(tristan)
....oh.....he....wouldn’t.....whew he didn’t. though even the thought has him shifting slightly, minor adjustment of anticipations....swell as that curled snarl smoothes into a grin.
His eyes widen, and it is impossible to think he is –any- thing but innocent with the halo of curls and youthful purity in his expression.. “Why... brother dearest, I would nevah try to kill you with laughter....”
ooooooooh so slow the change to wickedly delighted grin... “I can think of a much, much better way to go....” complete with the wiggling of brows as he flinches away from whatever swipe that comment will breed. laughing at the scowling glare that are just so...damn...cute... when mixed with laughter still....
he holds up a hand, and then crosses his heart. “I solemnly swear not to mention the time spent here watching you” ahem. “pull the piston to keep your balls in play.”
(james)
at first, his response is brows lifting concertly towards frame of dreads
mockingly incredulous to the expression that would make Miss Scarlet shine with pride
impossibly, lifting twinned lines further as the wicked delight seeps through
dashing all Southern Bell-ly associations to the proverbial Wind. Gone.
just like that!and even though the kinsman tries to dart away
James holds his ground instead of instigating expected swipe
smirking as the solemn swear falls witness to the Space Cadet machine
nodding a slow acceptance of the promise
(acknowledging it won't last more than five minutes, tops, by that growing smirk)THEN he moves - Full Moon warrior moving like fucking lightning
stepping around the ancient arcade behemoth
wrapping a fist in the back of Tristan's collar
freehand closing steel trap around elbow
turning the taller man without the slightest bit of effort
bending him right on over the pinball machine like some episode of Voltage COPS
Corcorans kicking out ankles so that boots spread
wedging his weight to pin the curly-haired prettyboi on the metal and fiberglass frame
quick and hard enough to make the entire game scrrrrch about six inches closer to the inner gaming world
and he didn't before... but now the Ahroun lets out a rather threatening (suggestive) grooooooowl
deep sound reverberating right against the back of poor Tristan's neck
(oh, we know his weaknesses, indeeed)"'f I kep' my balls'in play...." purring words drift off on the ebb tide of deliberate. slow. tormenting. grinding roll of hips ".... yeh jus' may be thinkin' 've it bein' y'r way a go...."
and the Elder Gnawer doesn't have to dart away from impeding swipe
oh no - he lets go nice and easy
simply saaauntering away down the sidewalk
knowing, without a doubt, what the exact, resultant effect is going to be
and it sure as hell doesn't include Tristan swirling around to strike him"C'mon, slowpo'e!"
hollered back from a.... considerable..... distance down the way
enough to give him a running start once the kinsman recovers enough to hear the laughter(tristan)
The game goes sliding as startled sound is pushed from the kin’s lips as he’s turned and bent over it with a quickness that would stun even those who expect it – and as he only partially expected something and not anything like what exactly happens....well.
spread and splayed across the table, under the swell of that slow deep sound that vibrates across his neck, down his spine, lean body curling instantly into it with a tortured groan fingers flexing, clenching, flexing again as hips grind against his, slow, suggestive, torturous...
and that sloooooow backing away leaves him all but completely melted against the machine, melded with Space Cadet as few people ever could be, communing with the glowing lights and plexiglass top on an intimate level....
dingdingdingding
we have a WINNAH!before managing to make his arms work again (C'mon, slowpo'e!) to push himself upwards, head shaking as he peers through the fall of curls to look at sauntering – ready to sprint – form a ways away.... a slow peel from the machine, and he’s standing, adjusting, and then the laughter filters back to him and he’s off! running after his brother...
(james)
the more distance closed between
the more Tristan can hear the devilish laughter tumbling free
James dropping into a preperatory crouch upon approach
and eeeven though the prettyboi's intent on tackling
the Ahroun's got far more combat experience
waiting until the last springey second before stepping aside
arm hooking out to snake around Tris' shoulder and neck
pulling him under the Garou's own bodyweight
reversing the planned vengeance
as he clambers piggyback on his bro"Wha..... no commen'?"
sneered just behind the violinist's left ear
legs pinning arms to the kinsman's side
ankles crossing infront of belt buckle
vise-grip arm holding most of his own weight off Tristan's shoulders
freehand resting like a hairless, amputee spider amongst haphazard curls
using the leverage to steer his piggy towards a nearby diner(tristan)
....well! That didn’t exactly work out as planned, did it? and shoulders are shaking with laughter at the sneering comment, arms that are pinned squirming in attempt to get free, even as he’s steered by hairless amputee spider hiding in curls toward the diner.a pause, a jump. once, twice, in jostling fun before sauntering the way only a man with a full grown Garou on his back can saunter (why no sir, that’s not exactly a monkey on my back, though he does have this hairgrowth problem. Hm? why no – he only grows it when he’s 9 foot tall and pissed. Just don’t make him angry, you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry...) “Oh, I’ve a few comments for you, boyo...” Chuckled as he twists his curls away to look up and wink.
“Most appropriately, ‘thank you’... I do hope it was good for you, too...”
Of course, in the conglomeration of afterglowy type scents that cling to the recently showered Gnawer kin, it would take a discerning nose indeed to figure out if it was –really- that good, or if it will be –that- good later when it’s relived.... again...and again.... and again.... “although...”
Head tips, as he continues to walk toward the diner, pausing only when at the door that he can’t exactly open with arms still pinned, after all. “I always thought it was dinner –first-“ oh that’s practically permagrin there, ain’t it boy?
(james)
strong thighs unwrap from their hold on Tristan's arms
the Ahroun dropping down to the sidewalk with a little concussive bounce
reaching long arm around to grab the swinging door
ushering his brother inside with flourished wave"Thank.?" smirked as James plants a halting hand about mid-sternum, leans in and takes a rather discriminating sniff of the prettyboi's belly up to chest up to shoulder up to neck "F'r whut."
indicative breath huffed out in play on disgusted snort
raggedyman managing a breif sulking pout before conveniently distracted with picking up menus
pretending to scowl into the one held open on their journey to a back booth
(do you even notice, Jamey-boy, how uncomfortable the few pre-dawn patrons have become?)(tristan)
Arms now freed he stretches, slowly, before being ushered inside only to be stopped, and that grin starts again, brow arching at the discriminating sniff that results in........a pout....
and that does it, the pretty boy is chuckling again, shaking his head as he grabs his menu as well, making all those that shy away from menacing scowl look like complete and total pussies as he is seemingly unaffected. He hooks an arm around James neck though, and leans in, nuzzling past hanging vine-like dreads, lips just brushing the shell of ear with soft exhalation.... “had you done that before he came home and sucked me dry for 48 hours, I’da needed a napkin... a large napkin....” soft wicked chuckle as teeth grasp earlobe, only to let it slide free again... before admitting... “but give me a little more recovery time, boy...”
and he pulls away with a wink and sliding into the back booth to conveniently become quite interested in the menu before him...
(james)
the Fostern was raised a street-performer, after all
and damn does it show now as he pointedly looks away from Tristan's nuzzling
any reactions to the breathy admission (.....and. those. teeth.) sighed heavingly away
all six feet and one inch of dreadlocked Gnawer FLOPPING down into the booth
the utmost picture of sulking dejection
(because slumping shoulders cannot tense)simply not enough!
diligently skimming the menu he probably already knows by heart
fact proven when, after a few silent moments, a balled up napkin comes zinging across the table
bouncing harmlessly off the curly-haired kin and rolling on the faded linoleum surface
though the Ahroun, of course, hasn't even taken his eyes from the glorious food
should the target actually look up to checkdeep umber eyes don't lift until the waitress arrives
the Ahroun rattling off an order which ends on casual wave
(... yeh, all tha', 'n a coke....'n whatev'r he wan'.....)
then dropping back down to study the potential dessertsabsolutely. deadpan.
(tristan)
Absolutely. deadpan.but he knooooooooows he got to him. even if just a little, though he plays the utmost dejection pose to perfection. the napkin flies, and fingers reach out and snag it as it rolls away, still diligently studying his menu...
dark (shining) eyes skim over the menu, that, if he were honest, he’d admit he knows just as well as James, and the napkin makes return trip, bouncing off dreads as he smiles up at the waitress, the picture of pretty boy innocence.
He rattles off his own order, and she gives them both a look (it’s enough to feed four, at least, if they were normal customers, and all) finished off with “And a coke, thank you ma’am...” with all the charm he can muster. And that, as he two earns his money on the streets, is a considerable amount of charm.
Foot lifts to rest on James’s seat, next to sprawling thigh, nudging caress while the waitress walks away and he considers pie (James) ala mode for dessert afterward dinner...
(james)
still deadpaneven after the napkin bounces off springey dreads
even after the boot nestles so cuddlingly against his thigh
even after his hand slithers across the table to close fist about the napkin missile
fingers working it into a tighter ball as thumb circulates to spin the mini-sphere around"So, oth'r'n Dus'n....." note how he's carefully phrasing this as dark eyes dare lift from the menu's dissection and movement continues into the questioning arch of right brow "What else' you been up to?"
intricately constructed deadpan expression almost fratures, there
as the Elder's mind substitutes "IN TO" at the end of the phrase
far, far before he's able to stop the lopsided grin's meek crawl across his mouth
luckily the diner is practically empty at this hour of the morning
not even five minutes after fizzing cokes are set (with straws!) on the table
their orders begin to gather under the heating lamp(tristan)
That sets off another bout of chuckling laughter, as he sets the menu aside, and folds his hands oh so primly on the table and schooling face to mimic perfect deadpan.“Roxy. But only once, to welcome her home properly.”
insert wicked grin.... here before he stretches out his arms along the back of the booth, which, of course, slides that foot along James’ thigh again. He shakes his head, chuckling. “Honestly though, not a lot. Just doing the ‘mom’ thing, playing for my supper, the usual gigs keeping myself busy.”
(james)
"She more 'xperience'." snickered, napkin pinned by one index finger against the table, set up shot to be flicked right at Tristan's forehead "Thinkin' she been welcummin' you."un. re. petant.
salvation in the form of steaming plate's arrival
the tired waitress unloading her burdened tray infront of the two Gnawers
if they weren't regulars, she'd be surprised, or even irritated at the potentially wasted food
but then again, she's seen these two eat"Kem' still growin' you outta house'n home?"
brow lifted before James is tearing into his burger
(tristan)
He laughs and ducks the flying napkin, and wiggles his brows. “Something like that – whatever it was, we were both exhausted the next day and Kemp was all shaking his head and muttering about mom’s bad habits...”Oh! food! He flashes a grin and wink at the waitress, before he’s matching James bite for bite, tearing into the mound of food as if he hadn’t eaten in a week... or at least not any food in the past 48 hours....
The comment gets a snorted laughter, head shaking slightly. “That boy will be the death of me. He’s grown 2 inches taller in the last month, alone. Not to mention the jeans destroyed while learning to ride that bike. He took me for a ride on it the other day – never been so scared in my life!” mock terrified shivers...
(james)
in the time it takes Tristan to tell the first part of the story
James has inhaled the first burger and now plows halfway through the fries
(does he even chew, really?)
mopping up the last vestiges of ketchup when taking a moment to breath after swallowing
most likely to allow the rolling chuckle without chance of choking
red-slathered fry used to point at his brother"S'cause 'e gotta learn a ride it 'msel', first." dreads tumble over shoulders as his head shakes, not exactly sure how or why the Rotagar's lasted this long on the Donor-Cycle, much less kept his passengers alive "Moth'r's gotta smile down a that kid, tha's f'r sure." it's a fond kind of incredulity, for they all know no Garou learns without trial and error (and heartbreak) "He still rippin' through duds when 'e chan'e?"
(tristan)
Mumbling through mouthfuls, though as he’s the one answering the questions, he’s half a step or three behind James in the inhalation. Both bent over, plates, pausing only to add sips of soda, between bites that are shoved chewed and swallowed in rapid succession. “Thank god she does, someone has too”He pulls out something from behind the new dogtags, a wolf’s head pendant with a jeweltoned eye... “I show you my mother’s day gift yet?” grinned, fondly as he tucks it back under his t-shirt. Though he had to promise never. ever. too do anything that resulted in Kemp taking over ownership of it again.
Another nod, chuckling. “Yeah, someone’s gotta teach that boy to dedicate. I can teach him a lot of things, but rites and shit are beyond me...”
(james)
the new pendant is enough to get James to look up from his second plate
pausing long enough to reach over and hold it for inspection
brows lifting because whistling with his mouth full would be rude
not to mention messyit's only after napkin cleans his face and plates sit empty that the Ahroun speaks again
chuckling after a lubricating swallow that drains the last of the coke"Won'erin' how long it' take yewta as'...." that smile would be a knowing one "Wa'n't sure if he knew, 'n forgot a wear 'em, 'r nev'r got s'mone a do't f'r 'im."
(tristan)
“Well..” Pause, scoop fries into mouth, and last of burger follows, along with swallow of coke, chuckling. “Didn’t know you knew it, actually. and not like I’ve seen a lotta your mangy ass to ask.” nudge of foot still resting on James’ seat, grinning.Then he nods. “Cliona, that Irish girl, she did some for him, but he only had the one set, and they don’t fit anymore, and well. Yeah. He’s hopeless, really.” the affection is clear there, he really couldn’t love him more then if he gave birth to him. “If you could teach him, it’d save me a BUNCH of cash...... there are times I wish I could learn all that fancy stuff.”
There are times when he wishes he is more then he is... but though when it hits, it hits hard, thankfully, it doesn’t hit too often.
(james)
a slow nod, taking the straw and poking it into remaining ice
more for something to do with his hands than searching for dregs of soda
the smile's half playful, half contrite
he knows he's been scarce, lately
knee swinging out to wedge his thigh back against the prettyboi's boot"I c'n do it f'r'm." meaning: regardless of whether or not he's capable of actually teaching the Rotagar such a trick, sometimes it takes special, certain beings to pass equally certain knowledges down "Jus' gettim s'me clothe' wi' s'me room a grow 'n gimme a ca....."
words drift off as realization kicks in
he doesn't have his cell phone anymore
thus; correction:"... have'm call me." another sheepish grin indicating the pack's totemic bond and ease of long-distance communication without the luxuries of modern technology "'n we c'n do't tha' nigh'."
he doesn't comment on the last part
dark eyes flickering down towards the cup held in his hand
deeply understanding the turmoil that afflicts his kinsman
he's seen it in others, he's felt it himself - but there is little more they can do other than be what they were born destinedthe silence eased by their waitress arriving to take any further orders
the Fostern declines additional food, waving to Tristan's command of anything more or to go
with that arranged, she leaves their bill
James picking up the edge to peek at the total and estimate how much he's worth
since, after all, it's supposed to be dinner first(tristan)
He nods with a grin. “I’ll do that. I’ve been lax on visiting in with Kelsey as it is, so I’ll stop in this week and get him a supply. Then we’ll just have to remind him to wear those ones in particular when he’s off to get all fuzzy.”He shakes his head, leaning back to pat his belly as he smiles at the waitress. “It was perfect as usual, I couldn’t eat another bite.. at least for an hour of so. Thanks, Norma!” And hand reaches over... smack. the check hits the table before a complete peek can be taken, finger wagging. “Checking out your worth, are ya?”
chuckles, and digs out his wallet, the cash counted out with a generous tip added, and set aside on the table. “Though, perhaps I should let you check, see if we need to get desert, or a movie, or what else I’ll need to pay for before tripping you and beating you to the mattress....” wiggles brows, grinning.
(james)
lips peel back from teeth in beginnings of a snarl
(it is barely past the full, after all)
instant reaction to the correcting smack
hand jerking back and cradled as, he can't help it, folks, a little growl seeps through"Ow."
the pout, however, is a lost cause
tumbling into the deep, throaty tones of rolling chuckle
knee pitched to smack long muscle against Tristan's instep once more"Course I am, gotta see if y'r est'matin' my value 'nuff....."
(tristan)
uh oh – there go the growls again.
Followed by a pout and an ‘ow’?!? Oh that just gets him going again, shaking his head. He knows damn well it’d take a lot more then that to hurt the raggedy gnawer, but the act is just too adorable for words...He’s laughing and arches a brow, sliding the bill toward him so he can peek.... before jerking it back again before he has the chance. “Well, maybe I’ll buy you flowers on the way home – would that help?”
Foot falls to the floor, and he releases the bills with a wink. “Go on then, look and tell him how big a bouquet it will need to be....”
(james)
objection forces itself out in huffed snort
chuffing animalistic grint in leiu of formative words
(it's almost a growl... almost)
taking a moment to appear deeply offended at the offer"So now y'r puttin' a numb'r on how much I' worth a ya?" hand reaches out to slap over the bill and slide it back towards his brother "'n think flow'r's'll sooth th' woun's? Tris'n How cou' you?? Though I mean' s'methin' a you....."
before he has a chance to break the mortally wounded thesad
the Ahroun scoots out of the booth, now that Tristan's foot has conveniently moved
making a beeline storm right on out the front doors
(Norma's appreciative smile and wink hidden by the presentation of scarred back, of course)
not even sparing a backward glance to see how far the prettyboi has to catch up... probably cause he's only strolling down the sidewalk, anyway
(tristan)
He...... just.... blinks...and then is cracking up all over again. He knew it – the boy ALWAYS gets in the last word, always. and it’s with a sheepish shake of those pretty curls that he sighs dramatically, and stands, stretching his 6’3’ frame a moment, then heads to the door. “What do you think, Norma? A dozen? two? Red or white? Ah – you’re right. Jewelry it is...”
A wink, and he’s out the door, and a few jogging steps sees him caught up with James, hooking his arm through his brothers and laying his head against strong shoulder. “Forgive me, James... I should never have suggested that flowers without chocolates and diamonds would ever seduce you....”
Oh the innocence in the apology, the wide eyes, the long lashes fluttering becomingly, the schoolboy earnestness, eagerness that creeps along the edges of his voice, before he’s laughing again, and lifts his head.
Some days, it don’t get any better then this, strolling arm in arm with a man that you love, on the way home where bed awaits as the city comes to life around you. It’s always the little things that count, and Family is the biggest ‘little thing’ of them all.
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJune 01, 2004.06.01.04. - you in? [kemp-rumor-ratchet] *fng[downtown - cont'd from last scene]
(rumor)
New(ish) board. New to her anyways. This one not as tattered and stickered. This one cost her a whopping $14 at a flea market. She had managed to save almost all the money James had given her. Roxy said next week she could start work. The cell phone, although she has had no need for it, was still in the fanny pack thing she had also gotton at the flea market.The board however wasnt being used. In fact it was under one arm, held tightly to her side as both arms wrapped around Evil Kineval as he whipped up and around the turns. Thank God she wore the helmet. At least his head would heal.
( kemp)
Flying around the corner at a breakneck speed. Yelling over the engine and wind. "Stop poking me!" Damned board kept digging into his side with each lean in that direction. Down shifting with the change of lights head. "Well crap." He hated to slow down. Cocking a look over his shoulder at Rumor when he finally did stop for the light. "Did you have to bring the board?"(rumor)
"did you have to bring the board" she repeats, and adjusts the board so that it wasnt digging into his ribs anymore.
"You were there when i got on the bike..ya coulda told me to stash it somewhere" answered quickly as she keeps her grasp tight around his waist. Head noear his shoulder so her words could be heard over the rumble of the bike..."plus what else would ya have to bitch about if it wasnt that"
she grins at him
Looks up at the light as it turns green.
And goes back into the position of prepare for take off That she had grown so accustomed to."Green." she announces the light change to him.
(ratchet)
picking through the pile, bag carefully torn into, nose wrinkling at the wafting scent. 3 day old egg salad. yuck. bag tossed aside, another one probed, before torn into and a pleased hmmm is voiced as fingers pluck a much more recently tossed partial sandwich free. wilted lettuce is tossed aside, as is the tomato, and fingers shove the rest of the not quite rotted, but getting there quickly sandwich into mouth in three bites, chewed once and swallowed quickly. not a lot but will carry her over until Steven gets off work.something hard is poked with ragged nail, bag torn to see what treasure awaits within, before digging farther to examine the piece of wood, brow creasing with thought.
head cants, and then it’s tossed aside, a use for it not thought of right away, so moving on to find something else. until there, in the very bottom corner, a small little box. dig dig dig until object is recovered, and gaunt form grasps the edge of the dumpster with one hand, launching skinny body over the edge to land in a crouch on dirty alleyway floor. coat of many pockets settles around feet as fingers examine the little box to determine what exactly it is – or could be.
(kemp)
"I can see." Just for that he took off extra fast, the force pushing him back into her with a squeal of tires. Going through the gears swiftly. Finding it necessary to weave around a car not going fast enough in front of them. Don't do it, don't say it. Be good. Not nice to tell girls they could store things up their ass. Since when did you ever care if it was nice or not? Internal battle going on and the only way he had to take it out if not with his mouth, was to drive like a demon.(imogen)
"Might," reduced to one word responses as she blows air slowly out of her mouth, looking over the room. Debating perhaps other possibilities, before turning her attention back, and making her way toward the wrench, leaning down to swoop up her untouched beer in a gloved hand.Deviated a third time. Imogen is a perceptive woman, and despite appearances, she is not always cold. "It isn't your fault, you know." Abruptly, bluntly, quietly, as she drops the beer on the table beside him. "Even if it was yer room."
That said, she turns her attention toward the wrench, eyeing it warily. Uneven surface. Fingerprints, not so good. The glass has a better chance. If they touched it. She fingerprints both.
She'll dust those and some likely surfaces. Methodical and mostly quiet, absolutely pragmatic in her methods and half lost to the steps of her day to day job, brought outside of traditional. Or maybe not quite so. Tape is used to lift each print, carefully sealing them away. James is fingerprinted, not with dust, but ink that stains his fingers. He knows the drill. Imogen's offer of protection, to avoid even running the risk of running his fingerprints through any system she might have at her disposal.
It's probably quite late at night when she is finally done.
(kemp)
Screaming over the sound of the engine and the wind that was whipping his hair back onto the helmet she wore. "You fucked a what!?" Almost looking back at her with that one. Talk about getting killed. Distract him with thoughts of kinky sex and they were done for. "Gonna go watch that hotel for a bit!" A sudden lurch to the right to avoid the car putting on brakes in front of them. "Fuck!" Sure his heart got stuck in his throat there for a moment till he got around the car without incident. "I meant to do that!"(rumor)
Nothing better then having the driver of the kiling machine turn back to look at the passenger.
yeah Ok but whos watching the Road.He says something about the motel...before she actually watches as they almost become a part of the back end of a car that just happened to be in Kemps way.
I meant to do that....yeah sure, course he did Smirk crosses her face until she puts 2 and 2 together...
"THE Motel?" she calls back above the background noise..."whatthehellfor?"
(kemp)
Looking back over his shoulder again with a roll of his eyes before paying attention to where he was going again. "What the hell do you think for? Duh?" Sometimes girls just didn't make any sense at all. "Just hold on!" Leaning into the next turn with a down shift of gears. In the next moment they were straightening again and flying along the street as fast as he could manage before something got in the way again.(ratchet)
skinny form moves toward the edge of the alley, making use of the meager light, body folding once more into comfortable crouch as little metal box is set by feet. sound blossoms in serious of clicks with flash of silver in hand, grubby fingertips fingering bits that hang like charms from bracelet wrapped twice around skinny wrist. once chosen, slid home into the ratchet, and nimble fingers make quick work of taking apart the treasure found.screws loosened, pulled out, set aside, the box soon falling into pieces spread before tattered shoes in an array that makes no sense to anyone but the little runt who’s working on them.
noises flow around, mostly ignored as fingers pause to dig at shoulder, at neck, and up under hat. dirty ribbed material pulled firmly over misshapen ears once more, and fingers fall again to the items before her.
(rumor)
So she holds on, good thing she couldnt see the rolling eyes or shed have givin him a good jab in the ribs for that one.
"I am holding on, if i hold on any tighter my boobs are gonna be coming out the front of your chest instead of mine."a pause..what the hell do you think for? Duh?? Kemp had no logic behind his thoughts, you never KNOW what hes thinking...but she doesnt ask, she just holds on.
(kemp)
"Hey, I might like that." Engine slowing with pressure to brakes as he started to slow to come to a stop across the street from the hotel. "I mean, hell if I had tits, I'd spend all my time standing in front of the mirror, topless. Wouldn't leave home for days at a time." Wiggling his brows with a look back at her.(rumor)
Shes tired. only someone who really looked at her eyes would be able to tell she was tired. She hadnt slept well, not since that night. She had faked it, and hadnt complained about the lack of sleep. Not once. She didnt need anyone givign her any added attention when they had already helped her out so much. So while Kemp slept nearcy, and she was given the matress, she had kept eyes closed for 2 nights now. But she hadnt slept.
could have been worse yannow. Could have been worse.She chuckles..."yeah but im thinkin ya wouldnt actually -touch em-" she winks..."just look at them all day" She lets one foot steady herself on the gruond. She wasnt tall enough for both feet to touch if she was sitting on the bike.
Tired eyes glance across the street to the motel. pause she watches for a second..not even sure what she was supposed to be looking for...but something about the place just made her stomach do a flip flop. Helmet comes off and she does a quick tossle of her own hair to un-hempet head it as the browins auburn shag falls right back into her eyes.
(kemp)
Turning the bike off with a narrowed look towards the hotel. "Are you nuts? If I had tits, I would touch them so much they fell off." Frowning slightly before looking back at Rumor. "Hey, who's that near the alley there? You remember what those freaks looked like? That one of them?" Nodding towards Rachet crouched down there.(ratchet)
sound of bike causes gaze to snap up, dark eyes sliding over the two figured on the bike, narrowing slightly. recognize them – they was with elderman the night they met. head cants, slight, before skinny form melts a little farther back into shadows, and sound resumes.clickclickclickclickclick
pieces studied, some tossed back up into the dumpster down the way, others tucked into random pocket in coat of one color. other pockets bring replacements, and the little box that was taken apart, slowly begins to come back together again, tiny pieces, smaller screws, all placed where they belong with a precision that rivals the best schooled jeweler.
(rumor)
Body tenses. She looks over to where he is pointing.
It was dark, she couldnt see shit...someone crouching in the alley. And then it seems to melt back into the shadows...
"yeah i remember what the Jerry Springer couple looked like, but since i dont have night vision glasses i have no clue who that is over there."
The bike has stopped. They are safe from crashing. However with his words and spotting someone anyone for some reason her arms are stil around his waist holding on with a kungfudeathgrip. She obviously had forgotton they were stopped, and hadnt quite made the message from brain to arms to let go.(kemp)
"You couldn't see that?" Looking back at her a little surprised. Never occured to him that he saw better than she did at night. "Well hell, ain't gonna do no good way over here if ya can't see shit." With that he was starting the bike again to calmly for him, head for the very same alley Ratchet went in.(rumor)
"WAIT" the word comes out before she thinks.(kemp)
Skidding to a halt to frown back at her. "What? Ya see something, or ya gotta pee or what?"(rumor)
Shaking her head she just glances towards the alley and then back to him..."no, i mean...i just thought...." eyes making their way back towards the alley and she puts on the tough act, since anything else was whining or complaining in his eyes.
"nothing....no biggie, go on"(ratchet)
she didn’t go far, just a slight lean back into the hiding shadows, still close to the mouth of the alley, where light catches and glints on the shiny tool that stands out as it is in pristine condition, unlike the rest of her.fingers lift, ragged nails tearing just under ear, along jaw, before back of hand slides along neck. a sniff, and dark eyes glance up to see what the other two are doing... bike starts again, head cants to the left, then gaze falls again to the work at hand.
(kemp)
"Will ya make up your mind? I need you to keep your eyes open and if anyone looks just a little bit like the ones that did this shit, I want ya to say so. I'll take it from there, don't worry." Heading for the alley again, headlight flashing across Ratchet to put her in stark relief when closer. "Oh hey, I seen you before." And that was about his response to finding Ratchet playing around in the alley.(james)
there comes a point in the night James is no longer of service to Imogen's investigation
at such time, the Ahroun left her to the work and navigated downstairs
five stories below to the room reduced to little more than splintered wreckage earlier in the afternoon
(full moon's tomorrow night, after all, Jamey-boy)
Corcoran's shove aside the sharp-nailed, fabric-webbed boards that used to be a couch
making enough room to right-side-up the dresser and search for something resembling a towelgiven they inhabited the room with exactly no preparation: all his gear is something other than accessable
but that doesn't stop the Gnawer from spending a few minutes trying to steam the agitation from his framesoon, dirty BDUs pulled back on over stickily wet flesh
t-shirt abandoned in some form of salvation tucked half into a back pocket
wouldn't even be worth it under the soaked weight of dreads
besides, it's nearly 70 degrees out - he'll dry on the wayor at least be dry enough to put the tee on before getting to a place populated enough that the naked scars on his back would draw unwanted attention
Mauricio's granted a look that sends him shriking behind the bar-guarded desk
the (still fuming) Ahroun giving no quarter as he stalks through the lobby
shoulder shoving open the forgotten hotel's once-opulent front door
(and that blistering Rage rolls forth deadly shockwave)
(rathet)
bike turns, and headlight spills over skinny runtish form, and the tension coils over skinny crouched body. eyes stare, glancing up to meet the gaze, before falling again, shrinking into filthy coat, trying to sink beneath the cement even as fingers start plucking up pieces as fast as possible, otherwise poised in flight or fight mode........kemp speaks then, and fingers pause over the collection of bits and screws, and gaze flicks up again, before chin falls in sharp nod, voice barely making the distance over the rumble of motor.
(clickclickclickclickclick)
“with elderman, yes.”
(kemp)
Turning light and engine off after the second it took to realize he was putting Ratchet in the spot light. "Right, Kemp. What was your name?" And his chin was lifting, nostrils flaring with a sudden stillness to his body as the wave of rage washed outwards to crawl over his senses.(rumor)
Ok fingers unlace from around Kemps waist now that she is sure it wasnt the mullet twins in the alley, and she actually gets off the bike, setting the (not so) new board down and placing one converse on it to keep it in place. However brave as that may seem She doesnt go 5 staps away from Kemps side. Fuck that, freaky things were out here in the night. She learned that. And to think, she had been livin on these streets all this time, wasnt untilshe was safe in a room that shit happened.
"ratchet right?" she nods towards the odd girl and glances around quickly....not that she could see much of..
well..anything.
(james)
tuuuuurnnnn...... right
direction chosen to follow no particular whim
most likely it follows some vague memory of an establishment about a mile away
and while his walk seems easy enough
that practically trademarked ground-devouring effortless step of a street kid?
born and bred to hike across town without a second thought?
it's easy to see the raggedyman isn't in the best of moodsmaybe it's the heavy moon
maybe it's being back in that roombut it's a poetic picture of tension
beginning with the brood darkening the shadows beneath his brow
melting into the lines that coarsen rugged jaw
to the iron set squaring shoulders
down the lines of muscle and tendon mapping arms
all the way to the hands half-balled to fistspushing on past that all..... stop. back up a step.
wet dreads slide over shoulders when head tips
it's not the sound of the bike's engine cutting that catches his attention
it's the pricklyspine feeling of pack(ratchet)
chin dips, and lifts again, sharp – animalistic – the nod at the words offered, both Kemp and Rumor. “ratchet.” agreement then, and fingers still hover over the pieces spread around feet, before slowly, only after the bike is off and light has allowed night to fall again around little monster, slowly she begins to work once more, slowly now, still ready to grab and run, the sound constant as she works. “hi Kemp-rhya, Random-Rumor.”clickclickclick
rage boils, sliding around the corner and again gaze snaps up gaunt form sinking farther into coat, attempting to disappear until recognition settles in. slight, the relaxation. “elderman.”
(kemp)
"Huh?" Attention mostly on where the feel was coming from. Half turned on the seat of the bike to face back towards the street. Somewhere in there what Ratchet had called him brought the questioning Huh? from him. Sliding slowly from the bike to face the mouth of the alley now.(rumor)
Kemp turns towards the mouth of the alley, She has no clue what feeling he had, only that the huh was accompanied by him turning and sliding off the bike.
wherethehellareyougoing?
Eyes narrow as she glances out towards the mouth of the alley. Nice...everyone could see in the dark obviously except her. Hands shove into pockets, perhaps more of a newvous habit then anything else.It was obvious something(someone) was out there. Frankly she was hoping it was a pizza delivery guy who got lost with a large double cheese pepperoni or something.
(james)
the picture would be inspiring:framed by the walls creating the alleyway and night's full-moon halo'd sky high above
far off streetlights catching whatever moisture's left from the shower
juxtaposing the backwash bounce silhouette of his frame
midnight inks coiling down the inside of his right arm
wet dreads forming heavy mane on yoke of strong shoulders
chin tilting in proud lift of Warrior's salutation
("elderman"...... pack)it's be downright romantically inspiring
if James wasn't the living, breathing version of a nightmare
presence riding the invisable waves of oh so dangerous Rage
lethal animal held quite carefully at bay behind deep umber eyeshe doesn't move to enter the alley
pawning it off as a casual how do? questing glance
(.....he doesn't want to scare two of them)(ratchet)
they continue to watch, and feel, and listen, and nostrils flaresniffsniff...
before fingers continue to work, dipping into random pocket, finding screw that fits and slides into place with practiced ease. tool flips into hand, tightening screw, before bits are exchanged for another, and the box is finally put together completely.
head cants, slightly, and the lid is closed. box flipped in hand, and the key there turned once, twice, and then grubby fingers set the box back on filthy ground. lid lifted slower, this time, and there’s a hum of satisfaction as the medly Fur Elise tickles metallic into the sudden silence, the music box now back in working order.
(kemp)
A lift of his chin towards James and he was stepping out of the alley to join his packmate. Smaller than his packmate, his own clothing consisting of baggy jeans and one of the tees Tristan had picked up for him in the second hand shop. "Hey." Gesturing back towards the alley, even if James was aware who was back there. "Came to see if maybe we might pick up something."(rumor)
It would be downright romantically inspiring....if it wasnt night. If the moon wasn't so close to full. If she wasnt only feet away from where her current nightmares began. If she hadnt already been on edge. If she didnt have that feeling she had...for the brat who liked belching and talking about boobs.
if if if if if if if
Previously....The girl would have been caught in a storm of hormonal admiration. For James wasnt just the elder, he wasnt just poetic eye candy, he wasnt just Kemps packmate. He also was the one to have helped her, the one to have talked to her, the one to have guided her...
(the one to have saved? her)And upon his arrival...
there was MUSICNo wait. That was a music box, and this time, in her current state, the normal reaction of staring and trying not to mix up constinants and vowels was just not present.
In fact, she remained calm, almost as if she wasnt quite even seeing him there.
Moving steps up behind Kemp but off to the side a bit to keep up with the conversation.
"He wanted to see if there was something to pick up..." a pause... "But they are long gone...right...i mean those 2, they skipped town, dontcha think?"
her tone pleading.
PLEADING
And she finds herself at Kemps side, just because the shadows of the darkness mixed with parts of the moons light seemed to be getting too fucking close.(james)
deep umber eyes stray towards the metallically whispering medly
(can music soothe the savage beast?)
but stray to meet his packmate's approaching gaze
if indeed the tune coaxed a smile to soften his expression
it disappears far too quickly to assess"Ain't smell'd 'm roun' when I w's out b'fore." exhaled in tones resembling throaty grrrrooowwwwl more than polite conversation "Dunn nah. Im'gen lif'ed prints bit 'go a see if we c'n fine 'em tha' way."
"She wan' yours, too. 'ffic'ally" this directed at Rumor as she hovers behind the young Rotagar "F'r c'mpar'son. Rec'rds'll dis'ppear af'r."
(rumor)
She nods. "k where do i go to do that? Police station?" asked methodically as if she wasnt all there. The whole place made her nervous, the fact they were hanging in the alley made her scared, the only saving grace was that there were bigass fucking Garou surrounding her, so she knew at least if monsters were to appear, shed be ok.(kemp)
"She's the only thing I had to go on, so thought they might come back and she might reconnize them." When grasping for straws you went with what you had. "Maybe the other one was out here in the alley that night?" A look back towards Ratchet.(ratchet)
everyone gravitates to elderman, and with a satisfied hum she reaches to close the box, music stopping, before she opens it again, to once more give birth to tune. head tips, slightly, and then with nod, the box is closed, and tucked away into pocket. extra parts (pocket parts) disappear as well, until area is clean as when arrived.only then does gaze lift to the trio at the edge of the alley this time, while fingers automatically replace bits to place on bracelet, favored tool cleaned against dirty denim across skinny thigh before tucked into hand. grubby fingers dip into another pocket, and little green beanie frog is pulled free and rubbed against cheek, before she unfolds, mostly, and moves toward then, before sliding back again to comfortable (comforted!) crouch near them, listening, the beanie froggie finding resting place on bony knee as box reappears and a bit of torn cloth is used to shine it up.
(james)
"Nuh.... she'll take'm priv'te, won' make it a p'lice rec'rds."if he's trying to alleviate some of her fears
his tone probably isn't helping all that much
cause it's still laced with that unavoidable bitterness
deep earthy eyes wander to the slinky little shadow covering ratchet's approach
then it flicks to Kemp"Ask 'r if she seen 'm, then." chin lift indicating it's Kemp's call "Though'f Im'gen come' up wi' names, you in?"
a brow lifts in question
it's pretty obvious he's going to hunt the fuckers down, regardless
however, the Elder's caught on to the friendship shared by Kemp and Rumor
offering the boy first chance for action if he wants it.... but the stern lines to his frame soften, practically imperceptibly
as the flash of green catches his attention
he's far too riled under the pregnant moon for compassion's warmed smile to succeed in making an appearance(kemp)
"You have to ask?" Grumbling inside. He was pack, Kemp had followed to hell and back before, both personal hell and two caern encounters. He'd go if it meant his death. "What if she don't find nothing?" Turning towards Ratchet with a considering look. Mumbling to Rumor. "What night of the week was it?"(james)
"Yeh.... s'matter a respec'." grunted. smirked. (hanging around that Modi WAY. TOO. LONG. Jamey-boy) though it's almost colored by a deep chuckle "Think I'm jus' g'nna 'ssume y'r g'nna jump a th' monst'rs face?"for the love of Gaia
that was a joke out of the angry Full Moon
hopefully, the Rotagar got the point"She dun' fine nothin' we go talk a s'me spir'ts 'n track'm supernatch. Her way jus' easier."
(rumor)
A sigh and a shrug as she counts now...."Friday..." she listens to them as they talk about what was to come of it and the way it was to go.
She didnt like the feeling, she didnt like the conversation and she really didnt like bein out here..
Board moves a bit..as converse pushes it up the alley a bit and then back..just needing tomove around and breathe air.(kemp)
"Well yeah." A faint nod of the shaggy head. "Kemp." Pointing at a place in the air. "go get it!" Shrugging with a sheepish grin. "Duh, ok."
Shifting his attention to Ratchet. Going so far as to crouch down near her. "Hey, were ya out here Friday? Maybe hanging out here, looking for treasures?"(james)
the Elderman can't help but smirk another pseudo-grin
they were all damn proud of Kemp for what he did in that battle"Still piss' you los' my sticks."
grumbled in what may very well be good natured
(Full Moons are said to do straaange things to people)
but he quiets down to let ratchet answer(ratchet)
head cants, and dark eyes lift to watch them, brow creasing in thought as she listens, before looking up at elderman, then back to the other two. definitely something going on she is not a part of, but no one’s kicked her away yet, so she remains. little music box reclaiming some of it’s beauty as she continues to shine it.Kemp crouches, and gaze snaps back up again, falling perfectly still, waiting, watching, until he talks, soft, asking question. brow furrows slightly as she thinks about it. then, soft sigh. “sorry, Kemp-rhya, not Friday. southside Friday. looking for more lurchymanned who throwed up centipedes that tried to sting ratchet. find someone rolling bums. not nice. ratchet and steven taked care of him though.”
sigh, head hangs, shoulder hunches. “sorry, rhya..”
(kemp)
"I lost them?" A look towards James for a second. He couldn't tell anyone what happened after that terrifying leap of faith and desperation except he'd seen that fucker way too close and seen the sticks go into the eye about the sametime he felt something slam into him with enough force that shock at taken away all pain and consciousness with it. "Gotta get some new ones, I guess." Shifting his attention back to Ratchet with a glance towards Rumor for a moment. She was as fidgity as a cat. "Hey, don't worry about it, ya done good." Reaching out to very softly pat her hat covered head. Adding softer. "Just Kemp, I ain't nothing special like a rhya or nothing." Slowly straightening back up.(rumor)
"Threw up what?" she looks at ratchet and then to Kemp and James..."did she just say someone barfed up bugs that tried to sting her?"
a pause and she ALMOST says something more....but doesnt.
(kemp)
"Yep, sure did." A lift of his chin to James. "Give me a yell. I'm gonna get her back to the factory before she forgets how to hold on." Indicating Rumor with a cock of his chin.(ratchet)
... she stiffens as the hand comes close, but at pat, that is not a hit, a slap, a kick, but given with praise, she relaxes again and nods... “everyone Rhya to someone, cept ratchet, monster. kemp rhya to ratchet, elderman rhya to both.”and then she looks up at Rumor, a quick glance, before gaze falls again and she nods. “centipedes. big too. long as ratchet’s arm. nasty. stung stupid shadowlord right in balls. was funny, after.” head ducks a little, hiding the amusement that flickers through gaze.
(james)
dark eyes drop to the small creature as she sighs explanation
behind the broiling thesad of Auspice torment
there's a twinge of something as ratchet's head hangs in sorrow
and maybe, just maybe, it softens the edges of rugged smile"S'allrigh', Ratch't, no fault a yours.... he's righ', ya done good takin' care a that mean guy."
the breif moment of compassion passes in amused snort
"Yeh.... you shove'm inna th' EYE 've a monst'r 'n killit." there is amusement glittering in darkly stormed eyes, showing the kid he's just teasing "Think I wan'em back aft'r?"
the disastrous duo's departure is acknowledged by another Eagle-style nod up
Coo'
but then the Elderman's head tilts
taking his turn to sink down before the huddled metis"Lurchyman throw up cen'ipedes?"
(kemp)
Pausing with a frown creasing his brow. "Ya ain't no more monster than I am Ratchet. Fuck, I'm a bigger monster, I'd bet. Anyone tells ya different, ya call me, I'll kick their fuckin ass up between their ears."(kemp)
Heading back for the bike with a touch to Rumor's elbow. "Come on." Adding in a mumble. "Hope ya ain't forgot how to hold on."(rumor)
She smirks and flips the board back into her hand...moving towards the others once more."He aint kiddin...hes a much bigger monster...and he snores" she winks at ratchet and smiles.
Trying to put OUT OF HER MIND the thought of ANYONE barfing up bugs...
kinfolk here people...
Barfing up BUGS?"yeah i guess we are outta here...and oh i got the holdin on part perfected"
(ratchet)
Gaze shifts up toward Kemp (rhya) and studies him a minute, to see if he’s teasing, before there’s a shy tip of head, ducking to hide face again. some things are very hard to believe though, with lifetime of teaching different. but she’s heard more things like that here, then anywhere before. even cold rain couldn’t make Twister’s youngest child leave Chicago now.elderman crouches down, and grubby fingers offer the music box for his examination, now almost as shiny as treasured tool, before fingers slide to grasp the beany froggy and hold it close as she nods. “Big ones. very icky. stink too. Lurchy man went for bum in box. couldn’t save him in time, tried. but too many centipedes for ratchet and Anton – shadowlord – to get through. ended covered in centipede goo, jo make ratchet take bath again.”
makes a face, distaste of baths already having been discussed in prior meetings. but there’s a shrug. “Anton bite lurchyman in half, more bugs come out, ratchet kill ‘em all. one almost got ratchet on back, smashed him against wall.” pause. almost a grin. “kicked one so hard took out lots of others too. squished ‘em good. Cept one that stinged Anton in balls. he screamed like little girl, and squished it really good. Steven got there then, and burned up rest, and we went home. haven’t seen anymore lurchymans, but have been looking just in case. not nice to pick on streetfolks in boxes. ratchet don’t like that at all. s’why took care uppity Fang who rolled bums too. but just beat him up. left him take rap of dead bum in alley.”
(james)
brows lift a little as the shiney box is offered
but nonetheless, James reaches to gently take it from the little creature
gently flipping the top open to allow Fur Elise into the alley's solitude again
listening to the tinny melody harmonize with her veritable avalanche of words
(never heard her speak this much before!)"Dunn good, Ratch't. I dunn like that eith'r." the cadence of a smile swims on Rage-hardened features, approval for her actions, for her effort put into the story.... though most likely it's because he looked up and saw her clutching so belovedly that little frog "'m proud a yeh."
it doesn't take a genius to know how low her self-image has been forced
nor a therapist to realize just how deeply ingrained the concept is
and even for the full moon shining silver brilliance in the sky above
maybe the music did have its effects
along with the simple (pure. genuine.) presence of the young Garou
cause for some reason.... the past hours just seem to slip awaymusician's nimble fingers carefully lower the box's shiney top
returning the alley to it's filling silence of city's grey noise
and the Elderman stretches slowly to stand
distal rays bouncing off the bricks highlighting the dark patterns on his skin
a flash turning swirled ink iridescent when arm reaches to return the treasure
light's wavepanel course carrying it to skim across skin raised by glyph's brand on his chest
feline twisting stretch latticing the rays across brutal clawmarks ashed black on his back
horrible extension of the dreadlock's wayward tangle
some Crinos claws almost removed his spine at some point
multiple slashes falling from shoulders to dive beneath the waist of his BDUs
by the sheer trauma epicized by Rite darkened marks - whatever it was almost succeeded"'m cravin' pizza....." mused softly though his gaze travels to midnight's velvet high above, lost in a moment's thought before it falls to earth beneath a brow raised in curiosity "Hungry?"
head tips back towards Cook Street waiting beyond the alley's mouth
invitation to a hot meal if she's willing to accompany him - Elderman's treat(ratchet)
ooc: fade, so you can get going - and yes, she'd accompany him. no one turns down an elderman! specially with food!Posted by james at 12:00 AM.06.01.04. - seventh floor. seven-oh-three. [imogen] *fng[downtown]
(james)
I've a fav'r a ask yeh the Ahroun's familiar voice slurred across the telephone line If ih won' be too much trouble
maybe Imogen could hear the amusement shadowing his tones
some unseen glimmer in deep umber eyes realizing he was parroting back her own words
or perhaps at hearing the subtle element of non-surprise hesitating her response
silence filled by the shuffle of papers and endless background noise
(you think he actually expected her to be bored to tears and awaiting such a call?)
clipped process of exchanged information harried along by overwhelming demand of a work dayat least on her end
the Gnawer's speech was flavored with a far nastier element
(he's pissed)
easy enough to tell staccato tones lifted from irritation
.... highly unrelated to a busy county officeNeed y'r help pinning th' fucks tha' bro'e inna s'me pla'e. there was more to the story, obviously, details of which he withholds from the landline though clearly references the need of her expertise and probable equipment to sleuth answers with the least amount public attention possible 'm at 507 Cook Stree'.... guy a' th' desk'll give ya key f'r gettin' the elevat'r to th' top floor.
the line went dead, releasing Dr. Slaughter to her daily grind
an afternoon passed with the Fostern resorting to prowling the halls of the old hotel
far better than reducing another room to splintered wreckage as what now cowered on the second floor
even a walk did little to diffuse the atomic reactor boiling beneath his flesh
but at least it provided some grub out of the little restaraunt down the wayas the clocked neared her estimated arrival, James had once again returned to the seventh floor
crouched by the door numbered seven-oh-three with one bag of take-out hiding quietly to his left
smoke coiling towards the ceiling from his blatant ignorance of the posted signs(imogen)
He can hear someone speaking in the background, and oddly enough, a rather terse sounding voice reminding Doctor Slaughter that her cell phone was supposed to be turned off. The muffled sound of her hand covering the small mouth piece of the cell phone as the forensics pathologist, junior in her position and a woman to boot, the odds stacked against her before the phone even rang, offers an apology that seems incongruous about everything about her.Almost sounds genuine. She's a wonderful actress, though some cynics might speculate on when exactly she is playing her part, and when, if ever, the actual core of her (imagine it is steel and tempered, fierce and sharp) is revealed.
More speech this more muffled, contrite tones audibly. Then the click of a door shutting and Imogen's speaking to him now. Perfunctory. The impression she is being heard, and is watching her words. Compared to what he says, she sounds cool and professional and mostly he speaks and she makes an affirmative noise, the absent, almost careless "...uh-huh?" nudging him through the last sentences.
"I can meet yeh for dinner at six."
Line goes dead on both ends, and Doctor Imogen Slaughter turns back to open the door and walk back into the office to face her boss. Or a co-worker.
She's late, however, getting to the motel, later than she said she'd be. It's not surprising. She has rarely made comments to anyone about what time she will be home, but James's experience is, that when she has, she has never met them, or met them by a narrow sliver of time, just toeing the edge of 'late'.
Six-thirty, then, finds her standing at the front desk, politely asking for the key to the elevator to the fifth floor and ignoring, or perhaps unaware of the sensation of the front desk man's gaze crawling across her body, sleek and subtle in a business suit, the jacket cut to hide her gun, and the rest of it skimming, fine silks and cotton. Attractive and more so because she is unaware and careless of it.
"Ta." Lifting the key in gesture to indicate what she was thanking him for, before turning and walking to the elevator.
Seventh floor. Seven-oh-three.
(james)
at some point while outside on the city streets, James had checked the clock on his cell: 5:45pm
instead of concluding that she would be arriving soon as dinner plans dictated
he simply used the reference point to assure he would be there by the time she showed
Imogen was hardly on time coming home from work - he's witnessed it more than once
the core of it back in Jersey when they lived next door
however he does not hold the expectations such habits should change nowit's probably why he chose sustenance that did not require the luxury of keeping warm
the shifting gears of elevator cables probably acted as his first clue towards her ascent
tiniest clicks, whirs, and aged groans echoing down the empty hallway
arriving only loud enough to tickle the attention of his ears
right arm drops down to smush the near-filtered Camel out on the faded floor
it could very well be some other resident in the run-down establishment
but oddly enough, James seems familiar enough with the good Doctor's personal time-zone
reaching not for the cell in his pocket to affirm just how late she is
rather reaching into the muted rustles of the plastic bagthe next series of actions narrated only by sound:
ting! - elevator arrives
rattlegroanclackclackclackkshhhh. - antique gate lifts for even her slight leverage.
krrrrt.ka-lick. - key imprisons elevator's ascent once again.
taptaptaptap - low heels mapping her approach.
clk-whshhh! - cap twists off one bottle of beerthat he holds the fizzing bottle up as kerosene lamp beacon is a concert of silence
unlike the quality of her wardrobe that figuratively brightens the old hotel's interior
(not to mention the imagination of lonely - and still scared, mind you - Mauricio downstairs)
the Gnawer seems to blend right in to the faded glory of structural memory
half-figure caught in the shadows of forgotten time
lit only by the random, dimming bulbs scattered along the hall
shaggy silhouette crosshatched by mellow beams seeming to hover between erasprehistoric tribesman tucked against the safe wall of long cave
urban guttermutt catering contemporary tastes with fine lagerit's only when her toes infringe the downcast domain of deep umber does he lift those eyes in greeting
(imogen)
She doesn't belong here.Out of all the things Imogen Slaughter should have been, could have been, somehow, that she ended up a doctor for the dead, a kin to the war-like Garou
(shunning the Fianna.
Claimed by a Fenrir)can somehow seem like a stark and unfair thing. Even if it was (all) her choice. It's stark clear amidst the dingy worn hallway, fine heels making soft even sounds on the worn carpeting as she approaches. Bright flame and vibrant hues amidst shadowed neglect. This Hotel NoTell she'd come to because he'd asked her to. For a favour.
And lord knows she owes him a few.
She glances at the cigarette, sharply hungry for nicotine for a moment, before her gaze shifts, touching upon the face of the Gnawer on the floor, a few strands freeing to brush against her face, curving against her cheekbone, softly.
She carries an aluminium brief case, the weight of it seeming almost intolerable in her slight hand, though she carries it as if unaware of its presence. Her other hand, reaches out to close around the butt of the offered beer, a brief lift to her lips at the offering. "Ta. Did yeh want to show me?" she asks.
(james)
chin drops in affirming nod
(Welcome)
a tandem movement with the lowering arch of his arm
reactionary, mostly, as restless fidgit has him hooking a thumb over left shoulderSeven-Oh-Three.
"Las' nigh' frien'a mine came 'ere a fine two people alrea'y." expression darkening towards the lines of tense scowl affirm the particular two shouldn't have been "I foun' 'er 'roun' three ay em, door unlock', tv blarin', stretch out on th' bed 'n drugged a shit." his teeth practically grind as the scowl darkens another few degrees "They dunn hurt 'er physic'lly....."
quite a few more degrees
because at this point the Ahroun can't stop the growl from throttling his words"..... but they stole 'er shit, fuck up 'er head, 'n tresspass a my digs. Dunn touch nothin' when we lef', s'all as it was save th' tv." won't take superior cognitive abilities to figure out the applicance was obliterated by swiping Garou hand "Hopin' you c'n hel' me fine out who they w're."
it's something of a preamble to what she's about to step into
a breath passes (exhaled on rumbling thunder) and James stands to open the door(imogen)
She nods, absently, listening to his version of the story, as she looks over the apartment, eyes passing over the mess of the T.V., the shattered glass on the carpetted floor.When he was finished, she answers, "Kemp tol' me." She notes, taking in every inch of the room, before exhaling, and looking over her shoulder at him, as she sinks to a crouch, placing the brief case on it's side, and taking a swig from the beer before carefully placing it at the corner of aluminium accoutrement of her profession.
"Motel rooms are the worst," she warns him as she unlocks the case, and opens it, pulling out a small jar of powder, a bright electric hue, and a brush, the tip clean and undusted. "They're almost always a few thousand, if not a few hundred thousand finger prints." To keep hers from the mix, she draws gloves over her fingers, the smallest kind, a second skin to her flesh.
Another look over the room. Needle in a haystack, and there is no way for to ever know where to start. Thought flicks back over Kemp's story.
After a moment, she straightens, picking her way around the shattered TV and around the drunken fall of the table. Air conditioning. Everyone's got to start somewhere.
"Did she gi' yeh a description o' 'em? Other than their hair style?" she asks as she ever so cautiously taps down the front lid of the air conditioning, revealing the knobs within.
(james)
"'ve been th' only one in 'ere f'r the pas' three week 'sides Rumor 'n tho' two fuck'rs."he knows that she needs space and zero infractions to do her job
but that's probably not the only reason he lingers in the doorway
muscular shoulder waning to lean against the frame
tendons flexing beneath skin as another bottlecap twists off
dim lights reflecting off the inks inside his right forarm when it lifts to slug back a healthy (....ha!) swallowdark eyes explore the contents revealed by case cover lift
(he is actually interested)
keeping from setting the room ablaze from Rage's bristling glare"Yeh."
sneered. snarled.
but James slowly and patiently recites the description
making sure to speak so that all details are clear enough
(he's hurting, too, that he couldn't protect her from this violation...)
recalling every word Rumor shared with him in the other room five stories belowthe man's greasy mullet and stained mechanic's suit, brown eyes and oily chest of hair, workboots that didn't seem to fit correctly, toolbelt oddly light on it's decorative pieces, the Nextel walkie-talkie used to call the woman for maid service towels
the blond's tacky pleather chaps and bra with matching stiletto boots serving as Chicago's own version of a cheap French Maid, magenta thong coordinated with uneven eyeshadow, the butterfly, rose, and barbed wire tattoos that didn't do much to cover the bruises which were probably tracks
his chin lifts up towards the top of the a/c unit
even if she can't exactly see him, considering
bottle lifted so that two fingers can point to the wrench sitting on top"Idiots lef' that behin'.... 'n the towels ov'r on th' chair."
helpful, he is, to locating this needle
perhaps there won't be so many fingerprints to weed through(ratchet)
downtown.ghettoes and monsters that go bump in the night, where high end restaurants make for premium dumpster diving. Alex and Jo keep giving her money, money that quickly is passed on to others less fortunate then she, and far more deserving. And they all are more deserving then little monster who scurries through alleyways.
run down hotel no-tells litter the edges of prosperous downtown business district, the perfect place of business men who need an hour to get off before going home to ignore their wives, hookers doing steady business by the hour, women and young children hiding from daddy who’s gone off the deep end, and so on, and so forth. the dregs of society pass by, go in, come out, pass by again, and tonight is no different then any other night in the long running scheme of things.
outside, somewhere, by random chance [and player tenacity] there’s a grunt that sounds from the depths of alleyway. plastic against metal clangs as lid is flung up and over with a bit of effort.
dumpster diving 101 – never leap without looking. learned the hard way with nasty case of fleas that took days to get rid off, leaving gaunt body riddled with bites. now, she always looks before she leaps.
grubby fingers grasp the edge of the dumpster, dark eyes peek inside, and then nimble little form flows into movement that heaves skinny body up and into the dumpster.
(imogen)
"Fingerprints, unfortunately, can last years. One of th'strongest arguements of a defense attorney," this said again absently as she dips the brush into the powder and carefully begin to dab it across the plastic surface, head tilting at the revelation of markings, some partial, some vaguely promising.His snarl tightens her shoulders and muscles, arching across her back as if the audible sound of his rage was a scorpion she was forced to permit beneath the collar of her shirt, to slowly prick its way across her spine as her tension wound tighter and tighter. "I'll need t'get yer finger prints again," she says, as if he had not snarled, as if the moon were not full tomorrow, as if her muscles were not coiling tighter. "And hers. t'exclude 'em."
Description absorbed. Lovely sounding couple. really. If the Garou do not kill them, she will recommend they run off to join the circus.
Pleather chaps and a bra?
She does turn, however when he mentions that there are other objects that had not been touched by others. Eyeing the towels before dismissing them. Fabric holds very little in the way of finger oils. Fabric does nothing for finger prints.
The wrench however... "I'll do that next," she says, completing the final dabs of her review before starting to cross the room for the tool.
(james)
since she's still turned away
(does he realize how his agitation affects her?)
the Ahroun grunts acceptance to the printing plan
it's punctuated by the sound of liquid sloshing in the bottle
sure enough James is draining yet another fourth or third or half the bottlehe's upset.
he's angry. Still.
he's..... sad... honestly
but the blistering Rage covers it all"Dunno if th' glass in th' room'll be an' help." just because they dropped the drugs into it doesn't mean they touched it "But I know it' got her print' on it. Only oth'r thing I got 'z scent."
perceptive as Imogen is, there's a key to his behavior in the way voice lowers at the end
it isn't sadness eating away at the Fostern
it's the feeling of being helpless
(You told her it was safe, here, Jamey-boy)(ratchet)
picking through the pile, bag carefully torn into, nose wrinkling at the wafting scent. 3 day old egg salad. yuck. bag tossed aside, another one probed, before torn into and a pleased hmmm is voiced as fingers pluck a much more recently tossed partial sandwich free. wilted lettuce is tossed aside, as is the tomato, and fingers shove the rest of the not quite rotted, but getting there quickly sandwich into mouth in three bites, chewed once and swallowed quickly. not a lot but will carry her over until Steven gets off work.something hard is poked with ragged nail, bag torn to see what treasure awaits within, before digging farther to examine the piece of wood, brow creasing with thought.
head cants, and then it’s tossed aside, a use for it not thought of right away, so moving on to find something else. until there, in the very bottom corner, a small little box. dig dig dig until object is recovered, and gaunt form grasps the edge of the dumpster with one hand, launching skinny body over the edge to land in a crouch on dirty alleyway floor. coat of many pockets settles around feet as fingers examine the little box to determine what exactly it is – or could be.
(imogen)
"Might," reduced to one word responses as she blows air slowly out of her mouth, looking over the room. Debating perhaps other possibilities, before turning her attention back, and making her way toward the wrench, leaning down to swoop up her untouched beer in a gloved hand.Deviated a third time. Imogen is a perceptive woman, and despite appearances, she is not always cold. "It isn't your fault, you know." Abruptly, bluntly, quietly, as she drops the beer on the table beside him. "Even if it was yer room."
That said, she turns her attention toward the wrench, eyeing it warily. Uneven surface. Fingerprints, not so good. The glass has a better chance. If they touched it. She fingerprints both.
She'll dust those and some likely surfaces. Methodical and mostly quiet, absolutely pragmatic in her methods and half lost to the steps of her day to day job, brought outside of traditional. Or maybe not quite so. Tape is used to lift each print, carefully sealing them away. James is fingerprinted, not with dust, but ink that stains his fingers. He knows the drill. Imogen's offer of protection, to avoid even running the risk of running his fingerprints through any system she might have at her disposal.
It's probably quite late at night when she is finally done.
[cont'd next scene]
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.06.01.04. - death rides the umbral wind tonight [barny] *p[caern]
(barny)
The caern. He had greeted the Guardians, then moved towards the center, still in the real world. He is boiling inside, but its only his eyes that betray the anger within. Dressed in black bdu's, and a tight black shirt, he is stalking, without any real goal or intent.(james)
sacrifices take on as many forms as those that bear them
to raise the Caern, the city's Garou sacrificed many of their own
those that remain among Gaia's living ranks left parts and pieces behind
not a single one of them walked away unscathed
each injured in ways as variegated as the forms in which such offerings can takeJames, for one, is still highly (painfully) congnizant of that fact
(his Frankenweiler mentors would be proud)
and even on this seemingly casual foray towards the sacred place
he brings chiminage as symbolic honor to glories past
or at the very least show his appreciation for the work done by those remaining
Elder or not, the Ahroun understands the decorum of respect
plastic bag in his hand emptying with each familiar face passed
Guardians greeted with a few easy words, trademark crooked smile, and a still-warm burger of their choicethe Fostern is a Gnawer, after all
and whatever others may need, a Hood provides
responsiblity made faaar easier when the previous day's a holiday
folks gathering around BBQs, always with more food than necessary
leftovers packed away to feed those who - for some reason - couldn't make it
and what kind of guttermutt would he be to not take advantage of such treasuresbesides - who knows the last time they were able to get away for some grub?
only once he's closer to the center does the serenity drain away
few remaining burgers tucked into a cargo pocket of his camo's
brow lifting at the sight of angrily pacing frame
one Corcoran slacks in order to drag noisily on the ground and announce his approach
attention locked on the Wyrmfoe for any indication of accepted approach or neccessary solitude(barny)
Pace. Stalk. Pounding the ground beneath his feet with every step. He has almost resorted to walking in circles. The fact that he knows, and understand why hasnt madethings better, or easier. On the contrary. Hands clenching, unclenching at his sides. He has kept a distance from the guardians after the intial greeting. Kept a distance from everything and everyone. The wise have left the full-moon to his pacings. Those who asked? Were answered with a grunt. Then comes Jukebox. He stops, looking to him. The battle within is visible for all who care to look. he battle between needing to vent, and needing to do his duty. In the end, duty wins, which is strange in itself, with the full-moon so thick and bloated above. He gives a little nod of acceptance, rolling his shoulders slowly.
"Hey James..."
Dark voice, filled with rage, with the taint of the moon hanging above.(james)
the heavily swelling moon above may also explain why it was so easy for James to make off with the spoils of recreational war.....but in the face of such an obviously agitated Garou
whatever the effect the phase has on the Gnawer
it's swallowed back and kept.... relatively.... at bay
(it's easy enough to feel what's dormantly volcanic inside him)
chin lifting maaaaarginally as pace slows to stopjust an acknowledging sign allowing space for the decision
James wouldn't have to struggle to see the other's inner turmoil
animal's body language: he wouldn't be offended if turned away
but at the nod, the pack-trademarked gesture completes its salutation
and he approaches within a more acceptable conversational distance"Dunn mean a in'rupt...."
lopsided smile's easy
shoulders dismissing tension off planes created by shrug
but he's still careful to remain just outside Barny's staked, pacing territory(barny)
Deep, ragged breath in drawn through clenched teeth. Exhaled, it seems to bleed some tension from his form.
"No... I need to talk to ya anyways Rhya... "
He smirks some, rolling his head, neck cracking audiably. The formal adress a means to keep focused, to keep control.
"I can try to stomp the ground into stone later..."
He reaches up, runing a hand over his scalp. In need of a shave it seems. Dark green gaze, smouldering. There is more then just the moon in action here. Something that might be recognised by the perceptive as being helpless.(james)
there's a soft sound rolling out of the Fostern's chest
halfway between a growl and chuckle
seems he's learned over the years to temper his birth moon with humor
he doesn't say it, but the cant of head and wandering smirk speaks his thoughts
(Well, isn't that perfect timing.)
instead, reaching to pull the plastic bag out of cargo pocket
sending it along the lines of casual arch towards the Wyrmfoe"Tell me s'on y'r mine." hands sliding into fatigue pockets, dark eyes attentive, dreads slipsliding over shoulders through a nod - easy enough indication for the other to speak freely even through the guise of formality's focus.... seems James caught onto what's behind the seeth "Then we c'n go ven'."
(barny)
He eyes the food for a second, then accepts, even if he doesnt chow down right away. Instead, he moves to lean against a crumbling brick wall. Waiting til James either joins him, or takes place up ahead before he speaks again.
"Thanks.. And... You know ive ordered the packs to find information on the pyrells for a strike on him..."
Old news to everyone who isnt deaf.
"But Ive learned one thing... Pyrell Sr is a slippery Son of a bitch."
He glances into the bag, lifting up oneburger, then passes the bag back.
"Im going to talk to a small group of Garou, to aim them directly at Sr. if we get a chance to strike."
He draws in a breath, watching James closely.
"But we cant afford fuckups on this one. I dont think we will have more then one chance, So im picking out the best group I can think of. I want you as a part of it."
Another slow roll of shoulders.(james)
there's a nod as James approaches the wall
listening, acknowledging and processing the information
as well as comparing it to what he learned from his own pack's experiences
curved muscle padding shoulder's point against crumbling bricks
leaning comfortably yet maintaining eye's attentive contact"'m in."
(barny)
He nods. He didnt think James would deny. In truth, he belives al those he had planed to bring into this little side plan would agree. That doesnt mean you shouldnt explain, and ask.
"Good. After ive talked with all I had in mind, ill call a meeting to discuss the strategy for it all."
The voice is kept low, subdued. It cant hide the fact he is still raging inside.
"Ill approach Decker about it, and if Erik can be found as well. Not many I can trust to keep their heads about them, and aim for the greater good, instead of personal gain right now."
There has been far to much of that lately. A deep breath indrawn.
"But right now... I know a place in riverfront where we could work of some steam... If your up for a little bane hunt."
One brow raised in question. Do as you wish, but Barny truly needs to vent on something, before the dam breaks.(james)
"Fill me inna th' detail' when y'r head' clear'r." right hand reaches up to tap his temple through the blanket of heavy dreads "I c'n fine Deck'n Er'k when the time come'."another nod, appreciating the hoops jumped through
and the compliments ingrained in choice of phrase
of course there's no doubt he'd be up for the plan
it's generally what the Eagles came to Chicago for, anyway
but sometimes it's the little things that count"Lead on."
that's when weight shifts off the wall
a glance towards something beyond what it is they see before them
directed all the way across the Gauntlet's curtain
whatever it is he came to do - he'll draw a raincheck, thank you
but when those dark eyes return to the Wyrmfoe.... there's something else in themabove the crooked grin drawing into agreeable smile
remotely hovering around the easy stance balancing his frame
there's something else that crackles about the Fosternit's the same expression drawn during the hunt with Erik weeks ago
glimmering of the brutal fanatacism so infectiously vibrant in his Alpha
it's almost frightening to see such a dangerously violent (hungry....) streak in the usually mellow Gnawer
(it's almost frightening to wonder if he's even fully aware of its presence)(barny)
He meets that gaze, and within it, finds more then the boiling fanatism, more thne the desire for violence, the thing that speaks for the garou winning the war in the end. He finds a kindred spirit, atleast for this hunt. There are no words as Barny brings up the small pocket mirror, holding it so they both can make use of the reflective surface to cross. Fill me in when your head is clearer. For the first time since he read the note, he allows himself a smile. Someone, or something is going to pay. For now, The banes will make a good start. Once crossed over, he shifts to the great shaggy hispo, then takes off at a run. Woe to the creature that fall in the jaws of the two hunters this full-moon. No quarter given, none asked.Death rides the umbral wind tonight.
Posted by james at 12:00 AM