July 30, 2004.07.30.04. - one. year [decker-rune][riverfront]
(decker)
Front stoop of the abandoned old factory -- feet wide, forearms on his knees, whittling away at some little wood carving that just might one day be a talen. Joint's still burning away between his teeth, since the moon was damn near full tonight. His forearms are still bundles of cords like suspension cables on a bridge; his upper arms, hard chunks of defined musculature under the black patterning of tattoos. And his head, still buzzcut. And his expression, still that ever-present glower.The more things change, huh?
There's a small pile of wood shavings at his feet, slowly but steadily growing larger. Every so often he flicks his tongue against the inside end of the joint and ash collapses out the outside. A little more occasionally, he closes his lips and sucks a hit off, his hands staying busy on his little carving.
(rune)
The front doors swing open behind him, and a blast of merely hot night air meets the factory's sweltering closeness. Framed by the door: Rune. Not dead. Not scarred. Not agonized. Her features - the familiar dark eyes, fully made up, rimmed in liner and shadow, highlights and underlights, mascara to lift and separate the long inky lashes, the whole (usual) nine yards, the sharp pallor of her complexion, as if she'd never seen the sun, or spent most of her life hiding from its rays beneath a pastel parasol, the full, ever-smirking mouth painted a deadly crimson - are the same as ever. And the look she tips the Modi as the front doors swing open and a blast of merely hot air meets the sweltering darkness inside the pack's crash-space - with its mocking edge, its savage undertone - it, too, is the same, couched in a single glance spared from the television where some endless, savage, mindless game is playing."What's a chick gotta do to get a beer around here, Fenrir?"
(decker)
Front door swings open and just like that he swings up and around on his feet, his balance low, the knife suddenly flipped around in his hand and perfect for a fight.Must be gratifying to see his jaw slacken just enough to let the joint tumble out, though he catches it neatly against his chest and replaces it between his teeth. That's all the surprise that shows, anyway.
"Behind tha main boiler, near tha 'lectric stove? There's an icebox." The blade of the knife clicks away and he drops the carving in his other pocket, dusting his hands on his ass. Or his ass on his hands. "How long ya been back?"
(rune)
She's wearing jeans - low riders jeans, of course, fitted to the sinuous curve of her hips, an inch or three of smooth white skin showing the lean definition of her abdominal muscles - and some sleeveless, spaghetti-strapped top, fabric so fine that it does not so much cling to her torso as undulate across it, waterslick, silken, edged with tatty black lace and dampened with sweat. Nothing's changed. She's wholly unmarked, untouched - perhaps a shade thinner than he remembers, but time adds weight and fullness to remembered things, and she was always lean, wolf-hungry. The two signs of neglect are almost afterthoughts - an inch and a half of blonde roots underpinning her otherwise inky hair and the unpolished, splintering nails tipping the hands that hold the controller with such negligent authority.The game is a new one, if the Modi pays attention to such things. New to the world, new to the pack, some Beta-testing uberviolent first-person shooter, with graphics so realistically rendered that children have been known to spasm into seizures from exposure to the graphics, or at least realistic enough that the gaming community is spreading rumors to that effect. It won't come out for another six months, but Rune - who has been out of contact and incommunicado for more than a year - Rune has a copy of it, all jazzed up on some new gaming system hooked into their television like bloated pattern spider gorging itself on the mother of all weaver-constructs. At the moment, she has eschewed the elegance of the high-powered sniper-laser and the anonymity of a rooftop for the brutal violence of a big-ass motherfucking axe. Half-rotten intestines spill from the slabbed flesh, bounce on black ice like mutilated sausages. Pixilated blood pools on the pavement, reflects the simulated night sky.
Take that, zombie-fucker.
The images on the screen freeze, something in the middle of decapitation, the hard whiteness of bone, the realistic arc of arterial spray, all captured, midmotion. Look closely and the anatomical structure of cervical vertebrae are revealed, where they haven't been crushed entirely by the brutal computerized blow. Attention still half-directed toward the screen, she narrows her eyes against the gathering gloom, following his directions. "You got anything other than Natural Light?" The Glass Walker smirks, her right thumb hovering over the A-button of her new wireless controller as she wanders a few feet into the darkness. "What are you, philosophically opposed to air conditioning, now?" There's another one in her left hand, which she lifts and tosses to the Modi, thoughtlessly, shooting a glance toward the screen as she considers his question. At last: " - about one point five levels, give or take the learning curve."
(decker)
His blink is an understated thing: a bare flicker of surprisingly long honey-blond lashes against hard arched cheekbones, over hard grey eyes. Pretty eyelashes. Nothing else pretty about him. He tosses a glance at the big TV. Damned if he knew how she managed to get that to run off their gas generator -- or did they have real live electricity now? Probably not. Probably some obscure GW magic: the awakened X-box that runs off a trickle of juice."Nice TV," he says, and lets the door bang shut behind him. "Naw." He checks in the icebox just to be sure, and fetches himself a cold one while he's at it. Cold coke, actually.
"Think we got tha money fer A/C inna place this big?" He nods up at the vast spaces: the high ceilings gridded in tubes and pipes; the boilers squating like silent monsters in the dimness of the emergency lights and one floor lamp; the catwalks, the groaning steel, the shambling brick and mortar. He settles on a crate that doubled as seating in this postindustrial hellhole, "Where ya been?"
(rune)
Rune stares in the Modi's wake, probably making some obscure Glass Walker cost benefit calculation wherein the merits of drinking a crappy beer are weighed against the merits of not drinking any beer at all. It's a close call, involving imaginary numbers and seventh dimension shit ordinary people aren't privy to, or so it seems from the way her eyes narrow in calculation, from the way her red smirking mouth settles into a flat, calculating line. "-'ll stick with the tequila." Muttered more to herself than to the Fenrir. She didn't expect Decker to grab her a beer while he was over there. "You're telling me you can't like, call on some damned germanic ancestor spirit of being frozen off your goddamned ass to in the tundra or shit to show up and blow a bit of cold air around here?"She glances up at the guts of the factory, the crawling agglutination of rusting pipes and wire, and makes a brief, sour face before her expression stills. Orchestral menace spills from the surround system of the factory's new big-screen T.V., a repeating theme, forever stuck on three or four swelling, minor-key bars with the game on pause, mid-murder. Where ya been? She casts him another glance and offers a bare twitch of her shoulders in a shrug, flipping the game back on from its pause. Her gaze returns to the screen, now, the last rush of the axe through the zombie's neck, the awkward, jagged impact of blade on bone buzzing back up her arm from the controller. "Here and there," is the first, unsatisfying answer, almost as good as an adolescent's clever retort, around. Her settled smirk twitches sourly at the screen, and she flips the game back to pause before the head hits the pavement. "Someone who should've been dead, wasn't. So, I had someone to kill."
(decker)
"Took ya a whole year ta kill somebody?"Aha, now there's a difference for Rune to pick up on: there's surliness there, all right, just as expected. Sullennes. The sneering disdain of someone who kicks ass and knows it. But underlying all that, there's a thin thread of humor she mighta missed if she weren't so perceptive.
He pop-hisses his can open and takes a long gulping draught. Wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. That there's familiar too. As is the direct grey stare. The smirk.
--fading, though. He sniffs loudly, looks down at his can for a moment, and takes another drink. "Things been changin' since you was last 'round. Erik ain't hardly never 'round no more. Jus' got back yesterday. 'Fore that, been 4 months since I saw 'im last.
"Kemp -- you r'member Kemp? -- growin' up. Dire's gone. So's Luc. 'N Livin'stone." Pause, he's ticking off names in his head. "James' still 'round. 'N Tristan. Imogen." He takes another slug of coke. "We got a caern 'n sept now, too."
(rune)
"Naw - " she almost drawls, some subtle imitation of the Modi's lazy cockiness. " - took me about five fucking minutes to kill 'em. Took me a whole fucking year to celebrate." She allows the controller to slide from her hand onto some handy surface only after inspecting said surface carefully for anything, well, living, or wet, or - "You know, champagne and roses and wine and shit like that, living the high life."Leaning back against the frame of one of the rickety couches in the close space, she curves her shoulder back and stretches through the flank as the fingers of her left hand curl into her left front pocket, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She plucks one from the slender case - turkish blend, oblong and filterless, they look more like joints than cigarettes - and slides one end into her mouth. She cups her left hand, holds the lighter in her right and bends toward the flame, but looks up, then, as Decker sums up a years worth of stories in a few sentences. She can almost see the slow crawl of the checklist, imagines them as hypertext (and hypertextualized) links. "Not to mention - " smirked around the shape of the strange cigarette, the mellow smoke spilling from her nostrils. " - the big motherfucking move. Never met Kemp. Dire and Luc checked out before I did, maybe Livinston too. Heard about the Sept, though - " Flicking the lighter closed to kill the flame with a distinct flourish, she takes a complete drag at last, then actually removes then smoke from her lips. Her expression sobers, the smirk drains away. "Y'all are BMOC, or that's what I heard - "
(decker)
"Oh," at her corrections of his timeline. Whatever. This is why he's Modi, not Skald. Stories and times weren't his role. Battles were.Her lighting her joint -- wait, no, it was a cigarette -- reminds him of his. He takes it out of his mouth and crushes it out atop the crate, then drops it carelessly on the floor. That floor, by the way, is getting deeper and deeper in debris, junk, castoffs, refuse, and general trash. His reply to her is characteristically short: a cock of an eyebrow upwards, a word repeated. "BMOC?"
(james)
there is a singular commonality in all structures
no matter their meaning or purpose or strategic groundplan
there is always a back door - one through which the Gnawer Fullmoon trudges
backpack slung over one shoulder
green and white cardboard box weighting down arm attached to the othermust've been payday
behind the main boiler, near the electric stove? bottles rattle
longneck bottles shoved into the ever-melting ice
methodical practice some ritual to cast the day away
or find some method of ignoring the moon's glow above
grime smears across tanned skin and blends into cast shadows
obscuring iridescent ink and dark stains alike
dreads swing heavy to gravity's relentless call
reversed as bottle cap cracks and it's tipped bottom up before he even steps awaymay be the reason he doesn't see the big fuckin' tv
or, yknow, even notice there's anyone else in the warehouse
totally oblivious halfway around the island of domesticity
(there's a shower somewhere off in the distance, young pilgrim)
until.... he smells that turkish blendstop.
swallow.
stare.(rune)
"Big men on campus. Y'know - " the cigarette is held negligently between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, almost like a joint. The difference is obvious, though, in the way she exhales the nicotine laced smoke without holding it for more than a few seconds. Stealing another drag, her left arm level with her shoulders, the cigarette managed like a half-smoked joint, she exhales another cloud. Smirks - again, this one deeper, different, something. " - Sept leaders 'n shit, you know. Head honchos. Lawmen." It's like she carries a motherfucking dictionary or something around in her goddamned head sometimes, unless she's secreted her blackberry into her ear and is reading back the list of synonyms chirped into her ear by some little electronic voice.The cumulative detritus of pack life makes footing treacherous, maybe not for the rest of them, but certainly for someone in five inch heels. Her right hand swings back, against the couch frame, a third point of balance, and she begins not-so-delicately kicking a mound of empty coke cans, old burger wrappings, tailings from whatever metal foundry once called these walls homes, asbestos insultation flaking off the pipes, and so on, methodically away from her, clearing a circle and then the beginnings of a path, the bleed-off of restless energy. She's beginning to think that she should've had one of those cheap beers the Modi had stashed, if only to swallow a handful of Xanax, when the door swings open and she lifts her chin and stop/stare/swallow. She stares back, over Decker's shoulder, familiar as hell, practically fucking unchanged, except for a half-inch of blond roots and a mangled manicure on the hand holding onto the turkish cigarette, which is fine stuff, if not her usual brand. "James." It's a greeting from the Fenrir playbook; her voice is even, her animal stare opaque.
(decker)
He just grunts at that, neither confirming nor denying that particular rumor. Guess she'll find out when she finds out, eh? And in the meantime he'll go on being the Modi posterchild. Grumpy. Surly. Silent. BMOC? Irony in that particular expression being, it's doubtful whether Decker ever even set foot on a college campus. More likely some blend of superficial disdain and subficial insecurity kept him far, far, far away.He too glances over his shoulder as Rune does. And he too, even and opaque as the face of some weatherworn granite boulder, mutters a pointless greeting.
"Sup."
(james)
James, for all rights and purposes, looks like he's seen a ghost
and to his mind - he has
(he thought she was dead)
practically fucking unchanged
deep umber eyes locked on opaque animal stare
Eagles' PR guy seems to have lost his touch
bottle raised for another swallow in this sudden (continued) silence"Ru'e."
it's the third time he's ever used her name
or at least today's semi-reasonable facsimilie of it given the notable slur
easy enough to see that he, on the other hand, has gone through some metamorphosis
weight's lost, and the Gnawer looks more than tribally expected hagard
dreads hang closer to lumbar spine than shoulder blades she last saw
there's a few more scars visable, and worse things lurking beneath the surface of his skin"...... beer?"
open mouth of the longneck tips back towards the cooler
brow tips towards the frame of ropey 'locks incorporating both the other fullbloods
struggling to compose a pseudo-cognizant phrase as mind screeched to clattering halt
offering a Rolling Rock saving face by keeping his jaw off the floor(rune)
"As long as it isn't the shit Decker offered me before you showed up." He would've seen that buried in the half-melting ice: Natural Light, near brandless, about a half-step above the generic crap in black and white cans that just says "BEER" in big sans-serif letters, like the extra flourishes might confuse their target demographic. The Glass Walker catches and holds James' gaze: stares. Stares, staredown - even when it's just a look, even among the most civilized of these animals, savage instincts crawl beneath the surface of the skin - something almost like it, the urge to dominance, whatever gets held and whatever gets held back. He breaks the glance, or she does, and it passes like anything else. Her eyes flicker down over the bottle in an almost obligatory 'brand-check.' "Fucking generic shit, no more than the strained piss of drunks. That's true, by the way. There was some big expose a few years back - saw the text on the net - where they caught the big brewers doing just that." When you don't know anything - make shit up. "But I'll have one of those."She tips a nod toward the green shadow of a bottle of his hand, shifts positions against the the sofa until she's not simply leaning, but half-sitting on the broken-down frame, her weight a considerable strain on the dry-rotting wood encased in cheap polyesters, but not so great as the stresses this group has no-doubt subjected it to. Rune glances back at Decker and starts to say something. Opens her mouth at least, before snapping it shut into the sketchy shape of a usual red smirk. "You people sleep here, too?"
(decker)
"Sleep out back," says Decker, with a lazyass tilt of his head that way to show the direction -- like maybe if he didn't, she wouldn't know.The trailer would look appropriate here, rounded edges and aluminum sidings. It would, but it's not the trailer. It's a step down from the trailer: a tiny shack out back hammered and bolted and wrenched together of corrugated steel, with a hole for a door and a hole for a window, dirt for flooring. Hot as a microwaved sardine can under direct sunlight; probably assfreezing cold in the winter. One mattress pallet for a bed, a stack of old porn mags, some clothes strewn about, and boxes of Deckerphenalia... ah, the existence of the Modi.
"James 'n Kemp usually sleep 'round here though." When they were off with whatever kin might take 'em in. But then Decker couldn't bitch; he spent a couple nights a month AWOL too.
It's like the shellshocked mundanity of holocaust survivors. What, Rune back? Whaddaya mean, that's unbelievable? Decker seems to be taking it all in stride.
(james)
it's just a look
a year ago his gaze faltered and dropped without second thought
tonight - it falters simply because he can't take his eyes off of her
(... un. real)
hospitality someone fortunately ingrained years ago pulling the Hood back to earth
direction reversed to revisit the cooler"Nev'r." two syllables! he speaks! "'roun' payday we get remin'ed Garou'r step 'bove th' dr'nks."
at least it wasn't his first response that some of them had more class
three bottles pulled free - you can bet he's slurped down the rest of that first one
empty glass cast away to some pile that will never be recycled
(beneath it remains a trashcan they'll all swear wasn't that full last they checked)
one's slung underhandeasy to the Modi if he wants it, otherwise kept in clasp
with the GlassWalker - he dares walk right up and hand it to her
(can she see how bottle trembles at length of outstretched arm)
looking around at the mess in question with something resembling a wry grin in face of sketchily usual smirk"Nuh. Kemp stays 'roun' mos've th' time. More'n me."
maybe the wry grin waxes self-conscious
realizing the startling clarity of speech impediment
(something about a pauper at the feet of.....)
so much has changed in the past twelve months
lambent hope quelled before the ideal request would form
(he'd still fall to his knees before her)
not expecting a lot of things to be as they once were"Gotta place few block a here."
(decker)
Decker shakes his head for the beer, holding up his half-finished Coke in demonstration. Then, the stares James is giving Rune gets through even his thick skull. Or maybe he was just sick of the pending loveydovey shit. In one seamless motion the Modi slides off the crate and lands on his two feet, solid bone and muscle."Gonna hafta take ya ta see Eagle again," he says, and he don't mean the Blood Eagle. Then, offhand, "Good havin' ya back, Rune."
On his way out, he finishes off the Coke and tosses the can in the vague direction of the trashheap. The back door of the factory, the same steel as the front, slams shut and echoes off the shadowy high ceilings.
(rune)
"The factory's too classy for you Fenrir, is that it? Always gotta be one step removed." Her gaze shifts from James as Decker speaks, dark eyes twitching to following the tilt of the Modi's head out back; her eyes widen, and a brief disbelieving shake of her head dislodges the fine strands of her dyed hair from the sweaty plaster against her skull. She reaches up to push the fingers of her right hand through the tangle, levering the smoke against her hip with her left hand. The interior heat and humidity are not kind to her fine hair, and the unflatteringly tonal strands cling to her lean fingers greedily as they drive through the mess. Quirk. " - I'm surprised you didn't drag your trailer outta the fucking dump all the way to Illinois an' park it in the parking lot at Imogen's building."The smirk stills, dies, dives away and disappears into the sharp planes of her features, as James approaches and offers up the bottle of beer. Rune's eyes track over his haggard face - the ravages of the past year show more clearly on closer inspection - and she absorbs the changes expressionlessly, accepting the bottle and then tilting it bottle toward him in lieu of verbal thanks.
Her chin rises, dark eyes tracking the Modi as he heads back out to his pup tent, ice house, guard shack. "Missed you, too, Fenrir."
In the shadows, the uncertain light, the flickering television set gleams with the glow of spraying blood, the slow-creep-crawl of the health meter lower and lower and lower as victory in level one point five of the nameless game bleeds away from the nameless protagonist. In the bloodied axe held out before the first-person perspective, beneath the sick and subtle curl of brain matter over the matte edge of the blade, some reflection of what must be meant to be the face you never otherwise see wavers in then through the simulated silver blade: your face, somehow. Her face, pale and dark, smeared red, light and shadows and contrast. Other Glass Walkers are all about new frontiers, Weaver fighting Wyrm, Wyld fighting - oh, hell, the permutation were too fucking complicated to contemplate. Other Glass Walkers hacked into corporations or instigated hostile takeovers or what the fuck ever: Rune was just in it for the toys.
The lack of light only heightens the fucking drama of her make-up: smoking eyes and a crimson mouth, nothing more, nothing less, nothing else; but it renders the hollows in the Bone Gnawer's face even more hollow, carves out a few new gutters of its own in his visage. "You look like hell."
(james)
Decker exits stage left - James. doesn't. even. notice.
he's still trying to convince himself this is reality
and he's not going to wake up once level one point five is over
hand stays hovering now sans bottle of beer
fingers flashing to fist when realization eventually comes through
(earth to Jamey-boy, helloooOOOooo)
another smile works its way - forever - crookedly across his features"Yeh?" laughter ebbs free on waves of mid-chest growl "Y'r bein' kine, fr'm wha' th' rest've tol' me."
shoulders lift in haphazard shrug
he knows the shadows are deeper
the lines of wear and tear are harder
the sorrow seems to linger in the corner of earthen umber
(even if the light is grappling to return)
there's a notch along the lines of strong jaw
skin gnarled elsewhere as testament to all-but-fatal mistakes
it's in these shadows their truths reveal themselves
(the Elderman's nothing more than a ghost in the darkness)
lean, cut, and rawly naked behind that which should provide comforting sheild"Las' year ain' been easy."
and he stops
there's a million questions forming behind lingering confusion
so many things he's desperate to ask, secrets he longs to unravel
but it all culminates into a singular, essential thing
pre-empted by that empty hand finally organizing a goal
reaching to drag calloused fingertips down strand of blonde-rooted hair
afraid - Gaia's mighty Warrior, afraid - to push far enough so the illusion shatters"You.... stickin' 'roun' f'r th' nigh'?"
never has he requested nor demanded her allegiance or time
but by the unspoken impressions held so carefully in check.....
(please don't leave me again)
..... dark eyes falter before their fortune can be read(rune)
He reaches out to touch her hair, and her chin rises. The lank strands of her sweat-stained hair flatten against the grain of his touch, catch in the rough grooves of his calloused hand, fray and feather beneath his fingers. The cigarette smolders in her left hand, still, the flat, brownish paper burning steadily away, sizzling and sparking now as the fire sinks closer and closer to her clenched thumb and forefinger. "I would've - " she's looking at him, a full-on glance, all closed intentions, unreadable. Whatever she was going to say, she thinks better of it and tilts her head away, lifting the remainder of the cigarette casually to her lips, some old man's extravagent gesture, some old man's extravagent drag to suck the last stimulation out of the dead ender. Holding it out from her mouth, about to take a hit. " - you've gotta be stronger than this, James. I don't like what I'm seeing, here."This time, she holds the smoke in like she was smoking marijuana, hoping for the maximum high, holding the breath inside as long as she could, to increase the contact between her blood and the drug and flicks the last quarter inch of paper and tobacco away as casually as Decker discarded the remainder of his joint. Her head is canted to the side, 45 degrees from horizontal, her dark eyes shadowed by the sweep of long, mascara-encased lashes. She studies him from that angle for a long series of moments paced by the measured crawl of her breathing once she has exhaled the lungful of smoke. She breaks the look a moment later, dark gaze flickering down in appraisal so distant it seems impersonal, until her eyes lodge on something at the level of his waist. Her right arm swings out from the shoulder, bent at the elbow and wrist, and - quite precisely, deliberately, unselfconsciously - she crooks her right index finger through one of the belt loops of his BDUs, tugs back, like she's testing the workmanship of military surplus, these days.
"But yeah - " her gaze remains downcast, watching her finger crooked at his waist, as the press-pull becomes more insistent, an undercurrent of darker force beneath it: riptide. " - I'm sticking around for the night."
(james)
bottles clank as a stretch lets them slide onto the couch proper
one hand's occupied with rediscovering the finer feathering aspects of her hair
the other rising in a fit of lonely jealousy this cadent mirror
it finds the serpentwolf's shoulder as he's tugged closer by beltloop leash
dark eyes slide closed when dreads swings as his forhead leans against hers"Yeh?" murmured, now, for their animal senses need no volume "How strong ya think I had a be... t'wake up each day'n keep fightin' a War I was losin' faith in..... jus' cause I hoped it'd be th' day you walk' back through tha' door ev'n though ev'rything tol' me tha' w's a pipe dream."
he, too, watched the crook of finger at his waist
simplistic physical bridge another shortening of the distances created
arms slide around her shoulders, workday grime transferring through glue of sweaty skin
as if the refamiliarizing of each other's scents on flesh needed some visable marker
(scent, it's said, is the most powerful of all senses)
and for all that's shifted for better or worse, something surfaces that's practically fucking unchanged
a grin - that grin - flashing in the shadows"..... then I guess y'll need s'me place a stay." silence, and his eyes finally lift to seek the smokey shadows surrounding hers "s'a bit more high class'n this."
she doesn't have the chance to answer
not with the way he's lain claim across smirk painted so viciously red
actions speaking intentions his dumbstruck loss of words will never gratify
blood spilled when they were apart for just a week..... what will become of them this first night after a year
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJuly 29, 2004.07.29.04. - kemp saves his alpha [eagles-flight-danah][forum]
(erik)
Bet no one expected Erik to return like this. Out of the umbra, no warning, covered in his own blood (soaked by now, litteraly), and supported by none other than the kid, Kemp...It was nearning evening when, suddenly, Erik half falls out of the umbra into the wearhouse. By now he has shrunk to Glabro, just in case the fire inspector or Decker's mom or something was visiting. Who knows. But he is only slightly less a monster, standing there, hulking there, draped over Kemp for support. Blood runs from shoulder and side, down his legs and onto the floor. His boots squish with every red step, and there's a huge piece of his shoulder missing. That arm hangs limp, and the pain has returned.
"Where..." *breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out* "is..." *breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out* "fuckin everybody?" Takes him almost the whole way over to a chair to get that sentence out. Once there, he collapses clumsilly, like a puppet with its strings cut, or a warrior who's lost too much blood, almost knocking the chair over and going all the way to the floor.
"'Kay... Kid." *breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out* "Better get me..." *breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out* "That healer now..."
---------------------- What Danah finds ----------------
The bane is dead and its form has faded into the background of ephemera. Erik (Blood-Y Eagle this night) and Kemp have headed back to the wearhouse. Danah is supposed to check on the real target, the crackhouse that is simply just way to close to the pack house to be selling tainted drugs. So, its back into the physical realm, because while there is a reflection of the house in the umbra, its deserted there.
As soon as she crosses back over, she will see the trouble. Its the crackhouse, right in the same spot they left it not five minutes back, except now its on fire, blazing away inside. Its surrounded by field with just a few scraggly bushes next to it, so getting close means getting seen by anyone around, and if anyone is left in there they're cooked anyways. Oh well. Better let Erik know, if he aint bled out by now.
(kemp)
Only thing Kemp was thinking about as he helped Erik back to the packhouse was he needed to get hold of Cliona fast. But man, it was a great chance to test out that liquid bandaid shit he'd gotten hold of and he was just sure Iodine and Duct-Tape would do a lot towards holding things together till she got there."Who knows?"
In reply to where everyone was.
"Hell half the time everyone's out running around, sleeping here, sleeping there. Listen, ya just lay down and I'll go call Cliona cause man, you're leaking all over the place."
Shifted back to homid and he was a mess of goo and blood that wasn't his. Bare except for the boxers he'd snagged a long time ago from Decker's things and the two pendants he always wore around his neck. Now those boxers were blood soaked and sticking to his ass like some kind of weird wrinkled skin. Grabbing hold of the cell he'd been given to start punching buttons, talking as soon as he heard something on the other end, whether it was Cliona or her voice mail.
"Oh man! Cliona? This is Kemp. I could really use a healer right now cause I don't know how long this ductape will hold up and there's blood everwhere man. Eagle's place if ya can make it. If not, I'll fuckin drive the bike there. Better hurry though, couch is getting soaked fast."
Forgetting to mention who was hurt and how. Too busy gathering together Iodine, ductape, towels and the liquid bandaids. Dumping all next to the couch and Erik before searching for booze to shove towards his wounded Alpha.
"Here, this'll give ya cancer, but might feel better till it does."
Yabbering in the phone at the same time.
"Ya need a ride here? Can ya hear me now? Hello? Hey! Dude there's like tons of blood and stuff. I don't think I got enough tape here."
If he figured out all he had was a voice mail, he'd call the club and the pub. Then he was popping the top off the Iodine.
"This is gonna burn like a bitch."
Turning to Erik with the bottle.
(decker)
Well, here's on answer to the question.Out of nowhere Decker grabs the phone out of Kemp's hand and slams it down. It's a cell, but that's OK. He slams it down anyway. The back of the little flip-phone snaps; the color screen cracks in half; the battery pops off.
Needless to say, the line disconnects.
"Kin take care'a our own," the Modi growls from a menacing inch away, and hands the twisty pieces back to Kemp. "Damned if tha firs' public appearance Erik makes in MONTHS," oh there's that old resentment, "is gonna be in pieces beggin' fer help."
Decker turns to Erik then, his glower somewhere between baleful and disbelieving and relieved, all. Meanwhile he's digging through his pockets. Probably searching for one of his bloody bandage talens again. Any theurge'll tell you it's a shitty healing talen. Bleed yourself dry just to heal yourself up in the future? But it was the best he had, and god damn it, it was better than calling some non-pack Fianna theurge in.
"So where tha hell you been? Why tha hell was yer pack left sittin' on they thumbs?"
He's found the bloody bandages: a dicey-looking square of tightly-folded ripped t-shirt, soaked through and stiff with dried blood. He squeezes briefly in his fist and bloody flakes off, a fine red dust. Then he tosses it on Erik's ruined chest. Wounds close, bones mend. 5agg damaged healed -- imagine that if you will.
(cliona)
She'd given kemp her cell phone number for a reason - she ALWAYS answers that one. Finding her at any of her other contact numbers is always hit and miss. Therefore, answered, and trying to get a word in edgewise from the babbling Kemp, she's finally managing. "I'll b'right there, lad.." turning down the ride, and then the slam and closed connection after the phone broke.Well then.
She grabs her pack, slings it over her shoulder, and runs to the gates of the Caern from where she was meditating by the Flight's koi pond. It's not overly far to the Eagles Factory, and she's not a slow runner when she's of a mind.
And she's of a mind now. Kemp only calls when he's desparate - and if the kid is hurt that ba....wait, he didn't say who was hurt. No matter, she considered the eagles as people to have at her back - she'd do no less for them. After all - ain't the first damn time she's patched them up, is it?
So, not long after, she's jumping up the cement steps two at a time, and a fist bangs on the door. "Kemp? 'tis Cliona..."
(percy)
Percy had been on his way towards the Koi pond and he saw his alpha get up and head out at a jog, so turning the pretty wolf had fallen into stepp with her. Jogging along on 4 legs. Unsure what had her in a running state but figured if she's running it's important and if it's important she'd need somone to heal her when she was done.
Nearing the edge of the caern he leaps up to a box and off the other side. Snap shifting into birth form in the air. Landing on 2 feet, homid again with out breaking a step.
The little guy now dressed in Jeans, sneakers a white teeshirt and a green and purple paisly button up. Long staff in his hand. Casually he paces her as they jog south. Wondering absently where they were going.
Even now he carried that peaceful docile glow about him.
Once to the werehouse he looks around and watches his Alpha's back.
(danah)
"Well.. that's one less thing to do.." she mutters to herself, as the rising wall of fire casts a sharp red light on a face that looked older than it was. Its a tale that's too familiar inside the nation - nobody is innocent any more, nobody is young, and everybody grows up too fast. Turning her back to the burning building and any poor souls still inside, she walks back toward the Eagle's packhouse....At this stage, knocking consists of throwing a fist against the door three times as a pre-emptive warning, and then walking right inside. Black eyes looks at Decker, Kemp, and then Erik. "All better?" She makes a small shrug before placing her home remedy kit on the nearest flat surface: one bottle of cheap vodka and one small bottle of painkillers. "Guess you don't need that.." She shrugs again, and looks between Erik and Decker.
(I'm writing this as though Danah can and will get to the packhouse before Cliona/Percy.. because frankly she doesn't have to run a dozen city blocks.)
(erik)
"Here and there." He snarls up at Decker, who still hasn't learned the lesson Erik's been teachin, oh, these past two years. Same ole Deck. It's good, suddenly, to be back among shitheads. "An' who says I'm beggin fer shit. Keep yer damn rag to yerself." Yep, good to be back. Still beeeding, but back.When someone, whoever, knocks on the door, Erik looks round for the kid. "Aye, kid, ya wanna get that, or fuckin what?"
Oh, its Danah. "Well?..." He waits for the news and completley ignores the Vodka and painkillers. Strike one.
Door again. "Kid? Where da fuck he go?"
(Refused use of the bandage, and, Lessa hun, the crackhouse was actually just a couple blocks away. That's the interesting part
(kemp)
There he was doing what he had been told to do and suddenly he's in deep shit with Decker. Just couldn't fuckin win around this place. And there went the fuckin phone. Letting it drop to the floor before turning away to get the door with the first knock. Already in a pissy mood and before he can open the fucker, it opens and in strolls Danah like she owned the place.
"Oh yeah, well fuckin come in."
Grumbling after slamming the door behind her. Still in boxers and covered in blood and crap. More pissed at Decker than anyone, but one of the reasons he was pissed at him had just come through the door like the fuckin Queen Mother. Instant, this is pack dumped on them when they had to depend the most on each other. Then he gets over that shit and is sent to another ass numbing meeting by Decker and why? So some Fenrir he had never seen before or since, could come in and say he was representing Decker. BAM! Another kick in the ass.
"Floor mat, fucking floor mat."
Then the door again and he was whipping it open with a snarl only to have to step outside and close the door behind him.
"Listen, I'm sorry I wasted your time Cliona."
Green gaze cutting to the one with her, trying to place him. Attention back to Cliona.
"Seems I'm a fuckin dumbass and shouldn't of called for help. I appreciate your coming and all but the powers that be tell me to fuck off so I just wasted your time."
Tromping towards the bike with the ass of the bloody boxers sticking out like he had a load in them, boxers were so flattering when they didn't fit right.
"I'll make it up to ya. And um, don't try calling me cause I ain't got a fuckin phone no more."
(decker)
Well, kid got that right. Door slams in Cliona's and Percy's faces. Oh, and Danah's too. Kemp's outside standing in for James as PR man.Ain't nobody but the Eagles gonna see the Blood-Eagle collapsed all over hisself.
Totemphone: You rather git tha help'a some otha pack? Rejectin' my BLOOD fer you, fer tha help'a some OTHER pack?
(cliona)
Blink.Fucking ungr..... ahem. Fenrir.
A glance toward Percy, then back to Kemp. "Dinna worry about it lad, ye know y'kin call me anytime." Shrugs, turns, and with a squeeze of Kemps shoulder, lightly. "y'best get some clothes on lad, before runnin on home lest ye raise more'n'a few brows..."
The smile offered is easy enough, before she turns on a heel and walks away, her tirade for Totemphone only.
Poor Percy.
(erik)
"I aint beggin fer nuthing, muthafucker. Now, if yous offerin, ya know..." He trails off there for a moment, glassy eyed and almost gone, but just for a moment. He comes to with a shake of the head. "What? Huh? Gimmie that already, ya miserable fuck." He reaches out, arm limp. Only so much blood one guy can loose, no matter how stupid he is.
(kemp)
A glance back at the slamming door and then he just had to inwardly snicker if and when the door closed on Danah cause she had marched in and that meant Decker would of had to put her out. It also meant he would retrace his steps to take up post in front of the door in all his boxer short, bloody, glory."Thanks again Cliona, I owe ya."
Calling after her then crossing his arms to stand in front of the door like a bloody mostly nude gargoyle.
"Lovely night out here, ain't it?"
Wide smile flashing at Danah. Ok, for once he was slightly pleased with Decker's PMS cause it put Danah where he was, outside.
(danah)
..And then Danah's getting shoved out the door."I came with him" she informs Decker, as she's being thrown out. Gibbous moon tonight, tempers are running really hot.
As the door gets slammed on her face, Danah balls up a tight fist and just barely stops herself from driving her knuckles into the metal slab serving as a door. Just barely. Growling lowly to herself, she sends Kemp a look that could kill, snorting in reply.
"Fuckin peachy. I hope they're always so charming.." That's only partially sarcastic. The other part is completely serious.
Finding a place to lean against, she looks at Kemp, trailing her eyes across his bloody body. Then whistles. Snickers. And finally just smirks at him. "You want me to get something to wear? Or a beer or somethin?"
(percy)
Percy looks at all the door slaming and stomping and bloody boxers and fussing and cussing and stuff and blinks. Reaching up he pushes his glasses up and blinks again.
His normal docilinity keeping him from getting riled. When others talked and fussed and ranted he tended to just lean on his staff. Nod and listen. It was the philodox in him.Cliona started off and he turns to follow. A bit perplexed. Then the totem phone tirade started up. Something irish about the little boy that called wolf and hoping some ugly fucker bleeds to death and he smelled bad and was cursed to be impotant.
Percy winced. He didn't wish that on anyone.Did he speak?
Nope. Not. One. Fucking. Word.
(decker)
Decker can't tell what Erik wants. So he don't do nothing, standing there with his hands balled into fists at his sides. The bloody bandage was still where Erik left it. The vodka, probably not too far off."Fuck was you?" It's back to the previous topic, low, quiet and angry. "Ain't none'a us seen ya since tha Caernraisin'. We all been actin' like ain't nothin' wrong, but last time you was at our backs was four fuckin' months ago, Erik. Ain't none'a us heard shit 'cept 'don't follow'. Fuck sorta Alpha tells his pack ta not follow?
"'N now you jus' walk tha fuck back under a roof you ain't spent more'n a week under 'n start callin' in other packs ta heal ya 'n gawk atcha while you, the ALPHA of tha EAGLES, is lyin' there half dead moanin' over a fuckin' SCRATCH."
If Erik thinks he detects a sneer of sarcasm in the stress Decker puts on the title and pack names, it's not his imagination. The Eagles had a reputation beyond their keeping. The Eagles was perceived as strong. Invulnerable. Unassailable. They let people think that. Cultivated it even. But push comes to shove and the Eagle is four Garou. One of whom ain't ever around. One of whom is still young and green. One of whom is fast approaching Harano. And one of whom who'd drop everything on his hands over a kin.
"Our strength's already half a fuckin' lie, Erik," Decker's speaking barely above a whisper now, but it's a fierce one, furious and through his clenched teeth. "We ain't half so strong as we used ta be when you was with us, 'n Rune was with us. But jus' how fuckin' weak ya want us ta look?"
He ends the fuckin' soliloquy with an emphatic glob of phlegm spat on the ground, and stomps over to the icebox to dig out a beer.
(kemp)
Unable to stop the wolfish smile that flashed across his face with the glare from Danah. Oh man, this just made it even sweeter. Rocking back and forth on bare feet now just because holding still was not in there with the joy going through him at someone else being pissed on besides himself. Misery loves company and he had sudden company."Naw, they ain't always this charming. This ain't nothing, wait till they really pour on the charm."
Teeth flashing in that wide smile. Peachy, Peachy! Must be a girl thing, Peachy! Then came the whistle, snicker and smirk, followed by the weird offer.
"Yeah I know, sexy, ain't I?"
A snicker of his own. She liked the boxers, he knew it!
"Ya know, drinkin will give ya cancer, don'tcha? But hey, if you want something to wear, go for it."
And his mind was instantly going to spiked heels, stockings and a big purple glitter strap-on. Giving a quick shake of his head. Oh fuck me, not that!
(danah)
"Kemp.." Danah just shakes her head."Okay, first.." counting off her index finger, "None of us here are gonna die from cancer. If anybody here lives long enough to even get cancer, there's something seriously fucking wrong."
"And two.." middle finger, "the clothes are for you!"
"But if you wanna stand there half-naked.. I frankly don't give a damn." And folding her arms over her chest, Danah finds something to lean against, and waits..
(kemp)
"Dude, ya know ya like looking at me. I saw it."
Puffing up his chest while standing guard at the door.
"And there's more than one kind of cancer. Call it cancer, call it drugs, call it booze, call it what it is, a crutch when ya do it to forget, feel different, be something ya ain't. Even if ya can shrug off the effects, it's a fuckin crutch to hide behind for a little bit. An excuse when ya fuck up. So in my book, it's a cancer ya do to yourself to hide from whatcha really are or are feeling."
Oh man, he went off on one of his speaches that made perfect sense to him, even if others didn't always see it. And there was no way he was going to take the offer of clothes cause what went through his head was, she would give him girl clothes to wear.
(danah)
"Thanks Dr. Phil," she replied, while producing a pack of smokes from her pocket and lighting one."You know.. as much sense as that makes, kid, not everybody around here is an alcoholic. Blue collars come home from work, drink a beer. White collars go out for dinner, have some wine. Garou slay the wyrm, have a beer. And frankly.. if I'm gonna find a crutch.. I'll find one that will give me a little more bang for my buck, you know?" She shrugs a little, takes a pull off her cigarette, and blows the smoke casually into the air.
(james)
thank Gaia there is a backdoor to the fucking factory
the very thing which James is entering through thus avoiding the crowd out front
We ain't half so strong as we used ta be when you was with us, 'n Rune was with us. But jus' how fuckin' weak ya want us ta look?
the Gnawer certainly could have had better timing
the scowl crossing his face when backpack hits the ground probably isn't completely at the state of their Alpha's affairs"Prod'gal son return'." smirked through the Yankee slur, dark glare shot towards the Modi's with frustration rising mercurial "Give'm th' fuckin' ban'ige."
order barked by the PR guy to get Decker back in motion after quick glance assessment
not hard to figure out what happened given the way James knows his packmates
one Corcoran hooking around the medkit to send it skimming across the floor towards couch
one hand snapping Vodka bottle off where it was left and ignored
if Erik refuses it again - they'll just have to use it once he's passed out again
expression on the raggedyman's face says that much
shouldn't be long as loopy as Blood(y) Eagle looksseems they'll have to patch up what's left
..... whatever's left(decker)
Order?Decker pins James with a stare. Silence stretches endlessly.
The bandage is right where Erik left it - on the ground.
(erik)
Erik's head lolls to the side, so that he can shoot a glassy-eyed but scathing look at the Modi. He holds the angry warrior's eyes perhaps a bit longer than necessary, but it takes him that long to get the energy to bend over and grab up the talen. Of course, going down is easier than going up, so he just flop-rolls off of the couch, ends up on his back, and flops his arm and the talen bandage over onto his shoulder.He lays there breathing hard, nothing happening, for a long minute. Then he finds it, the spiritual energy and focus to kick the stupid thing in. Then he closes his eyes. "Ahh. Dat's da stuff. Oh, hey, James."
Focus, purpose, and memory all return. Memory. Yeah. Knew he should have just let himself bleed out. Well, his balance is back now, too, so he pushes himself up off of the ground and takes stock. While stripping off his clothes (and leaving them at his feet in a bloody pile) he spots Decker again.
"Wha', you still 'ere? Good." Might as well tell it. Well, a version of it, anyways. "Deck 'ere wants to know where I've been. Pissed, I think, cause I didn't invite 'im to lay in da fuckin Florida sun with me."
That's Erik, about the only guy around who'll give it to Decker as well as Decker gave give it out himself. One of these days that's gonna probably turn into a bad idea.
"Went aisling, ya fucks. To da battleground. Thought ta witness the caern battle... And needed to see Lexi. Anyfuckinway, was doin a'ight until I got myself killt. And fuck you, ya fuck, for commin so quick to look fer me. Jeeze. Now where da fuck is that Walker bitch. She 'posed to come back 'ere."
(kemp)
A narrow eyed look to Danah when she lit up. Arms crossed across his chest, feet planted apart as he stood before the door.
"Ya know? I don't really give a flying fuck what you do to yourself. Ya can swallow what ya, shoot what thrills ya, smoke your own twat for all I care. But this is my front door. If you're gonna do that, go upwind."
A faint nod towards the smoke.
"Ya stink."
Stuck out here playing doorman and so pissed at Decker that he could shit bricks and piss mortar. At this rate he'd have a four story building made before the door opened again.
(decker)
"Went ash-lin'." Now even more disdain's dripped on. Great. Just great. Not only was Erik asking for Fianna help, now he was using Fianna words. Decker straightens up, having found a beer.And he meets Erik's eyes just as steadily.
It's strange when these things come off as promises and not threats, "Next time ya run off 'n leave us all starin', Erik, you ain't gonna be Alpha when ya come back."
The Modi takes a hard swig of beer and then shoves his way out of the factory, nearly crashing into Danah on his way to his truck. "Erik's askin' fer ya," he mutters, unlocking the doors.
(erik)
He just lets Decker storm away, then gives a nod-up to James. "I think he's finally gettin it."
(kemp)
He was quick to move out the way when Decker shoved out the door. A hard look towards Decker's departing back, then the look turned on Danah.
"Well, guess that means ya can go in this time. Next time, I wouldn't just bang and walk in, never know around here what might greet ya on the otherside."
Stepping away to leave the doorway clear.
Crazy fucked up bullshit around here. No one ever fuckin tells anyone what the fuck is going on. Just insane like a bunch of ants stirred up with a stick.
The mental muttering going while he headed for the bike again. Fuck it if he was in bloody boxers looking like he ran through a slaughterhouse.(danah)
The Glass Walker bitch pivots just enough that Decker doesn't shoulder check her on the way out. "Thanks," she answers back, without looking in the direction the Modi stormed off in.Kemp leaves too, and that just leaves one Urrah bitch standing outside, dirty and bloody, and about as calm as anybody else in a one mile radius of this clusterfuck could hope to be. "..Fuckin hell.." she mutters to herself, and grinds out her cigarette agianst the bottom of her boot, flicking the crumpled butt into the street before she walks inside to see Erik.
A balled up fist knocks the inside of the door. "Hey!.." she peers in, soon walking the rest of the way through the door, that clangs shut behind her. "Silence said you were lookin for me."
(james)
No, it's an invitation to blow me.
James, thankfully, thinks better of actually transmitting that thought
though it shows as much in the return starepost story - the Gnawer takes a bolt of the vodka for himself
chooses sinking instead of the more normal flopping onto the couch beside Erik
scoffing a half-laugh in the midst of handing the bottle over"Think so?" another huffed snort "Ya'd have a spit'n 'iz face a make't any clear'. He ain't dunn tha' bad'n th' time ya been gone."
casual observation chilling to silence as the proverbial bitch walks in
(erik)
Erik refuses the vodka (if offered) with a look. "Look, I never said he did. Shit. Tol' him thousan' times 'e should be da big eagle. And anyway, fuck that fuck. I was god-damn trapped in da actrocity realm. Escaped all by my fuckin self, though. Heared ya fucks got Pyrell whislt I was on vacation der. You know. In da actrocity realm. And fuck..."Door opens
"'Walker, whadid ya find?" He waves her over, looking much better now, dressed much like Kemp of the bloody boxers, except that Erik, aparently, favors briefs.
(james)
I never implied you did a brow lifts at the refusal, but given the situation James can understand - more for him, anyway, not like he needs it - speaking a little more freely across Eagle's totemic bond in the absence of hindering slur More of an observation. shoulders lift to shrug against the back of the couch, Gnawer's the PR guy, after all, and it seems natural to say something which supports Blood Eagle's choice of who should really be Alpa, for who wouldn't want to make sure their pack is left in capable hands? Since, y'know, you've been on... vacation and out of the loop. Besides, even if you were fuckin' trapped there - you told us not to follow, and in case you forgot... we tend to follow your orders whether you like being the Big Eagle or not.there's more to the story - there always is
but apparently now isn't the time or place
then mental communication between packmates quieting down
attention turning towards reporting Glass Walker
he said he'd give her a month to prove herself
so it's the least he can do to offer full attention
tipping the bottle up in salutation and (lookie there!) an offer to Danah
(erik)
Oh yeah. I did. Didn't I.Shrug.
"Anyways," Back to the verbal. "You pissed too?"
(danah)
"Hey," she offers James, with a nod in his direction. Bottle offered and bottle taken. Danah's long fingers were usually covered in rings: spikes, skulls, poison rings. Now they were missing, exposing a gaian tattoos etched into each of her fingers. Left hand: Gaia, Galliard, Glass Walkers, Uktena, Peace. Right hand: War, Sacrafice, Garou. The right ring finger had a simple bass clef on it.These fingers wrapped around the offered bottle, pulled it toward her lips, and pushed it up to take a healthy swig before Danah handed the bottle back off to James. "Thanks."
Looking back to Erik, she planted both her palms into her back pockets out of habit. "Place is on fire. Gonna be charcoal pretty soon. Didn't see anybody around either.. like cockroaches in the light.." And Danah makes a scattering gesture with her hand, imitating the slippery movements of an insect fleeing from the light.
(james)
one nod up - the movement of chin skywards about one, single inch
it suffices for a hello, you're welcome, and his attention on Danah's report
showing respect enough for the lack of any interruptions
personal opinions guarded in the wake of fair chance
deep umber eyes wandering across the tats etched into her fingers
urban primitives study of another's chosen decorations
not like they were hard to miss in near proximity of returning bottle, anywaythen a furrow appears between twin dark lines of his brows
curiosity at both wtf the Walker is reporting about and Blood Eagle's question
one, hopefully, will be explained within the near future
the other garnering a sidelong glance to his Alpha"O'ly if I get more shit 'bout holdin' th' for' down 'stead a comin' on vaca'shun wi' you."
translation: glad you're back, boss
delivered easily enough past the alcohol's warming effects on his slur
James is more focused on the quiet joy of having a packmate return home
.... if.... battered and bleeding profusely; they can fix that
there's little concern about the validity of Erik's reason for leaving - Ugly did little without justified cause
the Gnawer does not bear the mantle of Fenrir pride nor harbor fear of tarnished reputation
he does not suffer the consequence of Rage detonating quicker than is good for him
brow lifting towards frame of mop-ly dreads, however, speaks of something else entirely
casual query if there is something he's missed that would warrant rising temperbottle dangling at the tip of outstretched arm to keep the rotation going
low lights catching dark tribal pattern of inks covering inner right arm as Vodka's offered back to Danah(erik)
Erik listens with a slow nod to Danah tell her tale. Gone. Like cockroaches in the night. Apt, and telling words from a 'Walker. "Well, fuck all, then." He looks at James, maybe saying 'oops' with his eyes. Been a gad-damn few too many of those lately. "A'right, Scabby, ya did good, 'cept next time you don't bring me no vodka shit. Think I'm gonna catch myself a few Zs, now."It appears as if the Walker has been dismissed, at least for now. Soon as she's gone Erik gives James a friendly pat on the back. "Nah. You wouldn't a liked it none. But that's jus' the point of da fang, ya see? Sometimes da hole opens up in front of ya, sometimes behind, and sometimes right under yer feet."
And sometimes right into your soul...
(danah)
"Yeah, no problem," Danah replies, nodding good night to Erik. Turning, she offers James a small smile, a coy expression as though to say Picky drinker... She smirks, mostly at herself, before taking the offered bottle and stealing one last sip. "I'm the designated driver," she jokes as she hands the bottle back to James and leaves the packhouse.
(james)
when the bottle makes its way back, it tips up for one last toasting answer
the coy smile gets the word whiskey silently mouthed in return
knowledge of that preference is why he didn't panic at Erik's turning down booze
and the fact James can't taste it anymore is probably the only reason he, himself, is still drinking the vile swill
but it was sitting right there and (sniffsniiiff) Kemp kind enough to have provided it
something about convenience and gift horses...."S'wha' a heard." quirked grin following friendly pat, most likely a collective nonchalance to the actual gravity of such subject matter, it's really nothing more than a street performer's natural levity dismissing past greivances for tomorrow's alleged hope "Som'thin' 'bout this bein' off seas'n f'r touris'."
bottle's lifted and waved towards the far side of the domestic island
varying levels of disconnectedness about that signalling it's probably time to next put. it. down.
Blood Eagle's bedroll still waiting just as he left it those four long months ago[end]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJuly 23, 2004.07.23.04. - gathering information [spider] *ac[forums/chat]
(james)
true to his word, Spider didn't like to waste time
shortly after the meeting dispersed James' phone rang
the unfamiliar Garou's voice telegraphing across digital lines
shortly after the phone call ended, James was at the appropriate corner
weight leaning blithely against a streetlamp's base
pony-tailed dreads pillowing skull against unforgiving steel post
smoke coiling up into the yellowed light filtered from dish above
quietly passing the time until the Glass Walker arrived
idly contemplating the sliver moon high above in Chicago's early morning hours
grateful of nightfall's dropped temperatures chilling ever-present breeze
keeps him from cooking in the oversized fatigue jacket way too warm for the seasona moment, perhaps, coveted after the legwork convened
collection of papers folded neatly lengthwise in the palm of one hand
regardless of his packmate's opinions of Spider
the guttermutt's looking past that to abilities offered for the city's sanctity
let's hope he's as good as the Tribe's reputation for hacking promotes"Gotta list've all th' cab 'n limo serv'ces 'roun town." spoken once the lanky fullmoon has settled into the passenger seat of the car *, once more tempering cadence and structure to assure the least amount of repeating himself for clarity "Ref'd th' pap'rs a narrow it down a four tha' had ads f'r hirin' in th' las' two month'."
a pause allowing Spider's perusal of the top sheet
listing in order the names and addresses of all alleged companies and DMV satellites in the area
James doesn't bother divulging his methods of accessing the library's periodical archives far beyond business hours
though safe bet it's related to what's in store for later"You get us where y' think's best place a star', 'n I'll get'cha to their rec'rds a grab wha' we need 'n bail f'r th' nex' place if we need."
all drivers have photograph identification on file - it's common knowledge
limosine services theoretically holding to higher standards of operation than a cab company
but in either event, there will be records to be found - of some sort
ethnicity already providing the primary perameters of their search
Gaia's grace hopefully following the two Garou on their quest
offering something that will be of use to narrowing down the avenues of pinpointing their quarryare they good enough to find the company that hired a man fitting the description?
the ID's photograph cannot obscure a driver's appearence and skin color.....
are they lucky enough any other information hasn't been falsified?
the guy's got to have some valid details for payroll....
..... would it matter if they matched a photo and company and knew whom to track?
if an assault's expected, would the city's Garou succeed in striking each potential member individually?
would their only chance be a balls out simultaneous attack?
James doesn't think about that on the ride through Chicago's streets
focusing instead on the task presented once parked several blocks beyond their first stop(one step at a time, Jamey-boy)
in the alley one corner away from the back of their first chosen site
there's a pause beneath powerline's connection at the top of a wall to service the block
one thing he couldn't find out was the level of security within
(.....too bad cutting power to cameras would negate the ability to use the computers... damn technology)
and deciphering a fuse box's complication is not amongst his repetoire
at least both Garou knew enough to come prepared to cover their assesthe band's pulled and dreadlocks tumble shaggy mane about James' face
features obscured further by the shift pushing animal a step infront of man
he doesn't have the black moon's gifts to blend away his presence
nor does he possess the means to mangle technology with a thought
James does, then, work with what Gaia and Mother Rat gave as blessing upon birth
Glabro enhancing (.... destroying?) his profile to unrecognizable on low-grade cameras
head tilting to swing heavy ropes into make-shift moply curtain
gloves intentionally oversized protesting the presence of talons by tiny rips of fingertip seams
but their constitution holds to keep printable pads covered
the deliberately too-big jacket finally having purpose beyond sloppy poverty stylekeys jangle on a six-inch ring which appears from yet another pocket
enough shiney brass trapped on the loop to make a janitor feel inferior
moment's concentration ends the seemingly aimless sorting of endless keys
tumbler's willingly give as the suddenly right key slides home and door swings open
glad to avoid forced entry even if he was prepared for it - missing doors tend to draw attention
Ahroun entering ahead only far enough to stop before the security alarm's wallmount
fist curling to strike and smash the keypad to bits in ghetto-style disarminga pause and sideways glance - does he need to go through with it or is there a more...... subtle method?
easier to dump the files onto disk than grab the hard drives and hopefully correct documents and make a break for it before authorities arrive
a nod - once alarm's taken care of.... time for Spider to work a little computer magic and access the information they need----
* I'm totally guessing on Spider having a car much less it's kind, so, uh, edit as necessary. Heh. Name of the actual place they broke into up to Spider's choice of the best start (cab or limo company, dmv, etg). Assume their exit is neat unless the alarm starts going off and they have to run. Same process for any further stops needed.Lost Keyring Fetish:
Fri 05:33AM CST Dice Validated: 2D10 Dice Roll: 6; 5
Assuming the door has a generic 4 tumbler keyed lock.
(spider)
The car's digital clock turned, advancing one number later in the evening, as Spider pulled up to the meet. "Hey," he replied, looking out the open window of a pitch black 1985 Monte Carlo SS. "Come on.. we'll talk on the way."Spider nodded slowly as James rattled off the information he had already. A conscious gesture, intimating that he understood what the guttermut was saying through his twisted lip and tongue. Sometime in the ride, James hands over the top sheet, and Spider pulls over for a second, staring at it -- burning holes in it, more likely, the way he looks at it with such intensity.
"Let's start with the DMV." The biggest target, the one with the most information, and the one the police have the most interest in protecting. Spider smirks at himself, and hands the paperwork back to James before pulling out into the flow of traffic.
Outside the DMV, Spider pulls into a dark and forgotten niche of the city, a block away from their prey. He slips free, slips out, and starts preparing himself as James does the same. A black leather carrying case is pulled out of the backseat, about the size of a laptop, and knowing the Glass Walker, probably carrying one inside. A plastic bag from any one of a thousand stores in Chicago provides the rest of what he needs: latex gloves, a baseball cap, and a can of spraypaint. The spraypaint (black, of course) is tossed at James, "For the cameras."
And they're leaving, walking across the neglected sidewalk and street in hurried pace to the DMV building. James tends to the door, while Spider looks around, red-tinted eyes slipping across the urban landscape: empty. Tumblers fall into place, the door opens, and Spider moves right on the heels of James.
"Wait.."
Pulling out a pocketknife, he flips open a small blade and motions for James to let him. "The good news is, if its armed, the cops already know we're here.." The knife is wedged into mounted control pad, prying open the cover to expose the alarm system's innards. [Downloading Program.. Leonida>Electronics 1.0] Wires are brushed aside, a red one grabbed (its always the red one), and then sliced in half. "Let's go.."
Spider slips through the DMV almost like he knows where he's going. Past the counter where citizens were hassled and abused, to the back office cubicles were semi-educated workers labored away for the State's low wages. Spider slipped through the aisles of desks and plastic half-walls, toward a computer in the back. With a press of a button, Spider flipped on the terminal; while it booted up, Spider produced his own laptop, pushing aside desk-top clutter to make space for it, and turning it on as well.
[Uploading Program.. Leonida>Electronics 1.0]
[Downloading Program.. Leonida>Investigation 4.0]Latex gloved fingers crack with anticipation. Wires are mounted to the laptop, quickly; a line running between laptop and DMV terminal, another from laptop dial-up modem to a cellular phone. Knuckles crack, again. The DMV signon manifests, and Spider starts working.
Behing the black tint of his sunglasses, Spider eyes turn pitch black, and then glow with a subtle green stream of data.
[Connecting to network.. 291.38.49.481..]
[Connection dropped..]He shakes his head, tries again..
[Connecting to network.. 291.80.21.119..]
[Establishing connection with proxy server..]
[Connection Established.]A knowing smile creeps up Spider's features that the devil himself would be proud to wear. Fingers fly across the keyboard, as search windows and command prompts pop up, close down, switch back and forth.
[Searching Database.......]
---------------------------------------------Security Disarm (Dex + Crafts): 5D10 Dice Roll: 5; 4; 5; 7; 2
Network Terminal: 6D10 Dice Roll: 2; 1; 2; 6; 8; 8 (Connection is severed by Spider)
Network Terminal (2nd Attempt): 6D10 Dice Roll: 7; 7; 7; 9; 2; 9 (5 suxx.. huzzah!)
Database Search (Intelligence + Computer + NT Connection): 12D10 Dice Roll: 2; 4; 9; 2; 7; 3; 6; 8; 1; 10; 8; 4
(st)
The Urrah arrive at the DMV building and, thank Gaia, have the fortune of finding that the security in this branch happens to be behind the times. It's nothing knew: The Government is a Beaurocracy and thrives on red tape. Equipping this DMV against even rather basic attempts of breaking and entering seems to be low on the list.There's just one little hitch: The process of hacking RealWorld is taking too damned long. Perhaps it is Jukebox who first begins to feel a little nervous... perhaps Spider himself gets an itch at the base of his spine.
tingle, tingle
Low security. But not non-existant security.And, by the way, who brought the spray-paint? Hmmm... did we actually use it? And Hey, wait a minute... wouldn't the camera's see us before the lense was coated?
Perhaps they begin to wonder about these things...
Spider, TechnoTheurge, is managing to hack into the system in half the required time. But half the usual time is still two hours.
How many things can go wrong in two hours?
(spider)
[Processing....]"This is taking too long." Spider's fingers punch quickly at the key, showing signs of irritation and impatience. It hasn't even been that long.
"Plan B. Did you take care of the cameras?" He's not really worried about being identified. Between his sunglasses, baseball cap, and gloves, he's just another white male, average height, average build - one of ten thousand other people living in Chicago. Spider looked up from his computer monitor toward the camera mountings in the ceilings to see if they were taken care of (if they weren't, Spider would do it himself).
He's not worried about being identified, or even the slim possibility of a live person watching the opposite end of that camera.. he's worried about a tape catching what comes next. "I'm gonna hack it umbral.."
With the cracking software still at work, Spider made a final check to see that all the cameras were covered. If they were..
Spider grabbed the can of spraypaint for himself, and sprayed a thick, dripping puddle onto the ground. A latex forefinger dipped into the puddle like a fine quill pen into an ink well, and began to inscribe Gaian glyphs into the ground into a circle: Cockroach, Weaver, Kilakac'n. Concentric circles were drawn inside these glyphs and outside these glyphs, creating a summoning circle. In the center, a simple offering, a small piece of a candybar.
Pressing his palms together, Spider began to center himself, touching the One and breaking the barrier of worlds through sheer force of will. (WP Spent)
(Gnosis to pierce Gauntlet: 6D10 Dice Roll: 4; 6; 1; 10; 4; 7)
And through quiet invocation, summoned the Kilakac'n - Gaffling of Cockroach.
(Gnosis to summon Gaffling: 6D10 Dice Roll: 5; 7; 4; 3; 6; 7)
Spirit Speech: "Kilakac'n.. I have summoned you - Spider, a Theurge of Cockroach and servant of Leonida. You have battled the Wyrm for many years, hunting crucial information and striking efficiently at its weakest. You have fought wisely, with secrecy, and powerful insurgency. Now, I beseech and command you to help us kill your enemies with the same wisdom you have used all these years. Inside this local network is a database. Inside this database are a list of men applying for a chauffer's license in the city of Chicago. Search this database for all these men, with racial parameter black, in descending order, for the last thirty days. Print this list to my laptop hard-drive." Pointing toward his laptop on the desk. Subtly, Spider looks toward Jukebox, and runs his gloved nails across the ground. (Scratch your nails). "For your service, I offer you this.. victory against the Wyrm and food for a half-moon. But you must act quickly."
(st)
A summons made and a summons answered.
[...stirrings of electricity in the air...]
The gaffling manifests itself in the form of not one but several small, synchronized cockroaches of copper-glinting metal. A ticking sound and between twitching attenea, little currents of electricity snap-crackle-pop!.
[...you can feel the hair on your arms perk up...]"No." It says, and for a moment the counterparts spread outwards as though they might scatter, but then pull back together. "I cannot do this. Danger." With each word, which will sound only as garble to Jukebox surely, but comes acroos clearly to Spider, the electric current between their atenea strengthens and flexes only to die away once more with a pause. Then the seperate-parts-of-a-whole converge together. Anteneas touch and the electricty connects and webs out around them forming rough, flashing geometric designs.
"For the same payment we will take you to who can."
(james)
it hasn't been that long
but who can blame two Garou already up for B&E?
bare minutes pass and they're getting twitchy....then there's a wordless grunt of affirmation - the cameras were taken care of as Spider set his own digs up, but that didn't stop the few seconds of film capturing approach and spray by some daaamn tall guy who's wearing a.... mop?.... on his head to obscure features much less the busybody average guy obviously tampering with the network on properly aimed rigs
not the most seamless of plans - but this was low-tech
and seemed to work for what was of utmost importance
attention remained on the creepily empty office
guarding watch habitual for the Ahroun as Theurges worked magic
even if an occassional rotation of his head caught what Spider was doing
such mystical fantastical things an enigma to the raggedyman
he cannot help the surface curiosity
deeper understanding, however, is for another timetalons trail scratched furrows in ground on cue
(the hell did you just get yourself into, Jamey-boy?)
thickened skull tipping canidly as the spirits offer garbledspeech
it's more the tesla coils of their antenna that's caught deep umber eyes
(neat-o....)
which then shift back to the Theurge, brow lifting behind the roped curtain of dreads
(ready when you are)
(spider)
[I cannot do this. Danger.]Behind his dark sunglasses, an eyebrow lifts, curiously. The facial expression unseen by Jukebox and the cockroach spirits falls away.. the impotus behind it is not so fleeting.
"Wise Kilakac'n.. I have worked with your brood many times, successfully. This doesn't seem like anything that is outside of your ability. What danger? .. and who do you intent on taking us to?"
(st)
sizzle-sizzle. crack!.pop!
The electricity between the attenea of the various little copper-sheen roaches that make up the manifest form of the gaffling go off once more as they congregate, spread a measured distance and then join together once more."Geomids rule here and allow no intrusion outside of those accepted. Countering brings the eight-legged ones and the Killers. Jealous, these spirits. Cross and you will see."
(james)
this is.... so out of his league
James, while curious, settles to keep guard and half-listen
idly tapping talon-tips on the floor in drummer's habit
however not loud enough to cause any distracting or interrupting noise(spider)
This is the look of growing impatience. This is the look of somebody that wants the job done, yesterday."I was under the assumption Cockroach and the Weaver had come to an understanding." Which apparently does not hold water inside the Department of Motor Vehicles. Spider breathes out mild irritation. This is already taking too long.
"Who are you taking me to? And how long will this take, Kilakac'n? Time is very important.. a powerful strike is neither slow nor hindered."
(st)
SIZZLENow the current charges all around the roaches and they meld into one, forming a bronze insectoid figure that makes a sharp, meaty clicking noise as the blue-energy surges around it.
"Demanding, this Summoner. Help sought and help granted, but Summoner is not happy. Perhaps Summoner wishes to proceed alone?"
Whoever told you that Spirits, even allied Spirits, are all complacent and complying little things... lied.
Even so, a pact is a pact and once again the gaffling seperates its manifest form into several small versions of itself.
"Come then. You will provide the destraction, you and Son-of-Rat."
(spider)
"It would help to understand what you are trying to bring us into, Kilakac'n."
Simple. Calm. Dead.
Disembodied prose. This is the sound of somebody in perfect control (or about to lose it). Binary's personality must be rubbing off.
"And with whom.. There are rupercusions on this side of the barrier."
(james)
not.... a whole lot the Ahroun can do at this point
at least Spider's remaining calm
while in most company that may beget dire consequence
he's been in enough situations such contol could be good or bad signJames would be worried if the notably sedate Walker got.... stressed....
still biding his time evenly between keeping guard and learning by Spider's example(st)
"You go to the Source. To abide by its Rules and Regulations - Kilackac'n does as Kilackac'n does and comes back to Summoner and Son-of-Rat with that which Summoner seeks. This way is fastest, Summoner."Now one aspect of the spirt spread away fruther from the rest. It buzzes - vibrates mechanically - for a moment and then returns to the host.
"Summoner sure drags for one so pressed for time. And one soon to have company."
(spider)
"We have company." Human language. The imperfect noise of a creature trying to rationalize its own existence through its tongue."Hide the computer in the ceiling of the men's room." Somewhere between rebuilding a fence, planning a defense, preparing two offenses, and protecting the interests of his own tribe Spider just hasn't found the time to dedicate his newest laptop. Pity. "Inside those panels. Hurry.. We have to cross and they can't find that. Meet me on the other side."
(james)
company. it was about time.
..... f'in peachy
at least they were speaking something James could understand
acknowledgement comes in the form of a short, huffed grunthe waits until the computer is disconnected properly before grabbing it to go
(he'd been around Rune long enough to learn there were proper ways of doing these things)
men's room found during the earlier camera spraying - it's not long to backtrack now
toilet leveraging lanky form up enough to push aside a panel and stow the laptop
far enough behind the panel to assure it won't fall back into the toilet if things went terribly wrong
(learned enough that computers don't swim well, too)
and soon as the ceiling's arranged neat enough to cover his presence
James is making full use of those nice and shiney and - wow, DMV employees must be vain, lookit this wall to wall shit... - wonderfully reflective surfaces to push throughpraying whatever's on waiting on the other side to catch him didn't take going down the shitter literally
(st)
In the meantime the gaffling fades away from existence in this realm."Gotta check out the comps, Sammy."
Footsteps sound on the hall and the glow of a flashlight swivels in a lazy spread, beaming from down the hall and around a corner.
"Naw, c'mon... we've got some time. Lemme get you into Brackman's office, you've gotta see this..."The light pauses, illuminating the door of the womens restroom down the way... and then turns back and the footsteps cease.
Safe.
For now.Enough time bought for the pair to cross over...
On the Other Side...
It isn't an easy cross. Not with the Weaver prescense here, but the Garou make it, more than likely with greater ease and none of the distaste those of other tribes might experience. The building isn't old enough - not at all - to have left its mark on this side. But off to their left is a steady, strong glow of blue-white tones and a humming like that a large, constantly running mechanical device might make.
Waiting for them is the Gaffling, an insectoid mist now still with its electric charge that now shimmers through it and connecting pieces within like copper wiring.
"Go left, to the glow. It will not hurt you -- if you do not hurt it. Kilackac'n will meet you there with Summoner's information."
(spider)
[It will not hurt you -- if you do not hurt it.]Spider looks at the shimmering cockroach, and then at James. Peeling off his black sunglasses, Spider looks at his partner with two incredibly worn eyes. Tired. Irritated. With small bags from lack of sleep.
Black sunglasses are replaced by red ones serving to elminate the signs of wear and tear along the Theurge's face. Turning, he walks in the direction told, motioning with a nod for James to do the same. "Don't touch it. We have to wait here.. see what happens."
(james)
he can't help the pause and look at the gaffling spirit
that? is downright cool.
that? is about all the comparative thought it gets
nodding to follow Spider's lead towards the white-blue glow
it's illumination casting strange shadows on the Fostern's face
though he doesn't look half as worn out as the Theurgeeasy enough the Gnawer's ground-devouring stride
it's only through the set of his shoulders the tension shows
constantly wary for whatever may come after them spirit-side
he can dig not touching anything - it's the waiting to see what happens
this is certaintly not the defensive vantage point of his choosing
the feeling of being set-up has him instinctively jittery
but when bargaining with spirits..... what can you do?breaths forced through eights to bide his time and focus that excess energy
(st)
They move off to the left and towards the glow......and find themselve in a curious imbodiement of the DMV: Umbral side. It is... like a waiting room. But entirely made up of intricate, dusty webbing around which crawl tiny, dusty, tin-coloured spiders. There are chairs made up of the same webbing and a counter top. Behind this counter is the source of the glowing. Behind the counter is what one must presume was the spirit the Gaffling refered to as the Source.
Binary codes cascade along its surface. Its smooth, flat, geometrical surface. It is, in short: A giant, three dimensional prism. Along it and within it and around it those codes race and chase and combine. The humming comes from this prism.
As Jukebox and Spider view all of this they will notice that a web-formed ticket-dispender stands before them. Hanging from it a metal placard with engraved words, highlighted in red:
PLEASE TAKE A NUMBERThe eyes wander, then, to a noticable surge of motion as a multitude of the tiny tin spiders are converging on one chair.
Upon this chair, covered in dust, is a skeleton, composed in a sprawled out poise as of one fully agonized in tedius, boring Waiting. In one curled up hand is a ticket.
B-117.Just when the implications of that sight are sinking in, a nasal, flat, piercing voice cuts into the room.
"B-116....BEE-ONE-ONE-SIX??"
The voice - like that of some calloused and dull, pince-nosed, tight-assed, haughty middle-aged sexless person - seems to be coming from the prism.
(spider)
James. Prism. Cadeavor.Red tinted eyes take all this in, and blink, blankly. Spider finds a place to sit, next to the dust Cadeavor, and waits there. Legs fold into a semi-lotus, hands fold quietly inside his lap, and Spider just waits.
(james)
a brow most certianly lifts towards tangled dreadlock mane
they've stepped out of the Matrix and into Beetlejuice..... mostly
it's enough to get James to pause
You've got to be shitting me
not. quite. sure to laugh or not.if only for a moment
he's been to Wonderland, after all, why not a Burton flic?
Spider gets a look, also breif - If our counsellor's name is Juno I'm so objecting once we're back Realmside. - as deep umber eyes take it all in: the number, the spiders, the skeleton, then the voice...
sensitive animal audio winces at the crackling buzz of noise
lip beginning to curl in objectionary distaste.....
but all he protests is a shrug of muscular shoulders
settling with the strange spirit version of the DMV
taking a number - B118 - and sitting next to Spiderif a Gnawer can do anything - it's adapt
(st)
"Bee.... Bee eleven-six.... "The voice is a monotony of high-pitched sinuses. It seems heedless of anything beyond speaking the number...
...over and over again.
"bee one-sixteen..."
In a place like this, time can easily begin to play tricks on you. What feels like an hour can be naught but two minutes.
"Bee-One-One-Seven?... Bee-One-One-Seven???.... Bee-One-Seventeen??....Bee-Eleven-Seven?"
Now that moment of anticipation: You're up next!
Any second now...
...here we go.
Riiiiiiight.... now!
Then, upon a counter which is before the prism, a golden sign is placed up with the words "On Break".
...the spiders make naught but a faint clicking sound and they seem to completely ignore the two Garou. Beyond that, there is naught but the resonant sound of the prisms buzzing.
(spider)
The golden sign lights up and Spider can't help but just laugh. Its tension, really. A thick line of nerves tightening and tightening up his spine and neck, to the point that something was eventually going to snap. Until that sign."Goddamn incredible.." he mutters to himself.
Then glances at his watch. "If the cockroaches don't show up in five minutes then we'll take a peek around for them. If there's nothing in ten minutes I'm going to jump across the counter, force the information from that Geomid, break it over my knee, and then leave."
"This is taking too long.. "
(james)
James.... is not surprised
he's been at the DMV beforeif you're not touching anything and risking being turned away by not having a number to begin with
if you're not offending a spirit by stealing it's apparently useless number cause it seems dead and gone
then you're taking the number that comes up right before break
typical.by the time the voice even got to B-one-seventeen
the Ahroun had slouched down in his webbychair to some semblance of comfortability
dreads easily disarranged enough to provide a sheild of sorts from the glow
casually waiting his turn like a well-behaved Garou and not some nightmare war-machine of death
dark eyes closed to half-mast as ears pitch themselves for sounds of return and subsequent numbers
it's not that hard to imagine James tipping a hat up to watch Spider from under the brim
fullblood amazingly calm compared to the sketchy Theurge"What happen' a not touchin' nothin'?"
criminy. all he needs is Decker's drawl.
(st)
"Yes, Summoner, what ever happened?"The gaffling has returned, but it stands just outside of the entrance to this sterile and stable... hell.
"Come. Quickly."
The electric-chraged copper-wire that embodies its misty isectoid form glistens like so much gold filagree in foggy ivory. The spirit seems to be... nervous."Come!"
----
to Spider, Jukebox: ooc: Righto. Okay. The gaffling will tell Spider that it has found 14 names that fit his criteria and will send the information to the laptop as requested. There is something interesting, however: One of the names cross-entries with a person of caucasion race, same social security number and the whole nine yards...
But that person died 20 years ago.
Matthew P. Johnston is the name. Address, social, DoB, and the taxi company that hired him are all given.Posted by james at 12:00 AMJuly 22, 2004.07.22.04. - answering the warder's call [city garou] *acGet file from Lessa
Demand honor for tolerating the f'in lords!Posted by james at 12:00 AMJuly 21, 2004.07.21.04. - unexpected call [miriam]Pull file out of email
Add Imogen's conversationPosted by james at 12:00 AMJuly 17, 2004.07.17.04. - at the pub [cliona-percy-melissa-cooper][claddaugh irish pub]
(cliona)
Where else would you expect to find an Irish lass in the early evenings? That's right, her favorite pub. After having left Caleb off to make some phone calls and such, tentatively making his way back to the world of the living, after patrols, after checking in here and there, she's now where she prefers to be. Curled up in 'her' booth in the back of the seating area, near enough to the bar that she can call for refills whenever she wants one.Which, you know, is often. She -is- Irish, after all.
She's got a book in front of her, her bottomless pint, and a plate of cheese fries she's working her way through. Curled up sideways on the booth seat, her pack behind her back as a pillow, her two-toned hair sliding over her shoulders, providing a red and black curtain over her features. Tank top, jeans, well-worn boots, and she looks the way she always does. Comfortable, content, though the wolf within her skin tugs to be let loose under crescent moon.
Her moon.
Her birthright.
Her…. voice lifted in call for a refill. "ey Mac, I'm parched o're here! ye tryin t'kill me o'thirst?" And an unrepentant grin as he throws his towel at her, but sends another one over with the waitress her next time around.
(james)
the idea of the "Pub" originated as a hub of Irish communities
where folks could gather at the end of the day
and spend some time with both friends and family.... it's a good enough excuse for James
evening's close to drawing dusky hues across the sky
and one guttermutt's drug himself in at the end of a hard day's work
knowing the Pub's owner he's in good enough company
full force of Ahroun's Rage swelling before him even on a sliver moon
directing him towards the less-occupied end of the bar"Beer. Burg'r."
about all he says to the 'tender after flopping down onto a stool
pack slung beneath the run holding up battered Corcoran's
just because his Tribe's renowned for endless treks across a city
doesn't mean it doesn't feel damned good to just sit for awhile
home territory's just across the way - he can take a break(cliona)
She chuckles at something the waitress says as she leaves her beer there for the Irish lass, and upon lifting it, she sees the entrance of the raggedy man taking the seat at the less populated end of the bar - conveniently the end nearest her. Funny how that usually happens - though her rage isn't as high as some, it is high enough to keep her in her own company if she wishes it.She watches him a moment, then with an easy smile. "Ey mac? Put his on me tab, will ye?" Friendly little thing that she is. Only when he turns around to see who or why, does she wave him over, offering the more comfortable booth seat across the way from her for his occupancy. "ye look like ye could use a wee rest on something more then wood and rungs…" the explanation.
(james)
"Y'r makin' a habit a savin' my ass."chuckled when the Bone Gnawer accepts her invitation
sliding to make himself more than comfortable in the padded booth
"Though dunna if ev'n th' beer'll save ya fr' me."apologetically waved at the state of his own affairs
it may only be 75 degrees out - but it feels far warmer
especially given the guttermutt's obviously recent dismissal from work
sweat-glued grime covering the length of arms revealed by wifebeater(cliona)
She just grins and arches a slim red brow. "Well, tis such a foine ass t'be saving, dinna ye think? Wouldnae do it otherwise…"unrepentant grin (been hanging around with Butta too long girl..) before she waves away the rest of the comment. "Bah, I'm th'only lass in a pack o'lads, ye think I canna handle a little bit o'evidence o'a hard days work? I swear, th'boys o'mine will be th'death o'me. Toss in th'beer breath and second hand cigarette smoke and tis a good thing I've natural ability to resist th'toxins, including th'smelly arses."
Even through the complaints, of course, it's more then clear she adores her boys, her pack, and holds an affectionate pride for those she's chosen to call brothers. A feeling she knows he understands as well.
She closes her book and tucks it away. "So what kind o'work has ye so dishelved t'day, lad…" yes, just because he's older then her, does not preclude the natural 'lad' at the end. She calls Sandman the same, and he's an old man at 30 to her wee 17.
(james)
a brow lifts at the unrepetant grin
but at the end - James just ends up chuckling again
low growl rumbling out of his chest
seemingly enough to shake his dreads with the laughter
head rocking back and forth really what does the job
"Workin' at a ware'ouse 'day." thumb hooks back over a shoulder towards the direction he supposedly came "Been slingin' stock, feed, 'n...." a pause, one for the waitress to drop of burger and beer, one for a theatric sniff of dirty forarm - so dirty, it almos obscures the inks patterning inner flesh "..... Green Thumb Fert'lizer."(cliona)
A nod of thanks to the waitress, and she lifts her pint in toast and tosses a few healthy swallows back. Doesn't drink like she's 17 either. Drinks like she's Irish dammit, and someone has to make sure the boys are drank under the table now and again. Keeps them honest, and behaving.Nose wrinkles as she lets pale gaze slide over him and the dirt, then back up to meet his gaze with a grin. "Makes a lass glad she 'as her own income and dinnae have t'worry about doing such things as slinging shite about a warehouse…. Not that I havenae done me fair share o'that too. Looks much better on yeself then it would on me fair skin." Goes so far as to pose a bit, flicking her hair back over her shoulder - though they don't get more natural then she is, really. No makeup, no primping, just down home fresh from a shower scented girl.
(percival knight)
The Outback sport rounds the corner and slows looking for a parkingspace on the street of the pub. Humming softly to himself along with the beat of Maroon 5s new song he spots one and whips the little car into the spot. Nodding gently he opens the door and steps out. A bit of a strech and covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he yawns. Looking around he moves to the curb. Hopping up and heading for the pub itself.Dressed today in jeans, hiking boots, a blue teeshirt under an open plaid shirt of green and matching blue. His glasses adorn a calm peaceful face and over blue eyes.
Getting to the door he pulls it open and steps inside. The tingle in the base of his skull alerting him to the presence of one of the Flight. Eyes quest looking for them.
(james)
around a burger that's already..... gone... the Fostern cracks a smile
polite enough to swallow the final bite before laughing"Ah, see howwit is wi' ya." slugging back a good portion of the beer - he may not be Irish, but he's a fuckin' Eagle "Say I'm good 'nuff a save, but then o'ly look good cov'r'n dust'n grime'n who know' what else."
(cliona)
Gaze slides over to the door and grin slides warmer for a moment, meeting Percy's gaze and nodding hellow before looking back to James and waving a hand his way. Head tilts, and she's clearly thinking…. remembering.. attempting too anyway, before with a little furrowed brow. "Now, tha'begs th'question, o'course… have I ever seen ye when ye not covered in some sort o'goo or another…" The last she saved him he'd been covered in his own intestines…. then she nods. "Ah, wait - ye were covered in hocky pads o'me boy Butta's once… I retract th'insinuation."good natured grin, as she sits up a bit, knowing Percy is headed this way, and well better to close her in then to attempt to close a Fullmoon in.
(percy)
Looking around he spots her, smiles softly to himself and heads that way. One hand coming up to first push up his glasses then run though his normal brown hair.
Percival didn't really come across as a furry monster. Not much at all. His presence didn't cause humans to cower and retreat all the time. HIs manner was rather docile and calm. People that worked with him always said that they worked better with him around. He had some sort of unspoken synergy that helped to bind groups together. Maybe it was his words. Not too many but those spoken with a gentle lit that didn't seem to need to threaten. His size wasn't what one would expect in a massive hulking monster either. 5'8" in homid he was a bit on the short side for males and just about the same height if an inch or two higher than mose females.
Crossing the pub he pauses and holds up a hand to one of the normal wenches. Smiles and murmers to her and nods to the table where Cliona sits. A grin and he nods to her again exchanging some flirtation or pleasentry. Which ever the waitress goes off beaming and Percival walks on up to the table and slips in beside Cliona. A nod to her, Pack before all, and then a nod to the elder Gnawer. He waits, junior man on the pole. Don't speak unless you're spoken too and all but low and behold if the smiling waitress doesnt return with a refill for James and Cliona, even if theirs are full, and a Mikes Hard Lime for Percy.(james)
brows lift in concert towards mane of heavy dreads
tempted to fling a ketchup slathered fry at the comment
but then... that's waste of a good french fry
so he's slashed a crooked grin, instead"'leas' I think 'nuff a get dress up f'r yeh."
odd, the combination of accents here
each cutting out wordparts in their own special way
chin lifts up Eagle style in greeting Percy
frygrease wiped off fingers before calloused hand is offered in shake"James."
(cliona)
She laughs and nods. "Aye. I'd do th'same but ye know…" pause, dramatically, of course. She may not be a songster, but the ability is innate in all Irish. "I was convinced once, t'show off me legs in a wee little skirt here at th'pub, and even me resisting toxins couldnae save me arse - enough drinks flowin t'get even me plastered!"She grins at Percy and tsks, seeing his hard lime. "This one… he's new, ye see, he canna even drink decently yet… Tis me lad Percy. Percy, th'BG elder." and the rest she leaves up to her boy.
*percy)
Percy smiles at the offered hand and shakes it with is own. Though noone would think it to look at him the guy did have strong hands. Hands that regularly worked out with a staff. The callouses wern't hard and brittle like a steel worker or hard manuel labor but more the soft stength that came though maintained villigance and dedication to a martial art form. His smile is friendly and guinue as he shakes the elders hand. Seemingly unfettered by James' appearance or words."Percival Knight. Nice to make your aquataince."
A bit of a smile to Cliona and he takes his Mikes and twists off the cap. Looks at it and flips it to her with a "PING" sound. Inside it reads "Want a tickel?" A bit of a chuckel from young percy and he leans back.
"Long day..."(james)
"Hangin' 'roun' you?" smirked as the Gnawer drains more of his own beer "No doubt'll learn a drink right quick."(cliona)
She whimpers, playfully, as she's pinged with the bottle cap, chuckling as she nods. "Aye, most do. Even ye beta couldnae keep up wit'me…" What fun it is to be Irish, really.She then slides her gaze to Percy, and brow arches slowly. "Oh really… ye lass bring home more friends again?" Oh. so. innocent.
(and if ye believe that….)
(percy)
"I drink." Said with a bit of a grin in his defence. There was some alcohol in Mikes. He wasn't exactly sure how much, but it was there. Probably.
Then Cliona's words hit and it's like she flipped a switch. He instantly goes red and blushes to high heaven. His eyes look tothe lable of his drink and he murmers something close to "she's moving in..."(james)
a brow lifts
Cliona comments. Percival blushes.
oh, most certainly a brow lifts"Which one?"
oh. so. innocent.
the guttermutt can keep up, too
attention blessedly turning to the Irish Lass
chuckling another low rumblygrowl"Yeh? Deck'r ain' known a be th' bes' drink'r've th' Eagles."
(cliona)
"Aye, ye drink pisswater with a wee bit o'lime tossed in. Tis nae drinkin lad!" and then he blushes, and she lifts her pint and takes a swallow…..juuuuuuuuust as James comments, and she near spits her beer out with a laugh, barely saving it with a swallow (we shall not waste beer! Rule number one!) before she dissolves in laughter and waits for Percy to pull his patented bang his head on the table move…. "Oi lad, tis a good question that… which one indeed.. or maybe… both…?"
(percival)
Looking up to James he smiles sheepishly "Well, um.. both actually."
Looking to Cliona he shrugs and takes a sip of the Hard Lime.
Looking back to Cliona and nodding with a bit of wide eyes. "Their idea...."(james)
it's the Ahroun's turn to laugh
shaking his head again before draining the last of this round beer"Wi' tha' a brag 'bout..... dunn think he gotta worry 'bout braggin' rights 'roun' drinkin'."
(cliona)
She just laughs and nudges Percy, sighing dramatically. "And meself such a loyal lass. I could 'ave me a few ye know – but instead I'll be all alone in me big ole house and big ole bed, with nae one, let alone TWO lads t'keep me company…."She winks at James, and chuckles, nodding. "at least I've me drink t'drown me sorrows in."
(percy)
"Well it's not like I went looking to have a bevy or anything. I was fine with one and I went to her place one night and she had a "surprise" for me and well.. "
He shrugs and sips his drink.
"I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth."
A bit of a smile, blush starting to fade just a little.(james)
"I woul'n' be c'mplanin', kid." then the lanky Ahroun stretches to clink empty glass against Cliona's, seemingly familiar with her tale "I'd drink a tha'. But...."aw, fuggit
he doesn't have that far to stumble back into home territory
nodding at the waitress for just... one more
one won't kill him
probably(cliona)
She taps James's glass with her own, and drinks enough swallows for both of them, waving over another refill for herself as well. It won't kill her, most certainly, but she doesn't resist the tease. "Dinna worry lad, I'll see ye make it home unmolested…" winks, and then stretches. "Dinnae blame ye percy – and I apologize for pulling ye out from under'em just t'shove me wee guts back in where th'belong again…"(percy)
"Oh I'm not. My girl is an EMT and um.. her girl is a Massage theropist. It's a very... healing atmosphere."
A repressed grin.
"How are the both of you?"
Looking over Cliona for wounds. SHe would know, feel more likly, he was none too pleased about the kidnnaping spirit quest thing. The normally Docile Percival got a bit riled on that one. "Mmmmm well I explained it to Meli, Danni slept though it and.. well we don't tell her about my.. other job."(james)
"Tired. 'n in need've a show'r."polite yet crooked smile working for an apology
fresh off the warehouse block - James is no rose
something more like a fading fuscia, just smelling worse
winking at Cliona when the third beer arrives
and yes, he's gonna get harder to decipher here real quick(cliona)
She chuckles and nods, before rolling her eyes at Percy's easily recognizable look. "I be foine lad, jus' foine. Ye patched me up well, and I was only questin for 24 hours or so… dinna get hurt, I did what th'spirits asked me too and I'm all in one piece, honest!"tsks, and offers james a long suffering look. "th'forget I am an Alpha, even if I am a wee lass…" Though it's teasing as she murmurs over the totem phone. ~I'm foine, honest. Nae a thing wrong with meself now… I know ye wasnae happy, neither was I.. but th'spirits, th'work mysteriously, ye know?~
(percy)
"I didn't forget. I'm just kinda picky about my alpha up and being snatched with out a "Do you mind muchly" From the snatchers."
Sippinghis Mikes Hard lime he's only about a third though the bottle. A nod to James. "Not the same kinda work I'm sure but I've been at work all day too. I'm a bit drained."
Picking at the lable of his beverage he speaks back across the totem link. Just doing what I'd expect you to do for me if I just up and dissapeared, boss.
(james)
"S'why I get off easy bein' Eagle' PR - dunn need th' stress a bein' Alpha. BeeGee Eld'r's bad 'nuff." there's a smug smirk in response, head tipping towards Percy's last remark "Yeh? Where you work, kid?"given the more than apparent slur and notch in his jawline
it's probably assumption that it's far easier for the guttermutt to say "kid"
than decipherably repronounce anyone's actual name(cliona)
Aye lad, and ye know I would, too, dinna ye now. She chuckles and pats Percy's hand, before stretching slightly, and grins. "But twas right peaceful when th'dropped me off along th'waves and th'smells o'home… and Caleb – if'n I wasnae a kept women, and he wasnae full blood b'side, I'da brought him back t'life with a wee bit more then a rough n tumble brawl.."un. re. pent. ant. grin.
She chuckles and nods to James. "Aye, but twas a matter o'someone needin t'do it. Though how I get meself stuck in council situations as second to me elder – and me beta! – I'll nae figure out. Th'lad will be th'death o'me f'sure… me arse is numb with all th'sittin listenin to th'squabblin with nothing e're getting' done…"
(percy)
"I'm head Counselor at a Shelter here in the city run by me and my kin. We look after abused ladies, children and the like. Specificly I'm a trama and grief counselor."Looking over as Cliona speaks. Blink.. blink. A covert glance to James to see if he caught that. Looking back to Cliona and nods slowly like he understood that first bit.
"How'd that turn out. One of your people found me after the meeting bleedin' like a stuck pig"
(James)
"Yeh.... 'n how a two a Eagle's fullbloods got on th' Council I'll nev'r know'r un'erstand." dreads shift over a shrug lifting ashen scarred shoulders "Moot's bad 'nuff a what we gotta sit through, dunn think eith'r've us made it throguh las' nigh'."he's heard... references to what happened
but that's about the extent of his involvement
nodding up as Percy's explanation unfolds"S'a good job a do."
(melissa branagan)
*she pushes into the tavern, her wide velvet dark eyes sweeping around as her hands splay over her slender hips, her white frilly tank top looking prestine against her dusky gold skin as it gleams with a healthy sheen under the dim light, her long gold nd brown hair spilling down her shoulders in freshly washed wave,, the soft fringe of bang helping to complement her velvet brown eyes and her sculpted features, her lips swept with shimmering pink lipgloss, her matching white skirt brushing her shapely thighs, her legs lithe and lightly muscled, a pair of white strappy sandles weaving up over her slender calves, her clutch purse gripped in her slender hand, looking around, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, her expression almost nervous*(cliona)
Shakes her head. "almost 'ad me a brawl meself curbin th'bleedin one's mouth at th'moot. Mary Stewart, tis th'lass ye talking about, aye Percy? She had nae business bein there, other then t'observe. Th'constant bickering nae drove me right up a wall. And then she all but RUINED a bunch o'beer, jumpin into th'brawl th'broke out. Kin ye imagine? Th'kind of Fianna risks th'beer???"Tsks and chuckles at James. "I'd only been there t'observe if'n I'ad me wish. Dinna know Santiago, but th'McCanns, as foolish as th'are, be Tribemates. Tis th'least I could o'done. Instead, I 'ad t'pass judgement on it all. Tis a messed up business Percy, be glad ye wasnae there."
(percy)
"I find great pleasure in helping those that need it."
A sip of the hard lime.
"Yes that'd be she. Sort of a creepy one, was bragging up how she'd been there and spoke and stuff. Asked why I didn't come. I told her I knew my place and wouldn't speak at such a meeting least my elder thought I was challenging."
A nod to the glad he wasn't there part.
"I was at the Koi Pond, we've attracted some little Dragonflies already."
A cock of the head and a sniff of the air. Slowly his eyes turn to the open door as Meli enters and he smiles gently. Standing he nods to the table, a bit of an excusion and starts across the pub towards Meli.(melissa)
*she spots him, her slender bare arm raising to wave, the smile blossoming over her features like the sun breaking through the clouds, moving through the crowd to meet him halfway*
(james)
"Th' fuck kin'a Fianna risk' beer??"James. Stares.
bewildered allright
doing his duty to nullify such effects
draining a damned good portion of his own
(oooh yeh, Jamey-boy's feeling it, allright)
shaking his head with another trademark lopsided grin"Me'n th' boys've haddit in'n out with Fianna in th' pas'. Maybe bes' we wun't there."
(percy)
Stepping up to Meli his arms slip around her narrow hips and he smiles leaning to kiss her. She's only an inch shorter than he and with him being a relitivly not tall male and her being a not short female, they look to be the same height.
A nod to her and he smiles. "You ready to... meet some more like me?"(cliona)
She chuckles as Percy jumps up to head over toward Melissa. Maybe she's here for…. breakfast. Again. She just nods to james, her attention returning to him, easy grin well at home across her face. She's not feeling the effects quite yet – other then the pleasant little warmth sliding through her. Of course, there's no telling how many pints she had before James arrived to join her, either."Aye, probably it was. Th'get – th' new blacksmith John methinks his name is, and th'Silent one, they were there for ye lad Decker. Th'silent one was composed, and spoke – well, wrote – pretty well, made a lot o'sense, but th'other, John. Th'boy has a temper worth o'th'Irish, he does, and finally couldna keep his mouth shut any longer. I turned me back for two seconds and th'brawl broke out and th'Guardians played bouncers. T'was a shameful moment it was…"
Curious, she looks at him, and chuckles. "Ye dinna say – here in town? Me lads nae causes ye grief are they?"
(melissa)
*she laughs softly against his lips as she peeks up at him timidly*I....I dunno....*her fingers tightening around his, standing up on tiptoes top peel over his shoulder from the direction she came*Did.....did youthink I was ready too?? *she looks down*I'm so nervous I think I am gonna hork....(percy)
"Well don't Hork, what ever that is, it doesn't sound good. I think you're ready. Just remember to be respectful. Direct eye contact can be thought a challenge. You don't have to bow or scrape but fixed stares might arouse anger, and just be yourself. You're a great girl."
A smile and he squeeses her hands.
"Two important people here for you to meet. Come on. I'll introduce you."(cooper jones)
Curious (and eager to ingest a new experience, always on the lookout for more knowledge), the young Gnawer steps into the pub; it's not the first time she's been in such a place - or likely to be the last - despite her obviously tender age. Dressed in much more her usual style (though tonight she lets her form show a bit; she looks older when she appears to have a shape, after all), she's unremarkable at best, until one notices that Rage, kept under such tight control but definitely there. The girl doesn't know what brought her path this way tonight, or why she bothered to step in . . . but now, she stands in the doorway and looks around, assessing the situation before making a move. No one she knows - and of course she hadn't expected anyone - so after a bit she just makes her way to the room, subtly listening to snippets of conversation here and there. It's when she nears Cliona and James that she hears something that gives her pause, hazel eyes actually moving to take them in - she can feel Rage answering Rage, but she doesn't know from whom, or if its from both until she puts the pieces together. (They were at the moot.) Her hesitation and uncertainty are clear as she fidgets a bit with the hem of the shirt that suddenly feels uncomfortably tight, wishing she'd brough Kwesi or somebody (anybody familiar, any port in a storm) with her.(melissa)
Don't look them in the eye but be yourself....eek....*she looks up at him, her fear showing in her velvet dark eyes*I...I just don't want to get you in trouble.....(percy)
A warm smile for her and he shakes his head. "You wont. They've been hearing all about you. I brag on you alot."
A bit of a raised eyebrow when Cooper passes them and heads back towards the table. A mental tap on Cliona's mind to get her to look up and then he smiles to Meli and nods. "You gonna hork?"(meli)
*she shifts on her sandles, moving closer to him as she murmurs*no...I think I'll be OK....would they be too mad if I get a hard cider or something...?*she looks up at him from beneath the thick fringe of lashes*And I am as ready as I am gonna be....*her lips brush against his chin before looking over his shoulder again, waiting for him to take the lead, her gaze lowered*(percy)
"Mad? Oh no... they rag on me all the time for what I drink. they'll probably cheer you."
Smiling he runs a hand softly over her hair and nods turning to head back towards the table. Coming at a leasurly pace as Cooper is standing there now.(mel)
*she slips her arm around his waist, leaning her head upon his shoulder, her fingers curle in her purse as she lets him lead her over to the table, her hair spilling over his shoulder, her skirt whispering softly against her skin*(james)
his head shakes, offering a small smile"Nuh. Back'n Jersey. Any a y'r boys cause shit wi' me..... you'll hear 'bout it firs' 'r be pickin' up their pieces. But I'll keep a watch out for' this kid"
the rest of the phrase drifting off at Cooper's approach
Rage bouncing against Rage - and the BeeGee Ahroun's got his fair share
(the Fostern's a fucking predator, no matter how easy that smile)
brow lifting as his chin tips up in salutation(cliona)
She grins and nods then. "good, appreciate that, dinna I now.." And then here comes Cooper, and the mental thump to get her to look up. She arches a brow and nods to the girl. "Slainte, lass – 'elp ye?"Gaze shifts over her shoulder to check out Percy and Melissa, before sliding back to Cooper, waiting.
(cooper)
"Slainte. I just . . . 'eard a bit o' yer conversation . . ."
Blushing, awkward, adolescent . . . yet there's a kind of steel in her spine that says she won't take much, should someone start giving.
"Wasn' eavesdroppin', I swear. Jus' 'eard ye while I was walkin' . . . me name's Cooper . . ."
Tripping over her tounge, blushing darker and stopping, uncertain whether to continue the introduction here or not, despite the rage she feels emanating around her. There might be just humans here too, after all, and no good broadcasting private matters to the whole pub.(cliona)
She chuckles again, and nods. "Aye, ye did, did ye now… Cooper is it – what kin I do for ye lass?" She drains a few swallows of her pint before. "Cliona Murran's me name – tis me land round abouts here – and this is James, his boys run th'area across th'way. Behind ye there is me lad Percy, and his gell." Introductions – partially at any rate.There's a quick glance around and then. "If'n ye keep ye voice down a wee bit, lass, ye kin speak freely here."
(percy)
Percival walks up behind cooper. Instinctual pack tactics guiding his motions with out him really thinking of it. Flanking her easily. Unlike Cliona and James, Percival radiates NO RAGE at this moment. It's as if he were human.
A smile he gently strokes the small of Meli's back and waits.(cooper)
Not so well versed in pack tactics (she's fairly fresh to the world of Garou, after all, and not all that well trained), Cooper takes a half step back, allowing Percy to join his friends, offering a smile that's a mite shy to both him and Mel.
"Cooper Jones. An' I don' really 'ave any land, unless ye count me mam's apartment . . . I just kinda roam where the wind takes me."
A little more certain now, though not much.
"James . . . do ye know a man named Tristan?"
A guess . . . James is a really common name, after all. But then, Garou are uncommon, and she's only heard of one James amongst them . . . so not such a risky guess, all in all.(mel)
*she shifts next to him, nuzzling closer to him, as if unable to get close enough to him, her head softly resting on his shoulder*(percy)
Gently he strokes the small of Meli's back reassuring her. Turning to murmer in her ear.(james)
the guttermutt nods, hand waving away the notion of formality
dreads falling over his shoulders through shift on the booth bench
offering Cooper a spot beside him as Percy returns for his on Cliona's side"Yeh." easy enough that crooked grin, though it does little to hide the animal inside.... unfortunately he doesn't have the same advantages Percy has to quell that constant barrage.... doing his best to reach past it in an offered hand calloused by hard labor to shake towards Cooper "Tris'n's me bro. 'm one've Eagle's boys. BeeGee top dawg."
(mel)
*she nods slowly to his words, her velvet dark eyes moving to the two sitting at the table and the one standing, her fingers curling into his side, scratching his side softly*(cliona)
There's a glance as Percy murmurs, then a nod as she waves them over. "Pull ye lass up a chair, Percy lad… Cooper, have yeself a sit – dinna mind him, 'e's mostly harmless." Easily grinned. It's hard not to be put at ease between her good natured banter, and Percy's calming influence, even with the tug of rage that pulls under Theurge moon."Can I get ye something t'drink?" to both Mel and Cooper.
(percy)
Nodding to his alpha he pulls a chair from another table and holding Meli's hand as she sits then sits himself. Smiling to the group. "May I introduce Melissa Branagan, EMT. Melissa this is Cliona Murran, James and Cooper"
Having just heard Cliona name the girl.
"Melissa is extreamly new... as in.... a week so.. yall don't scare her."
A soft smile offered. Calming and gentle, his words said in gest but an honest request
(cooper)
"I've 'eard o' you."
Shaking his hand easily, as well as returning the smile (still a bit shy - she's slow to warm to anyone, after all) as she takes the seat; she's not one to be intimidated by much of anything, really, even rage that's nearly palpable, a substance to be tasted, smelled, felt. Despite her tender years, there's something about her that makes her seem like she'd be more at home with her present company than a group of her peers . . . and it's not just the Rage.
"BeeGee Judge . . . or more of a lawyer, really."
So serious, so studious, so impeccably polite. Her mam taught her good manners, after all, and Cooper likes to make her mam proud.
"And it's a pleasure t' meet ye, Melissa."
This time her hand is offered towards the older woman, hazel eyes moving to study her for a moment before flicking back to James.(mel)
*she peeks up at then all, her thick dark lashes framing her deep velvet brown eyes, reaching to wave to them all*Hiya....*her lashes droop again, nibbling nervously on her lower lip, the close proximity to Jukebox and Cooper making her a little more nervous, but reaching out to take Coopers offered hand*PLeased to meet you too Cooper.....Cliona...James....*her gaze flicks to them as she says their names before her gaze drops again, not really quite comfortable with the shy role....but not wanting to piss too many people off*(james)
Don't scare her he says
it's enough to get the buzzed Ahroun to chuckle a bit
how can he not scare her?
thing out of legendary nightmares sitting right here at the local pub
enjoying a beer even if he looks like a filthy version of Rob Zombie after you add water
(and.... subtract at least half the singer's years)"Evenin', kid." chin tips in pack patented nod up to Melissa, shortening her name to omnipresent nick that's simpler for his slur and Yankee accent to clearly pronounce "Dunn mind ya spidey sense goin' off.... 's'jus' me."
street showman winking at the newly fledged kinswoman
doing his best to adhere to Percy's request
(funny that, a Fostern Elder submitting to another's request)
before attention strafes back to Cooper"Yeh.... what he say 'bout me?" the grin slashes crooked scythe "An'thin' in'erestin'?"
(cliona)
She watches Melissa the most, really, and chuckles softly. "Aye, lass. I've 'eard a lot about ye as well. Dinna worry so much about ceremony around meself, lass – I'm nae much for th'submissive roll others may prefer. Relax – I won't bite ye."A nod to Cooper as she finishes the introduction. "Spirit Talker here, o'th'Irish type, if'n it inna obvious. Alpha o'me lads, th'Dragon's Flight." Just for completions sake and all. "Me boy Percy there, tis a judge as well, o'th'Coggies. But we let 'im hang around regardless. He's cute when 'e blushes…" Grins over at Percy. Yeah – unrepentant.
(mel)
*she looks back up at Cliona, her smile widening....*You think he is cute when he blushes.....youshould see him when he.....*she trails off, looking up at Percy, her smile innocent...her gaze wicked*(percy)
As if on cue, he blushes when mentioned that he did. Taking Melissa's hand he looks to her and murmers. "The tribes I told you about. James is the leader of the Bone Gnawers here.. Cliona is my pack leader and one of the Fianna. Apperently Cooper is of the Bone Gnawers as well...."He blinks when Meli speaks and his shade goes from red, past crimson and nearly into plum.
(james)
oh.... James nearly spits out his swallow of beer hearing Mel's comment
(Don't waste it, Jamey-boy! Save the beer!)
finagling some way to swallow before all out laughing
sharp, this girl(cooper)
"Nay, jus' tha' ye're th' 'ead 'oncho (the colloquialism sounds odd in her Cockney accent . . . amusing to most, that juxtaposition) an' I should meet ye some time. An' tha' 'e'd 'elp me wit' tha' part if I needed it."
Truthful, though much of the wording was forgotten; at least she got the gist of the conversation right. And then Cliona's words draw her attention - she'd give more of an introduction, if she had more to give, of course. However, graduation wasn't that long ago, and she hadn't found that many of her own kind yet, really. And then the banter . . . she's still young, and she still blushes easily when conversation takes a turn for the bawdy, even if it's only her thought taking it there. The man is handsome, after all, if not exactly her type . . . eyes move down to the table then, watching her fingers play with a spare napkin as she tries to come up with something coherent to say. Though honestly, she likes this side of Mel better as well . . . that shy stuff only works if you actually are shy.
"Um . . ."
Distracted, fumbling.(mel)
*she looks around, her expression purely angelic, her velvet brown gaze meeting CLiona's*Was it something I said?(cooper)
Oh she just lauuuuuuughs as well, watching Percy's face change colors. "Oi,. lass, ye a keeper ye are. Percy! I like her. She kin come round anytime…" Not like she'd not have let her before, on Percy's request, but still, that was just too perfect…"Oh lass, tis exactly what ye said. Welcome to th'family." Still chuckling as she looks over to Cooper and just grins.
(mel)
*she cuddles next to Percy, looking up at him with a soft laugh, reaching up and pressing a kiss to his plum colored cheek, her thumb rubbing the shimmering pink print of her lips off his skin, murmuring to no one in particular*COuld I get a hard cider please/
(percy)
Sipping his Mikes slowly his head lowers to the table. Bang... bang... bang.... softly thumping aginst the wood. A groan escaping him. Ears still bright red. "They're like this all the time... I say something... it's off to the races...."
Bang.... bang.... bang...
"I'll get it for you Meli."
Standing he softly cups the back of her head, still glaring crimson and turns to go get the drink.(james)
somewhere in the laughter, James finds place to pout
downright sulking! to hear that's all that was said
it's seriously lost juuuust about at the time of a swallow that drains his third beer
far. far. too amused at poor Percy's plight"S'all? Dis'ppoin'ed in th' boy, Coop'r. Norm'lly he's spinnin' some sord'd tale 'bout me."
(cliona)
She arches a brow at James and leans closer. "sordid tales? ye been holdin out on me, lad! Do tell…." She drains her pint and calls after percy. "Get a lass a refill will ye lad? Parched, and near dyin I am…" Though, that could hardly be true with the empties littering the table, that she nonchalantly passes over to the next table over.How many –has- she had anyway? and she's not even close to legal from the looks of her.
(percy)
A raise of the hand as he makes it to the bar. Leaning there and nodding. Confering with the current bar wench. Getting Meli's hard cider, and a couple more guinness. Looking back to check on Meli(cooper)
"Tha's all . . . oh, an' tha' ye all came from out east . . . Jersey."
Which had been affirmed by the Elder's own words . . . not that she'd thought the kin was lying. And ah, all those bottles . . . the smell is kind of bugging Cooper, but she'd expected it when she'd walked in. It is a pub, after all . . . a dinged to hell tin of some kind of mints pulled from her pocket and offered around before she pops one into her own mouth, glad for the strong cinnamon smell and flavor. Her first wine had been only a few days ago, and the girl had never liked the smell of alcohol . . . though now, to fit in, she digs through her pocket and checks her stash. Two fifty in miscellaneous change . . . and what Melissa asked for doesn't sound too hideous.
"I'll 'ave th' same as Melissa, if ye don' mind."(james)
"Jers'y..... though I"m fra' Yawk, same'z Tris." mint taken as offered, then he waves away her count of change "Nuh, I"ll catchit 'f Cliona'll letcha drink'n her Pub."newly met, they are
and James almost three sheets to the wind
but he didn't miss the kid's waaaay younger than legal
and while he doesn't particularly care
(he offers Kemp beer, after all)
he won't let those habits gets the Fianna lass in trouble(cliona)
She waves away the money AND james' offer. "Tis on me tab, lass, dinna worry about it – and if'n ye'd like t'taste something, I'll let ye. However – ye have t'promise nae t'tell, and that if'n ye wish t'try and out drink someone some night ye'll be sure I'm there t'help ye if'n ye get into trouble, alright?"And with a wink, she nods, and adds her drink to Percy's order. Garou grow up fast. And as long as she's other practiced drinkers (ok. Cliona. james is well on his way goooooooooone.) to be sure she has or learns the control.
(mel)
*she plucks a mint as well, popping it in her mouth while she waits for her cider, looking over her shoulder to wave at Percy as he gets their drinks, lookng back to the young Cooper puts in her order as well....haviung seen more then once the effect of alcohol on a teenagers driving skills*Don't mean to be nosy....but no one is driving tonight...?
(percy)
Collecting the drinks on a bar try he grins and lifts them aloft. Heading back across the pub. Lifting the tray up and over a guy passing the other way. His color has gone almost totally back to normal now.
Getting to the table he sits down two hard ciders, two guinness' and then takes his seat. Still nursing his second half of the first Mikes hard lime.
Smiling to Meli he shakes his head. "Just me. This is my first, what was it Cli, "piss water"?"
He smiles, only halfway though ONE mikes hard lime.
(mel)
*her arm slipping around him, leaning against him with a soft sigh, picking up her bottle and taking a sip of the cider, wincing as the apple taste blends with the mint*Bleh....(cooper)
"O' course, I wouldn' tell anyone . . . me mam would like t' skin me if she found out, an' who else would I tell?"
Eyes widen as she feels Mel's eyes on her at the question . . . the other girl thinks she actually has a car? But an easy smile comes up to relieve worry.
"Nay, no' I. Jus' walkin', same way I got 'ere."
And then the drink is placed before her; the girl sniffs it tentatively before tasting it. Smells like apple-y beer, but she tries it anyway . . . and it isn't so bad as she'd imagined, though she certainly wouldn't drink it with any kind of regularity, any more than she would the wine Kwesi liked so much.
"Thank ye Cliona, Percy."
It's a cinnamon mint, so not really so bad with the apple, at least not to Cooper . . . it's probably what makes the stuff palatable to her.(james)
"Nuh, my terr'tory's 'cross the way there." thumb hooks over his shoulder towards the Riverfront proper "I'd be lucky a fig're out how a start a cah, righ' nah. Couple more'n Cliona may be fin'in' me curl' up 'hind'r bar."that... was English, wasn't it?
cause while Guinness may fill up a mortal man before getting him totally smashed
James is no mortal man
Gnawers have bottomless pits for stomachs
but...... not quite the alcohol tolerance(percy)
Percy chuckels at Melissa's reaction and holds out his hand for her mint with a grin.(mel)
You want I should spit it out into your hand, Percy....*she laughs, taking his hand and running her tongue playfully over his palm, nipping his skin before, chewing her cinnamon mint and swallowing*(cliona)
She groans in disgust and nods at Percy. "Aye, American Pisswater a'tha. Tis a terrible shame, it is.. ye'll 'ave t'learn t'drink proper else we be ashamed t'take ye out t'party wit'us!" tsks, even. The poor lone Coggie in a group of Fianna. He doesn't stand a chance.She laughs and shakes her head. "Nae drivin lass, though I wager I could be sober before ye blink if'n I need to." To James, an easy grin. "Ah, tis a cot in th'back if'n ye ave need. Lost count o'th'times I found me boy, Smilin Bren back there after only figurin his way to th'pub after beddin some willin lass…" the smile is fond, though tinged with a bit of sadness. She misses her boy – and his lass.
But it's gone, just as quickly as it was there.
(percy)
A repressed grin for Meli and he shrugs and then she nips him and he grins. Leaning aginst her he listens to the others as they speak. Trying his best to decyper, Irish, Cockny, and... yankee.
"I know I know. I'm just a buzzkill on your Guiness Appreciation Societys."
A look to Meli and totally dead pan. "Don't ask Cliona what she does in the mens room."(cliona)
Quickfire back. "was th'ladies, and dinna tell her how ye know…."(mel)
*she laughs, tossing a cheeky wink to Cliona*Oooh I can only DREAM.....(cooper)
Another sip of her drink, longer this time, feeling that odd warmth as it slides through her; this was different than anything she'd had before, and each pull from the bottle tasted better. Easy to sit, quietly watching as the banter flows around her, hazel eyes serious, studying each of her companious in turn. The conversation, of course, makes the youngest at the table blush, but as long as she's not expected to answer, she's alright. Bottomless pits for stomachs indeed . . . but this Gnawer has the tolerance of . . . of something with not much tolerance, and she's starting to feel the effects already, only half way through her first cider. The blush staining her cheeks becomes permenant, moving to her nose, forehead and chin as well, eyes going a little glassy and half lidded as she just listens, enjoying the experience, resolving to remember everything even as words and thoughts slip through cracks that she didn't know existed.(james)
"May take you'p 'n tha'." finger held up to make the point clear, before he tips back and finishes of the Guinness "If I git turn' 'roun' b'fore the bridge." which.... is an entirely possible scenario, though that finger goes to tap against his temple for those in the know "But f'r nah..... duty call"nodding his goodbyes and good to meetchas to those gathered
backpack pulled from beneath the table
and one Gnawer stepping over the back of the booth
and... generally.... making his way back to the doors and street beyond(cliona)
She grins at James and nods. "Aye, ye do that. We'll see ya agin soon, lad. watch ye back."She's still chuckling at Melissa – the perfect balance to Percy's extreme shyness, shaking her head as she tips her pint back for another long few swallows. Her feet take james's place on the bench across from her, contentedly melting down into a comfortable sprawl.
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJuly 12, 2004July 11, 2004.07.11.04. - ....apology?! [imogen-decker][downtown]
(imogen)
Thunderstorm warnings. The sky is proof that not all weather predictions are wrong, deep dark and unforgiving. It isn't raining yet, but the air smells like it might. It isn't thundering yet. But that's because the lightning is too far on the horizon, just bare flickers of its existance to truly allow its retort to be heard.Some time, last night, out on the roof of her building, looking at the sky the colour of sunrise, her pager had gone off. Hours later, hopefully with sleep in between, she is crossing the road, jaywalking down a barren street, reaffirming her grip on the small drug store bag that was why she was even here.
Crossing toward the cool pristinely shaped lines of the mercedes benz parked on the street curb near a parking metre that shows a red flag indicating her time was up. If she'd put in coins at all.
(james)
if she bothered putting coins in at all - the red flag would be signalling that many wasn't enough
if she bothered even glancing at the meter in passing - the red flag isn't making an appearence at all
in fact, the good doctor has 25 minutes left on her tab
.... odd, thatprobably not so odd when the lungful of smoke drifts across the sidewalk
followed by the ever-familiar feeling of an urban predator's lingering presence
resonant electricity confined in a space all-too-frighteningly limited
at least when put in comparison to the distant storms swimming along horizon's sky
up there resides an ephemeral definition of freedom rolling at deluge edge
a certain liberty bought by explosive clash of thunder hounding lightning's tails
strange cleansing in the torrential downpour of which right now the city can only hope
a gift of earth and sky to soak away Chicago's never-ending stainsby the way he watches - maybe James can pick up the faint echoes of retort
uncanny abilities of animal senses functioning behind human mask
gazing out from the niche created at the base of this unnamed building
tucked comfortably in the angle formed by brick wall and cement sidewalk slabslegs crossed, head resting against the pillow of dreads, Camel absently clenched between his teeth, little round sunglasses perched at a point almost considering slipping down his nose...... the guttermutt looks downright meditative, no surprise to find deep umber eyes closed behind the curtain of dark lenses, lazing the night away in wait for the coming storm
if one didn't know better
and Imogen surely does
(imogen)
She does glance toward the metre, and it might well be the lack of the flag that had drawn her attention. Imogen is a woman of perception and ability. She notices the smallest of details as if it were normal to do so.She would know if she had been out of time, or had not bothered at all. She would recognize that the time left did not match with the time she had began. She regards it briefly, and it is natural that her attention would slide away, briefly, to look about the area. He's not hiding. In fact, almost in plain view it takes barely a second for her to find the Gnawer where he is, smoking as he is. A moment of glancing eye contact, which is a trademark of Dr. Imogen M. Slaughter, MD Forensics Pathologist, as much as her red hair and dark dark eyes are.
And then she turns away, opening the trunk of the mercedes to drop her package in, the plastic crinkling in protest as it hits the trunk's floor. The lid clicks shut as she closes it, too finely made to slam, before she walks toward the building and the ahroun it houses, a hand reaching into her jacket pocket to retrieve her cigarette.
"I owe you a beer," another woman, another situation, and this might sound almost like a joke, and there might be a smark. But the follow-up of a voice mail as this is, it is not humourous, but quietly serious as she pulls out her cigarette package. "'r ten."
(james)
another woman, another time, the entire situation would seem a joke
most people offer some sort of salutation upon noting each other's presence
words exchanged in a symbiosis of polite conversation and genuine concern
but for the better part of the first few minutes, it doesn't even seem as if the doctor and Ahroun even know each other
nothing more than shopping woman and dreadlocked vagrant on the same corner at the same time
she goes about her process of depositing package in Benz trunk
he goes about finishing his smoke and pondering the storm's approachit's only after she joins him in the little alcove that James' attention actually swings
dark eyes peering out of the window created between lens top and brow bottom"'sa grow'n tren', these daysss."
observation's clarification left wholly up in the air
arm stretched to offer his Zippo in leui of explanation
yellow streetlamps catching dull reflection on inks adorning the inside of his forarm
(imogen)
"Beer?" an eyebrow quirks, and now it might be a half joke, or at least some form of sarcasm.She takes the zippo from him as he offers, moving to sit on the lower step. It's in that motion that healing injury makes itself known. The stiffness of motion that might have almost been ignored while she walking or standing.
"I could offer tequila, instead, if yeh'd prefer." Draw in smoke, inhale it deep and extend her hand to offer the zippo back.
(james)
the Ahroun nods with a chuckle
deep sound miniature thunder rolling out of his chest
attention following Imogen's path to sit beside him
motion dragging heavy ropes across muscular shoulder
if he notices the stiffness (oh, he does) it isn't mentioned
nothing more than the minimal pause in his glance
soon enough ushered on by the production of his own pack of Camel 99s
Zippo CLACKfwp-ing the cancerous stick to embrous life"Yuh... sorta." chin lifts to exhale smoke in rings towards the distant thunderheads, a mockery of teeny fog curling infront of the massive storm-system just outside of affecting town filling the pause in thought which organizes the return of pack and lighter to BDU cargo pocket with one hand, and the absent wave of scissor-held cig with the other "Ha' this chick buyin' me beers a th' 'xcal'bur, oth'r nigh', outta th' blue."
not all that often someone's providing for the Hood, after all
needless to say it did rather surprise him
that, too, quickly ushered away in a sideways glance and strafing, crooked grin"'quila'd be cheap'r..... jus' need coupla shots a ge'me was'ed."
(imogen)
A brief sound of muted amusement as she rests her back against the opposing edge of the alcove, knees drawn close and her wrists resting upon them. "Popular, are yeh?"Smoke exhales slowly, and there's a brief smirk about Tequila. The Gnawers in the pack all suffered from permanent 'light weight' syndrome. One must wonder if Imogen had, back in Jersey, taking pleasure in drinking them beneath the table without much in the way of effort.
She glances up toward the sky, darkening, and then the ground below where the concrete is beginning to show a few faint drops of rain, large darkened circlets in the grey.
Another drag from the cigarette,
"In either case," words come in smoke, "I'm sorry f'r leadin' yeh on a chase. Last week."(james)
"Seemzit."the Gnawers of Eagle's pack do have a reputation for being lightweights
James the fierce Garou, laughably, the lightest of them all
he can face down minions of the Wyrm without a second thought, oh yes
but he can't hold his weight in liquor worth a shit
no amount of beer binges with the pack (they ever drink water?) will change it
no matter how many brews he can put away, hard liquor will always have the upper hand
he wouldn't be surprised if it amused the good Doctor in some way never seen by the public eye
wee little kinswoman can drink lanky Ahroun under the table - repeatedlyand then she..... apologizes?
bless all that is holy James has more presence of mind than to turn and simply stare at the woman
beer? he expected
this? he most certainly did not
it shows in the way brows faintly lift above the rims of small, circular glasses
and the moment taken for a few blinks and another half drag
his answer first forming a nod, then subtle shake of his skull
response composed behind exhaled plume rather than riding it as hers"'ccept'd." it's quiet, tempered, almost lost in the pittering sound of randomly beginning rain, the raggedy guttermutt realizing, perhaps, what exactly involved itself in producing such words from the firey woman's mouth "Dun' worry 'bout it.... 'd rath'r go through th' ghetto tour twi'e th'n not be 'roun'....."
words drift off but the sentence lingers in the realm of unspoken understanding - when you need me
the way those eyes watch her profile covering the rest of things that just won't get said
he's learned, she avoids, or sometimes it's just better (... safer?) to not bring it up and put to physical form
she knows the lengths to which he will unquestioningly go if she but asksJames never has voiced a definitive reason backing his fierce protection of the kinswoman
no abstract concept hovering just out of earshot that associates her importance and value on par with those of his packmates
no devoutly righteous mission that departs some meaning on his existance outside the Wyrm's War
no fanatically zealous agent assuring the life and safety of Cook County's most stubborn Forensic Pathologist
the Gnawer is not, after all, her mate or private security team or law-appointed warden or even expecting any form of recompense other than the occasional beer between friends
he just.... seems to do it, as if it always was, and without doubt always will be(imogen)
When he stares, he meets the cool dark eyes of the kinfolk's staring back, though her own gaze would be a fair bit less startled than his. If anything, one might consider Imogen's gaze half a challenge.Make this more uncomfortable than it already is. I dare you.
For Imogen, and it's not something that comes across clear, but know her long enough and eventually it does come across, it is always about war. About a fight, about who is weakest and who is dominated. About when she gives in and on who's terms it is.
And he speaks, and the challenge fades a bit, maybe, some inner part of her uncoiling, the gaze that she returns not quite so harsh anymore. And eventually, she looks away, a glance out down the street, taking another drag off the cigarette, taking it from her mouth when her lungs are filled, arm extending to ash it toward the dampening concrete.
"Well," a placeholder word as she exhales grey smoke and inhales air that smells of rain, "It had t'be said, anyway."
(decker)
Turning the corner, head down, cupping a match to a joint. Toss the spent match aside. Take a hit. Jeans are baggy, the cuffs trailing on the pavement. Wifebeater's rumpled and wrinkled, stretched across powerful torso, broad shoulders and trim waist. Thug's swaying gait takes him up to pack and mate; if there's tension in the air, he's either oblivious or, more likely, ignoring it.A thump on James' shoulder's as close to pack affection as anyone'll see. Joint passed. Nod up to Imogen. He parks himself against the wall, slouched down, feet braced.
(james)
Make this more uncomfortable than it already is, I dare you.
it can get worse?maybe, James simply knows better, and it's what cultures the exact dictation of his reply
madd skillz in the careful acceptance and guarded parlance that shines least amount of light possible
doing his best to acknowledge in a very.... diplomatic... way
maybe, then, that rationalizes James' understanding of what's beyond the words
challenge.... accepted, even if the criteria changed somewhere in translation
that admitting fault and offering amends is something far more complicated than winning or losing
especially knowing how much she loathes assistance of any kind"Respec' tha'."
placeholder
acknowledgement
offset discomfort with esteem
or... just something to float in the moistening void of silence
allowing her a moment..... well, he's not exactly sure why
it could be pawned off as time to straighten the ruffles out of her dignity and pride
it could be pawned off as he still hasn't totally believed she fucking apologized for something
it could be for nothing other than a pause to stretch his legs
camoflage patterns extending down the steps until blocked by crossed ankles and black Corcoran's"So." thump shifts a shoulder down, weight leaning to the side as dreads tumble towards gravity's call, blindly reaching up for the joint that's held out towards Imogen witha lifted brow post-hit "Where ya takin' me?"
exhaling through a rather unrepetant - if crooked - grin
(imogen)
The slight kinfolk glances up at the Fenrir as he approaches, and the resting of her eyes upon him might be a linger, before it deviates. Might be, though it's slight to catch.Dark eyes flare amusement as she glances at the joint, shaking her head to refuse it and lifting her cigarette on its way to her mouth as indication for her reason. "'Random chicks'," you can almost hear James's accent, minus the slur, or at least his intonation, in the kinwoman's low voice, "buyin' yeh drinks appears t'have spoiled yeh. Yer bein' taken somewhere, now, is it?"
(decker)
Joint meanders back to him and Decker takes a second hit. On a potsmoked voice he chuckles (coughs) low under his breath, flickering a glance at Imogen. "Well ain't you tha proper english lady now."(james)
first, an apology
now, a flare amusement!
guttermutt's on a roll, tonight
and somewhere beyond the rumbling growl of a chuckle
there really is honest attempt at pouting sulk at the offense"See how y'are." grumbled during the made show of snatching the joint very carefully away from the Modi for his own seconds in rotation, held lungful huffed on exhale, street showman quickly picking up on the Modi's snipe and running with it "Fig'red a prop'r english lady'd pay a man back wi' prop'r drinkssssinna prop'r 'stabl'shm'n'. Guessin's jus' basemen' pisswat'r cum real'ty."
lopsided grin speaks of teasing
until he realizes he's direct block between Imogen and his packmate
(not so brilliant a move, Jamey-boy)(imogen)
It's a moment for Imogen to decipher what he says. Some sentences she's better at it. Others she's not. The carefully crafted look of inexpression fades after a moment or two, however, and she smirks.And an eyebrow arches. "A proper english lady," it had taken years of tutoring to alter her accent as far as it did, which is still not quite the queen's english, either through the fault of her tutor or her own stubbornness, "would not be caught dead in any establishment that yeh might think of."
Silver Fianna tongues. The subtlety of an insult.
"But if you insist," a glance flickers toward the Fenrir, quick and brief, "and are intent on drawin' in back up t'gang up on me. I suppose it'll be your own choice."
(decker)
She shoots, she scores. Decker grunts at the insult(s) and then, smirking, deflects it over on poor James. "Hell James." Backup. "Thought you was fightin' a Crawler. Cain'tcha handle 'er yerself?"...the turncoat. But Decker calls 'em survival skeelz. And it must be a small moon again. Around Decker, there's more than one way to gauge the moon phase. Looking up's the most troublesome. His rage is another. His sense of humor, or rather, lack thereof, is a third. Joint passes automatically toward Imogen and, rejected again, heads toward James.
(james)
silver Fianna tongues and their subtle insults
it's enough to get James to raise a brow above the small sunglasses
head tipping enough to shift his dreads across shoulders yet again"Good, c'z I'd hate a drag 'roun' s'me dead prop'r english lady barhoppin'." casual reach for the joint, streetlights once more reflecting dully off the inks covering his inner right forarm, fingers tangled to turn his hands into a makeshift bong and the guttermutt takes his time for one. long. ripping hit. "Fig'r'd you' be more fun a hang 'roun' with, Im'gen, giv'n th' choice b'tween ya. Got 'nuff 'splainin' a do 'bout his stench w'thou' s'me corpse hangin' roun' nex' barstool ov'r no matt'r th' place I think've."
crooked smile. slow exhale. pass back to the Modi.
she's not the only one with a glib tongue under a waning crescent
Gnawer can hold his own(decker)
Lines in the sand.
Never know where they are.
Never know when you're stepping over.Decker takes the joint back. And this time, there's not a hint of smirk, nothing even close to a crooked grin. Just a long look, distinctly annoyed, his brow faintly wrinkled.
"Shut up, James."
Oops. What'd James say? Joke's now dead, nonetheless. Decker takes a last hit and then puts the joint out, dropping what's left into his pocket. One of these days, he was gonna burn a hole in himself where the burning ain't good.
(imogen)
She might very well have still been trying to decipher what James had been saying when Decker speaks up. Then again, Decker likely never gave her a chance to respond, the kinfolk's gaze flicking instead toward the Modi.Inexpression is a mask she finds easy. It slides over so quickly and completely that the moments where she smirks or is amused almost seem like fantasy. Flashes that aren't there. That this is what she normally is and shows.
The cigarette caught between her fingers is pitched away into the outside to be extinguished in the rain that is starting to begin in earnest.
(james)
James can hold his own
however, it seems sometimes holding things blocks one's vision
distinctly annoyed comment (command?) pegging the line he apparently tripped over
so, too, do deep umber eyes draw towards the Modi
Imogen masks herself in inexpression
James instead lets one brow. cock.
dark arch between black-glassed spheres and chaotic tangle of dreadsthere's a wealth of responses conceiving behind crooked grin currently paused
something about she started it!
something about what turncoats get and deserve....
something about Modi's not being able to hold their own?
something..... that gets washed away by the increasing rainfalldaring as he may be to verbally spar with Imogen's rapier tongue - guttermutt is not stupid
(decker)
Whoops. There went the conversation: nosedove into the water, glubglub, dead.A moment goes by, each minding his (her) own damn business: a small collection of wolfblooded ones, two fullblooded, their rage marking them for what they are; one kinblooded, her purity of breeding marking her all the more potently. They're a unit, even when disagreeing. The two Garou, at least.
Then Decker straightens up. Conversation dead. Mission accomplished. With a grunt that just mighta been some sort of excuse/goodbye ("Goin' back." "Fact'ry." "Docks." etc.), he continues the way he was headed originally.
(imogen)
She watches the Fenrir's back a moment or two before exhaling quietly through her nose, glancing at the rain, and the fenrir who walks through it."I'll come by some time I'm not on call," said absently, before she starts to stand, lips thinning briefly before the expression clears. "Yeh want a drive?" Beyond the first glance, the second, she does not look over her shoulder again, the scald of the Fenrir's rage burning at her shoulder as he walks away.
(james)
well, maybe not all possible retorts gets washed away
there's the more than obvious ".....asshole." expression following departing Fenrir
luckily the Ahroun can look past trivial irritations to the crux of the matter
given fact he and Decker simply cannot hold a conversation regardless of the subject
can't expect it from two fullbloods, really, they're lucky to talk as much as they do
but at least they were sharing weed instead of squaring off to brawl it out"Yeh."
nod up of acceptance as the raggedyman stretches to stand
slow lean working the stiffness vying for residency in his lower back
a swipe gathers the backpack that was serving as cushion
fingers lifting to scratch through dreads getting heavier with each raining moment(imogen)
The glance dictating James's reaction might well not have been by the Fenrir, but just as likely seen by the Fianna as she glances at James, a momentary stillness in her glance before he answers her question and she nods."Com'on then." Her head tilts toward the car, and she pulls the car keys free and the mercedes at the curb clicks as the doors unlock. It's without much hesitation that she steps out into the rain, hair starting to darken with dampness as she walks, not quite hurried to the driver's side.
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJuly 09, 2004July 03, 2004.07.03.04. - thunder moon [anjali][excalibur nightclub]
(anjali mal)
Techno. Trance. House.Music throbs through the veins the moment one comes inside, it pulses in the blood, it sings to the soul, it screams through the mind. It begs that you move. It pulls at the muscles with little fingers of tingling temptation. It speaks to you.
It speaks to her.
There is a stage, there is a place that lifts her above the rest – and anyone who is near has their eyes locked on her. Tonight, for this crowd, for this dance, it is the dance of the daggers. Long hair, thick and curly, hangs in shaggy teased braids to waist, held high at the crown with tiny braids. Her eyes are kohl lined, dark, and henna decorates her forehead – lips are ruby red. Thick leather collar is buckled around her neck, be-jelewed top leaves back and belly mostly bare, a thin golden chain sliding through the belly piercing ring of her navel. Scarves and short mini cover (..barely..) her ass, and fishnet stockings cover arms, and legs, sliding into knee high boots, buckled silver with thick chunky heels.
But it is not the unusual dress, per se, not in this crowd. In fact, it is the way she moves, the way she holds the blades, the way they become part of her dance, an extension of her arm, movement serpentine and sensual. Hips move, arms move, body moves.
breath catches all around, as she effortlessly glides within the heavy beat, hips keeping time with almost disjointed grace (how does she move like that?) belly a undulating scale of rippling muscle, gleaming with sweat and dusty glitter... she’s been here a while.
She could be here all night.
(and within her veins the recognizable stain... purity...)
(james)
Excalibur Nightclub is not a place one would normally find James
he is a creature born and bred of the streets
his attention requires not much to be entertained
more often than not, the guttermutt prefers spending free time enjoying rare moments of silence
sharp contrast to the veritably throbbing nightclubtonight.... tonight is different
the full moon rises brilliant spotlight above storm warning's gathering clouds
silver shards reflecting off the tumbling blanket to blind the stars
such severity finding twin within the Ahroun's core
for tonight, the Thunder Moon shines across Chicago
striking raw chords against the Gnawer's invisable sphere of Rage
(in the shadows of the concrete jungle... the drums begin to call...)
begging that he lose himself within the scabworld's soul-thumping beatsomething's gotta counter all that simmering Rage
(it speaks to you)and so we find him, tucked neatly away at some side booth
far enough removed so that invsiable sphere won't bother other patrons
beer sweating a ring onto the table's laquered plane
calloused fingers tapping drummer's habitual backbeat to the DJ's choice
dreadlocks hanging to sway with each nodding groove
deep umber eyes slit half-mast in lazy recollection the interior lightshow
(he smells like the city. he smells like primal animal. he smells like weed.)
something finally drifts through joint-inflicted haze
(he smells ..... purity)
dragging reluctant gaze across packed central floor(anjali)
Reluctant gaze is reward when it finally rises, as music thickens with some unseen signal... tribal, the backbeat, the sudden swell of drums his fingers find easy cadence of. Coincidence, it is, that the animal that lay in repose is called to sing the song of pounding drums...lights slide over the pulsating crowd, moving with the pound of base that vibrates the spine, that sings through and demands souls satiation, and within the center sphere, blades spin – faster, faster, faster
(...silvered blur screams through the are, sharpened edge begs for one slip, one drop, one taste of blood...)
and the music pounds on, isolated movements of hips shimmering so fast the girls attempting to mimic fall over with the effort, while the woman before them continues on, effortless, until she falls to her knees, body arched backwards, as blade is flung into the air, spinning and hanging for a breathless moment, until collective inhalation sees crowd gasping as chest heaves under plunging blade.....
snatched from the air and held, just as point touches above pounding heart, in perfect time with sudden absence of music.
it is a moment..... before the applause begins, and she rises to a stand – fluid, the smile finaly crossing finely crafted features as she takes a bow. Blades spun and put into sheathes, passed off to her manager to be put away, as she finally steps down from the stage, and heads toward the bar – coincidence again brining her right past the swelling circle of rage...
(james)
bass thumps cadence to monster's pulsing heart
lights paint acidtripnightmare falling toxic rain on bodies below
blades flicker fatal silver diamonds as they glitter and spin and fall and........ stopthe beast in man's clothing thickens his costume
smile cloaking features in slow, crooked crawl
the crowd rewards her dance with waves of applause
yet he does not outwardly comment upon the dazzling performance
dark eyes closing against rising swell of spun track
head tipping back to drain more liquid gold from already near-empty bottle(anjali)
There is no denying the feeling that swells around table that is decidedly empty but for the single solitary figure tipping amber liquid to fall down willing throat. It grabs as much as the music that swells again, grasping little fingers of tension about the spine until it is coiled in at the small of her back in aching echo of the hair raised above her arms.She arches a brow, slightly, and hips pivot body to a smooth stop, fingers reaching out and grasping passing waitress by the arm. Bar towel liberated from her, as well as order placed. She remains where she is, some 5, perhaps 6 feet away from his table, towel used to mop the sweat off her brow, her neck, sliding down her throat and belly. Her back, as well, is given a pass, before the waitress returns.
A bottle of water.
A bottle of beer.It is then that she completes the distance, sliding within the sphere of pressing rage, bodily forcing herself through to rest shapely hip against the edge of opposite seat, beer offered. Her voice, despite the exotic tint to her features, is definitely American, perhaps even local. “Buy you a beer?”
(james)
the stories of their blood carved within the air surrounding
his invisable and unnerving sphere of Rage
her smokily drifting yet unavoidable scent of purity
it's enough to coax those eyes to open
in tandem with table's rock and weight-bearing shiftnot just anyone would approach the raggedyman beneath the Full
a moment's consideration and judgement
then the bottle's slung back once more to sacrifice remaining contents
empty glass set upside down at the table's innermost corner
(prisoner blindfolded against firing squad's execution wall)
stretching to accept the offered bottle
using it to gesture invitation towards unoccupied seat
Thank' mouthed against speaker's thunderous downpour
momentarily too fierce for words to navigate between dancer and monster(anjali)
He accepts and she nods, fingers sliding against fishnet along her thigh to relieve it of the moisture from beer just handed off, before uncapping her water, and draining several swallows of it, smooth throat rippling as refreshing liquid slides down, soothing where breath parched through dance.Bottle falls and pulls gaze down as well, dark eyes resting on the raggedly man under full moon’s thrall with an unsettling intensity. A moment, two, and hip slides around the edge of the seat, leading body in smooth slide of grace that sees her taking the seat opposite him, back slid against the wall, knee upraised, arm resting across fishnet stocking as she shifts her attention to the dance floor, content for the moment, it would seem, to let silence hang thick under pounding music’s swell.
[pause!]Posted by james at 12:00 AM.07.03.04. - SLUUUURP [rumor][riverfront]
(rumor)
Night. The shadows dancin fromt he lights in the trees.
Back at the bench. James's Vacation spot where she had met up with him once before.
Ollie up the curb. Back down to the concrete while she waits...
Baggy jeans riding low on her hips and todays T-Shirt reads i do what the Voices in my head tell me
Hair dyed from the black and purple back to brownish with some red streaks. Fairly normal once more.
She was a bit early. The message had just said
"Hey man, if ya get time, ill be by the vacation bench, swing by if you can"
And now up the curb and back down. Manila envelope sitting safely on the bench in front of her. Eyes watching it, no one would grab it without getting a skatebord to their head.(james)
tonight, James had time
up ahead the board slaps treads against the curb
wheels clatter to resume their oiled olliefied roll
and one firecracker of a kinfolk plonks down on the benchit's about a half block and closing she can hear the deliberate scuff of his boot
though before that - she may not be hard-pressed to feel his approaching presence
cause the Thunder Moon's just about to rise into the night
portent to the storms gathering to wait on Chicago's horizonhe seems to pay it no mind, though
left arm coming into view over her shoulder
holding out one sweating cup full of Shrek day-glo green Slurpee(rumor)
Slurpee cup appears, and as she turns her head it is almostlike the (classic film) Waynes World.
lights and ---oohhhh dreammmmmmwever....---
A pause.
cobalt blue eyes rest sit momintarilly still on James.
stop.
Breathe. (again all that in only seconds...that felt like hours of silence)
and ......back. with a blink taking the slurpee out of his hand with a wide eyed grin.
"Hey, you did have time?" she moves over and offers him his vacation spot on the bench.
If i was only older.
another breath and she picks up the manilla envelope.
Pause, smile.
"Thanks for swingin by, must have got vacation time eh?" she chuckles and pauses.
Silence was nice. James was one of the few that didnt make her jumpy.
"Had a couple a things to talk to ya about"(james)
beyond the boundaries of all-but glowing Slurpee rests a crooked smile
it's not one of those make-you-uncomfortable types of lopsided things
instead, it's just the normal James look these days
easy grin forever lopsided by the awry pull of scarred tendons
framed by the forever bed-headed tangle of long brown dreads"Yeh..... leas' til th' moon ri'e."
deep umber eyes stray towards the silhouette distant buildings create on midnight's velvet sky
already, the neon-light glow's enhanced by the moon's heavenward creep
at least the growing weather's enough to block out realization's full effect
(James doesn't make her jumpy, but will tonight prove different?)
the Ahroun settles down on the bench, slouching until boots prop on the table
base of the icy-cold cup resting just above the line of wife-beater getting pulled up in the movement
showcasing a hint of the new scar ravaging his belly beneath
attention is drawn away from that, however, as chin nods towards the manila envelope
Eagle pack sign language for Go on. I'm listening.
(rumor)
A crooked smile that never makes her feel uncomfortable. (Will tonight prove different?)A deep breath of the nigth air, the city poluted fresh? air. The smells of smoke and garabge and the water all meshing into the scents around. She had no hightened senses, but when one took the time to stop.
sit.
and just be...these elements all could be sensed.
Eagle pack sign language...she didnt know it as that, but the attention, the nod and the silence told her the same thing."Roxy left, something bout her dad dyin, and Tampa" a pause. so many questions for James, she didnt wanna overwhelm him...but Rumor is what she is...
and here came the avalanche."She called me, told me to meet her at the garage, when i got there it was empty, i was bummed, thought i was gettin canned...but she sold it...i dunno she was tryin to tell me how blood is thicker then water, and how family is more important then pack shit...
but thats like completely opposite of what i was gatherin after me n you talked...i mean...you had explained to me so much, and Tristan has like taken me in like on of his own..."
she looks around once and continues "So anyways, she sold the garage, man it was my coolest job ever...but i guess she had to do what she had to do...anyways, i dyed my hair back and am lookin for a job, butshe gave me this other garage by Dustin and Tristans garage, and its FREE AND CLEAR...as long as someone can sign for the title...like you, and i told Kemp he could come by any time, and I got $3000 from her, but i gave Tristan $2000 for him to keep safe for me and i used the rest to put stuff in the garage, i mean i can tinker with their car there and there is also living space...like couch and shit....so its like perfect, plus ill get the job back at the diner...ya know?"
FINALLY a breath
Finaly a pause
and more.."Hey James...I mean i know Kemps all weird n shit...and has no interest in girls, but once, ONCE, he mentioned somethin in passin, and i dont get it... he said, no way man have to be like a little sister to me, cause James would kill me...yer his" now her face turns as red as could be, even in the darkness it could be seen...
"i mean...what i mean is, what the hell does that mean?"
she shrugs
"ok i dont get it"(james)
avalanche
just...... avalanche?
what came out of Rumor's mouth in a single breath went far beyond the means of a mere landslide
it's enough to get the Ahroun to pause mid-swallow of Slurpee
lime-green ice and syrup melting on his tongue
it's when brain-freeze looms near that he finally remembers to swallow
blinking a time or two (or... three) to sort all that out into pointsdeep breath, Jamey-boy
"One." finger's held up, before a detail notes and directs it towards his mouth so that a drip of Slurpee can be licked off of it - nobody likes sticky fingers "F'r summ people, blood iz thicker'n pack. S'a delica'e balance.... 'n I guess f'r Roxy she fel' it was 'mportan' a go deal with'r pops 'n fam'ly shit. To each the'r own, 'm guessin'. You'll figger out th' fin'r points 'n time wi' more 'xplanin'."
pause. mental rewind through what he caught of the verbal downpour. nod.... moving on.
"Two." double digits this time, sans excess drips "I'll sign f'r th' title.... if they'll le'me. 'n three." another pause, this time he doesn't bother with holding up fingers cause by about now, he's lost track ".... run three by me 'gain."
(rumor)
She smiles proudly
amazed he kept up, what just a little ritalin would do to her.
Although it would make her less "Rumor" and more zombie."Kemp...the whole...James would kill me you are his....thing?"
she blushes again
"I mean, heh, obviously im not yours" a chuckle now, as she already knows shes blushin, may as well joke bout it
"cause if im yours, and i didnt know...man id be kickin myself in the ass"grin.
SLURP(james)
grin.
SLURP.
SLUUUURRRRRP.
time bought to figure out exactly what it is she's referring to
a sidelong glance beneath furrowed brows as.... welllll.....
he's never considered Rumor his in any shape or form
and the connotations in the last bit... about her kicking herself.....
well....
SLURRRRRRP.one hand scratching through the heavy mane of dreads
pointedly ignoring what may exist of her blush
SO unprepared to deal with THAT"Well." pause. once more: SLURRRRRRP. "'m thinkin' he's ref'rrin a you bein'.... mine.... by blood'n Tri'e. I've claim' ya by rites a Tri'e, 'n I"m guessin' cuz 'e Fenrir that it's'a bound'ry he dunn' think he c'n cross cuz i's like I'm y'r Guardian...." pause. ".....'r s'm'thin'."
he takes a breath to ask a question
curious to clarify the latter part of her statement
but that very breath creeps out in a rather non-articulated sigh(rumor)
A pause and she smirks. That was a whole lotta slurpin and a long pause before words.
rendered speechless??
She listens and shrugs.
"dunno, or hes blowin smoke up my ass cause hes too chicken shit to even think about a girl as anythin more then tits on legs, which is fine, im fine bein his bud, but till he gets over his girl-o-phobia i swear his brains gonna explode"
Slurp
a shrug and a smile...."donno why he thought youd kill him, unless it was just an excuse"
she shrugs.
"thanks, on the garage title thing, i gave tristan my $ to save for me n stuff, i wont let anyone down"
and she chuckles a bit, another shrug.
"what...." that was to the question not asked.
Only the breath taken.(james)
yes, the Eagle Pack PR guy rendered quite speechless
or at the very least choosing a preference of dancing around the subject at hand
(just not quite sure how to handle that, eh, Jamey-boy?)
indulging in another SLURRRP before speaking beyond acknowledging nod"Yeh..... may be smoke, may be'n excuse a skirt 'round committin.... 'r.... may be truth. Woul'n't 'ave a pro'lem w'th it long'z he took care a ya." palm's wiped on BDU covered thigh to assure it's clean of offending rogue Slurpee bits, and he's holding out waggling fingers for the paper "Be happy a sign title... jus' dunna 'f I can."
and then her final question is all that remains
teeth nibble on lower lip before James is ready to suck up to that one"Jus'....." breath whooshes out into a laugh seemingly quite out of place with the Full Moon rising ".....jus' won'erin' why you said you'd be kickin' y'rself."
(rumor)
She now is rendered speechless back.
Slurp
biting the inside of her cheek and pickin the right words.
"if you hadnt noticed. It takes me a good ful 60 seconds to actually speak when you come into view. Of course then the words come out all at once, but that 60 seconds, thats usually to get the lump outta my throat..."
she now has no problem just sayin it like it is."Bein 15, i can look up to ya, hell i can drool and hear church organs as you come into view, but if i was yours in a way i didnt know" she nudges him
hint hint
"Like it was just a fact, and no one told me, and i could have..." she does a once over pointin at him on the bench...
then jokingly fannin herself.
"think you got the point there" she chuckles.(james)
"......Oh."Oh.
now would be James' turn to get a little color into the tanned skin on his face
breif glance skirting over beneath raised brows.... and running away right quickly
another strafing run of fingers scratching through heavy mop of dreads
crooked grin curling into something of a soft (shy? embarrassed?!) laugh
good Gaia Almighty
OH"No...... nev'r notice'..... course..... you'd 'ave a hi' me w'th a Mack truck a gemme a notice I gotta fan club." good-natured grin easing whatever sting may come of his complete obliviousness to matters of the heart, reaching to ruffle fingers through this week's rather tame coloration of Rumor's hair before a stretch picks up the folder and papers within "Think y'r outta my league."
he got the point allright
he's just trying to make the best of it
and not crawl under the fucking bench
yes.... let's focus on the papers. that's it, Jamey-boy.(rumor)
If hes climbing beneath the bench she'll be right there with him at the ruffle of her hair and the make it all better uncomofrtable-ish comment that was supposed to instantly remove the blush from both sets of cheeks (meaning hers and james, not somethin else get yer head out of the gutter)Fingers ruffle the currently mostly normal hair and she freezes for a second. (which seems like an hour) and instantly laughs.
Laughing can sometimes make the weirdness disappear."well im highly doubting im out of your league, but hey if it was meant to make me feel better thats cool, plus, every girls gotta have the hot guy who makes her heart do the pitter patter dance right?"
If she was supposed to notice he was embarrased, she hasnt, in fact now shes rather stupified that she even SAID it to begin with."Ya know, the fantasy guy, much better to be able to look at the eyecandy rather then actually get it" she smirks
pause.
Slurp.
and watches him with the papers. Then
for fun
she adds..."Plus whether you notice it or not, id be wayyyyy at the end of the line anyways, so by the time you got to me, id probably be 18" she chuckles and leans back on the bench.
"So garage is mine...ours...heh so we got a new safehouse"
she pauses and FINALLY changes the subject to ease the awkwardness."Think you can help me with the Kemp thing, i mean just maybe talk to him, i know hes had it rough, i am not lookin to be bumpin uglies with him, hes so weird about that, always thinking its like wham bam thank you maam or nothin at all, but maybe give him a lil push in my direction?"
a pause...
"I mean normal girls make him crazy, i am hardly normal, n im not lookin for some instant horizontal bop" (second sex reference) shall i tell ya what i imagin doin with you Jamey boy?"Really we get along so well, n i know hes been through hell in a ringer, but maybe if he heard it from someone else, ya know, that its ok, i mean, nothin wrong with hangin with someone on a couch, or like eh fuck it i dunno, guess its all stupid anyways, Kemps deadset on the whole cant touch this" she points at herself.
"and maybe its just a tactic to be nice"
or maybe she doesnt understand the whole--property thing-- cause Kemp is awfully freaked out bout Rumor bein James's and him killin Kemp(james)
the subject FINALLY changes to ease the awkwardness
it's supposed to work. REALLY it is.
thank Gaia he's studying the damned papers
because if not he'd truly be under that bench
not exactly irrecoverably mortified to be hearing such things
but you can't say Jamey-boy isn't being thrown for a loop
(the honest part being he never really thinks about who's heart's pitter pattering or next in the proverbial line)never. in a million years. would the guttermutt peg himself as someone's fantasy guy.
(and lookie here, Jamey-boy, that's two in as many weeks!)
in fact he starts a humorously self-depricating quip about this supposed line
but etuiquette gets the better of him and it comes out chuffing laughchange. of. subject.
"Gotta pen?" dark eyes finally raise from the papers after appraising exactly what's required of the title-holder and their delightfully non-existant background check "'n I'll talk a Kem' f'r yeh. See if I c'n clear things up."
(rumor)
She smiles. "dont have a pen, but you can just come by the garage another time or take them with ya, i dont really know what we haveta do with them anyways."
a pause and a chuckle.
"remember...kid gloves, careful, say the wrong thing the boy thorw a Kemp-tantrum and gets all freaked out" she grins."been workin on it a while...n even when i dont do or say anything the strangest things come out of his mouth that he assumes im thinkin" she laughs.
"no matter either way, i can just hang out at the end of your fan line for a couple-a years right?"
that time it was a joke.
that time she didnt blush.
that time she smirks and
Slurp."thanks for the slurpee, thanks for the talk, thanks for watchin out fer me, and thanks...."
board drops to the ground and she gets up...
Brushin herself off and turnin to flash him a grin
"...for bein my eyecandy for a little bit" she winks and smirks."Cant say i got bad taste ya know" she smirks and hands him a set of keys.
"Spare set, to the garage, since its yours n stuff, i already got some cool stuff there, and workin on dustins car, but theres livin area and stuff, so if the factory gets too crowded or you need alone time, swing by, and i can always go bother Tris and Dustin...yaknow"(james)
that time it was a joke
that time she didn't blush
that time she smirks and
SLURRRRRPnot a stretch to find James collecting himself after THAT farewell in another gulp (or four) from the Slurpee
rare the times that anyone else can get the better of him
much less a fifteen-year-old firecracker of a kinfolk
cause for the better part of two minutes: the guttermutt is rendered speechless
... again"Welc'me." tongue finally untangled enough to form a closing remark, most likely inspired by the weight of keys in his hand, for that silly little grin is still intact above hands folding papers back into the envelope "I'll get it sign', 'n bring it by f'r ya.... Rox'll prolly need it f'r transf'rin' title'n deed leg'lly."
not even touching the eye-candy remarks with a ten-foot pole, is he
simply quirky another trademark lopsided grin to substitute as goodbyePosted by james at 12:00 AM