October 22, 2004.10.22.04. - tribal moot [city gnawers][ic room - tristan, ratchet, yuliya, primal, cooper, tesrin, annalia, steven]
(james)
the call went out days ago
word spread quickly amongst the jackal blooded
employing the varied, infamous methods of the Gnawer Grapevine
arriving by mouth, bark, howl, phone, paper airplane and smoke signal
there's probably even a message written in a pizza topping or
irregardless, the crux of the notation is the sameit's about high time Chicago's resident Gnawers got together for a private party
so as the sun considers setting against the city's skyline
a warehouse ages ago forgotten by anyone collecting property tax isn't so abandoned anymore
staked out long enough to know it's not included on The Man's nightly patrol
far enough from the more commonly populated industrial buildings to escape public notice
it seemed a fair enough location to hold a little shindigthere's an interesting pattern of rust by one of the back loading bay doors
Bone Gnawer glyph little more than a welcome sign etched into the aging metal
past the pried open Employees Only door lays a little caern of assorted trash
stockpile of leftover whatnottery that would mean precisely squat to a new lease resident
but it's sufficient enough to act as sign post for anyone "in the know"
neon sign equivalent to point the way towards the far side of the dark, cavernous building
another interesting pile of... stuff... sitting by the entrance to basement stairsonce in the subterranean storage area - the long empty building becomes a bit more inviting
old desks, chairs, and even the breakroom's sagging couch drug down below
placed in a..... vaaaaaguely organized pattern around an old metal barrel now employed as fireplace
(these are not your conventional singers of Kumbaya)
there was enough trash in and around the warehouse to guarantee warmth for the night
bomb-shelter-esque walls efficiently insulating the constantly radiating heat
firelight's flickering glow nicely complimented by Christmas lights hung for ambience
purple and orange zig-zags across the ceiling thanks to Wal*Mart's Halloween aisle
(What are you going to dress up as this year, Little Jimmy? - A werewolf.)
at the very least - it's quite a festive retreat from the approach of an Illinois wintera welcome one for right about supper time, too
there's a stack of pizza boxes on the table next to the fire drum
odd assortment of toppings for every palette arranged by the productivity of crank phone call
cooler on the floor holds the random collection of incomplete packs of soda and beer
there's even a half-keg sitting off to the wayside and it's a sure bet nobody would think to ask just how they got it
beat up boombox circa 1980 diligently pumping radio station's tunes from crackling speakers
classic rock's background noise just loud enough to be heard above the snap and pop of the fireand then there's James - Ahroun. Fostern. Eagle. Elderman.
calloused hands held above the flames to warm away finger's chills
features blushed orange and red within the dark shadows of dreadlock's frame
entire portrait blurred by the smoke coiling hazy curtain from the joint dangling out of his mouth
if it weren't for the air of Rank and unmistakable presence of invisable Rage
(not to mention the set design of corporate boardroom a la Junkyard Wars)
he'd just seem like some anonymous vagrant lucky enough to find shelter for the night(yuliya korjevna)
As it had before, somehow it makes it around to Yulya, interjecting itself like a nagging background thought on her otherwise normal life. Thats if you call smuggling, gun fights, and business normal. She does.It'd been a phonecall, one of those nifty little phones she'd sent the Eagles way awhile back still surviving somewhere with ehr number still preset in it just. in. case... and here was a good reason why. Few called unless they had a problem. This was the rare case of no problems to deal with.
She found the warehouse with ease. Not one she's ever used, but its not far from one she's... held metings in on occasion. Looks very much the same as the last time anyone's seen her. Lanky dark hairs a bit longer, leather jacket's still in one piece, or is that a new one? Just as heavy though. Black jeans and a dark polo style shirt under her jacket. Not trying to dress up though. It was for the straps coiling around her whipcord body holding multiple weapons in various places. Most? Unseen. She'd left the moon metal ones home though... no need amongst family or at least she was hoping.
Booted feet make themselves known as she headed down to the basement so subtly marked. Dark eyes taking in details, that edge of wariness to her because for all she knew this was some sort of elaborate trap... but likely not. It only kept her alive to assume everything might be a trap. Cigarette in her mouth as she came to stop seeing James. Nod up as a hello and she pried her leather gloves off her hands slowly.
"Gloves might help keep warm." Gesturing at him warming his hands with her cigarette leaving a smoketrail briefly in the chill air.
(cooper jones)
Cooper's one of the lucky ones, really. A nice, warm jacket, only second hand, gloves (can it really be this cold already? Not even Halloween yet . . .) fresh from the clearance rack at the local Wal*Mart, baggy clothes presentable, if not new, or fashionable.
Jackal's fortnate daughter
She arrives, empties one big, deep pocket (what other kind would any self respecting Gnawer have?) of more kinds of Halloween themed candy than you could shake a stick at (orange and black M&Ms in tiny boxes, individually wrapped Reese's Cups, etc.) onto whatever table happens to be holding food . . . and, onto whatever happens to be handy, another pocket is emptied of pairs of gloves (the stretchy kind, not the warmest, but better than nothing), socks, and a couple hats.
One for all, all for one
Sharing every everything and having a ball
Then, of course, she presses back into a corner, eyes constantly on the move, watching arrivals, interactions . . . ever observing, watching, judging. Never one to leap before she looks.(Tristan)
Some vagrants even have fan clubs. Sees the 'elderman' is one of them, as lanky form enters, following the clues easily enough through long practice - and he helped gather and arrange the things needed. Previously scheduled errand caused him to slip out, and now he slips in again. Tall, lean, strong in ways that are usually not seen, he passes behind James, affectionately reaching up past the rage and the ever so impressive air of rank to tug on a dread. "hey bro."And promptly scooting out of swiping range with a chuckle. He sets his violin down somewhere out of the way, so beloved baby is semi-protected, though the reinforced case is usually protection enough. A looooooooong inhale is appreciative of pizza's enticing scent, and the cooler is open and a beer grabbed. Right at home, for a pretty boi, ain't he?
(..ratchet..)
word came out. skinny runt and smallest gnawer [....in homid, anyway...] responded. skinny runt skirts through shadow, keeping to edges as finding little clues to where meeting is. ragged nails dig and neck, at hip. pull black knit hat down over ears, firmly - green alien head on front a little more dingy now. coat of many pockets, but only one color [dirty] flares against ankles as hunched form skitters through to the meeting place.sound arrives before near silent runt. steady clickclick of favored tool and namesake in hand. flash of silver, hidden again. in other hand, clutched close, little froggie beanie. gift from elderman. treasured. pockets in coat of many bulge with other treasures.
hesitation. head cants, sharp. animalistic. watching. pretty one. elderman. food. [belly rumbles]. favored tool disappears briefly, hand dips into random pocket, and around edges skitters little runt, and to pile of pizza boxes added little foil bags, individual snack sized goldfishes.
[the snack that smiles back. until you bite they're heads off.]
Russian girl is there now. little runt scurries behind the barrel [warmth] to settle in comfortable [comforted] crouch at elderman's feet. safety here. little green froggy finds place on tattered jean covered knee. favored tool falls into hand. little runt watches. silent.
(tesrin)
*He found out...through the pack probably. He shows up with about 4 sweatshirts on under his jacket, and a flannel as well. Sweat pants on under his jeans. He was a migratory bird that's gotten grounded in snow country, and he WASNT happy. He was COLD. He didnt like cold. But over his shoulder is a garbage bag, it doesnt look too heavy, not too lumpy either, but it rustles a lot when he moves it. Plops it down near the pizzas and opens to reveal what musta been over stock or some such. CHIPS! Potato, dorito, tortilla, corn, multigrain. You name it, He scrounged it up. Grabs a bag of Harvest Cheddar SunChips and 2 slices of pizza, a can of soda and struggles to carry it all to some accomidationg couch and flops down, busy stoking his furnace with food for the moment. He was burning calories way too fast in the cold weather, he was even losing weight...what little he had to lose. It was too damn COLD!*(james)
"Pfft."the scoff comes out of a humored smile on latest lungful of smoke
aromatic tang of his far more scandalous than what coils from her own fag's trail
humor shining in the wrinkles surrounding dark eyes that lift to Yuli's arrival"Then I woul'n' get tha' natch'rul hick'ry smoked flava."
the raggedyman had only recently finished assuring the place was comfortable
the little candle sitting in a car corner twirls a little sootsinge trail
in the fire's coil vented through some trick of mickey moused central air circulation
it's just-blown-out evidence lost within the harsher smell of burning trash
Rite of the Cardboard Palace only just now coming into it's intended effectiveness
but soon enough the basement is warm enough for James to be comfortable as clothed
wifebeater bearing enough skin for grime smudges from dirty furniture to shadow his tat
deep greyly brown smears echoing tribal swirls iridescent black on inner forarmchin lifts Eagle style greeting as others trickle in - most he knows, already one still stranger
it's the glance down at ratchet which saves his brother more than a sideward glare
maybe the curl of approaching growl finds his lip as the joint's plucked away
roll of Mary Jane offered to the Siberian - a lopsided smile for the skinny runt, instead"Hung'ry?"
the others confident enough to know to help themselves
Tesrin's initiative awarded flickering glance of approval
but he knows the metis young'n well enough to start off with query(yuli)
"If you say so." She smirks. Its not even a full smirk, as if lips rarely curl upwards to that degree enough to really remember smiles of any form. She manages, and it just looks that edge less then cocky. Eyes follow the other's movements as she waves of James's offer silently seeing some she knew, and some she didn't. If they were there and James hadn't pounced one then she was trusting them to be family."Got case vodka in car nearby... no drink shitty American beer if help... anyone interested?" Her Russian accent thick as she finished off the cigarette and actually kept mouth clear of a chain of them for the time being. She unzipped the jacket, which showed some of the scar left in ugly relief on her chest before tnk top concealed, as well as numerous straps crisscrossing for her weaponry. [Don't leave home without it. Who knew when some rival would be dumb enough to jump.]
((Tristan)
Oh he KNOWS that growl that was almost leveled his way, and just grins in the face of the glare. Incorrigable, he is. And hungry. as always. Beer opened, and he takes a few swigs, before grabbing a couple slices of pizza, and with a smile to ratchet, grabs not one, but TWO of the snack sized packs of goldfishes. "My favorite. Thanks!" tossed her way, before he finds a spot and cops a squat.Commence inhalation.
(..ratchet..)
'nother one comes in. gets wary stare, before elderman speaks and dark eyes lift [and lift and lift. short at best, crouched makes for even smaller target.] nose wrinkles, slight, head ducks, before little nod.voice soft, barely travels. "ratchet always hungry." to Jo's never ending amazement, ratchet out-eats all of them, and searches for more, though none could tell by painfully skinny form under rags. ragged nails dig at shoulder, under chin, behind ear before stills again. dark eyes watch scary one open coat. own tattered warmth pulled closer, even as area warms under rite. little smile - steven teached her that one too.
(tesrin)
*The pizza is quickly but neatly inhaled, the soda gone, he grabs the bag of chips and stands, moving to a back wall to start shedding a few layers of shirts down to a worn thin black long-john shirt. Shoes are kicked off, instead of shedding a pair of jeans. Leaves his stuff in a pile against the wall and moves back to relax in a chair near the fire, murmuring to himself* That's better. *before looking around at those assembled*(cooper)
She's met almost all of them but the Russian girl (she knows the language, can hear the accent, even place it to the appropriate region with little trouble), or, well, at least she's met them. But, Cooper's a little . . . not shy, exactly, just quiet and reserved. So, a few moments of watching
You can learn more interesting things about people that way . . .
she moves back to the table and claims a piece of pizza of her own, avoiding the smell of smoke
How they can stand it is beyond me.
as much as possible, yet managing to keep her nose smooth and unwrinkled in the presence of the Elder and his friend, at least, if no one else . . . though, always, one would have the feeling they were being weighed by those hazel eyes, and would never be certain which way the scale tipped.
Chin's jerked up in an Eagles-esque hello, though she learned the gesture here, in the streets of ghetto Chicago, long before she knew the Eagles existed, or what she was, or that there was any such thing as a pack that wasn't automatically a gang, in the worst sense of the word. Smiles (or at least the slight curling up of lips in more than a smirk) for Tristan (so pretty), Ratchet (so not) and Tesrin, and she slips back, on the edges looking in.(tesrin)
*yawns and rubs his face, wonders if he's gonna end up speaking up, or if there was still more showing up.*(james)
Yuliya declines, act accepted with acknowledgement's nod
the instinct to share from blood and camp more than thinking she'd actually accept
her refusal mirrored in a shake of dreadlocked head
brow lifting as if to silently ask What, you think my slur isn't bad enough already??so, the Ahroun keeps up with traditional rotation
offering the smoking joint to anyone that's interested
likely there's more where that came from
(What... a Hood arriving without enough for all?)
however it's importance surely secondary to the veritable feast of scavenged food"'Nuff there a letcha have one all a y'rself." chin lifts as encouraging wave, battlehardened Fullmoon's smile is ever-crooked but always kind towards Ratchet "Go'n. Help y'rself wi' th' res'. Ev'rybody's sharin' w'th ev'ryone else 'n won' mine."
Steven and Jo taught the whipthin runt quite a bit about Garou society
far be it from the Elder to not continue her education with tidbits of expectations in the Gnawer social strata
that she arrived without her counterparts a commendable act all its own
once everybody's seemingly settled with food or spot to squat
his attention turns back to the group
gaze traveling as he speaks to respectfully acknowledge them all"Thanksss f'r ans'rin my call. Oth'rs'll come lat'r, 'n y'r free a leave wh'en ya wish. F'r those tha' dunn know me at all, 'r jus' not well, name's Jamesss Brans'on, known a th' Nation a Jukebox 'r Drums-'n-Skulls, Fos'rn Ahroun a Eaglesss Pack 'n City Eld'r. Our ranks in th' city haven' met since 'fore we raise th' Caer', 'n I think it was 'bout time a make up f'r th' slack. Only purpose 'z a make strange face'z f'miliar, tell th' stories tha' haven' been heard, 'n speak y'r mind 'bout whatev'r dunn get a voice a' th' Sep' moots." muscular shoulders roll in a shrug as he reaches to steal the joint back from Tristan - stickler for protocol James ain't, and it shows in the casual grin now turned back to his Family "Spotligh's y'rs."
(yuli)
Not that she'd travelled without a bit of her own anyways... well more then her own... as she peels back jacket more to pull a few bottles from within. Lesson from Sputnik well remembered. No self respecting member of his family went anywhere without some vodka close to hand. She settles on a couch after having left some of the vodka for free for all and snagged some pizza. A long drink and she ate rather... well quiet, controlled... not so much mannered as cleanly. She was an odd one at times, with her mix of expensive toys and streetwear, clean, usually neat and fairly cold.She ate slowly, listening to James as he talked. She thought her English was bad... and grinned a bit at the thought. Dark eyes went around to see who wanted to go next.
(Tristan)
What, the pretty boy turn down the J when it makes it's way to him? Not on your life. He's done playing for the evening, and thus doesn't need to worry about remaining coherent enough to run complicated fingerings to impress the masses braving the cold to throw a coin or two his way.Takes, inhales....
and lets it be stolen. Stand on ceremony? Not likely. "Think I know just about all ya - if not, I'm James' bro, kin and all around pretty errand boy. If we haven't met and you've a contact number, I'd appreciate it. Keep my 'best networked kin' rank up there and all. You can find me easy - just listen for the violin."Grins, and waits patiently for that J to come back. Pizza slices? gone.
(..ratchet..)
head ducks. shy. little grin though as he says she gets one all her own. takes moment, still, before skinny runt darts to the food, grabs a box, actually peeks inside, and puts it aside to grab another.skinny runt makes a choice of toppings, instead of taking what's left over. sometimes, the little changes are monumental.
box chosen, soda taken, and quick glance at pretty on sees what kind beer he drinks, a mirror bottle added to a coat in pocket, and hunched skinny form returns to chosen place. beer reappears, offered up to elderman with grubby fingers. figure he drink same as his brother. only when taken, is the box at her feet opened, and piece of pepperoni goodness devoured
(cooper)
"Cooper."
Quiet, no quaver in her voice at all, full of a confidence most her age don't feel, can't even feign. And her accent is Cockney (or stereotypical poor British, for those less educated in such things), if slowly being taken over by Chicago.
"Walks Alone, Philodox, Cliath, sans pack."
No unneeded words, all clipped and probably as close to formal as any here are likely to come. And she gives Tristan her number (unable to stop the hormonal teenager's imaginings of what she'd do if he called her - but it only lasts for a moment); it's better to be easily gotten a hold of, after all, than to be left out in the cold on everything.(tesrin)
*when the joint moves his way he doesnt even take it, waves it on to the next person. In fact, he sits on the far side of the fire from it. All he needs now is a drug induced siezure. That wouldnt be good, no telling how long it would last. Waves a hand in the air when there's a pause* Tesrin "Treks-the-Tracks" Timov, Mediator, Cliath. *scribbles his number down on a random piece of paper relatively clean, folds it into a paper airplane and sends it toward Tristan*((I know he's a prospective member for a pack, but for the life of me cant remember which one))
(james)
dreads shift on his shoulders
unsettled by each nod or turn towards the one speaking
rotation course altered by those noted as skipping their hit
in fact.... it seems like it's just down to himself and the prettyboi
more than enough there for both these lightweights
so once it's reduced to a roach Tristan sacrifices to the gods
he doesn't bother digging another out of his stash
that there beer ("Thank'.") should keep the buzz going quiiiite nicely
fortunately, the raggedyman's taking it slow enough to keep his slur to a minimumhis vocabulary and command of the English language may be collegiate
but that means squat when you can't say something others understandthree down, two to go
dark eyes shift to ratchet and Yuliya
waif getting a miniscule nod of encouragement
she made a personal choice already with the pizza
is she confident enough to choose going first?(yuli)
"Yulya." It rolls off the tongue eliminating a vowel or two in the speaking of. A bite of pizza taken, relaxed as much as she gets these days where she sits and smirk reappears."You need, I can probably get... but work best in weapons." That gleam in ehr eyes unmistakable, but then she's wearing a portion of her personal arsenal just to go out. Tells so many truths probably, as do the scars.
One hand gestures vaguely towards James as she washes pizza down with a long pull of vodka. "Friend of James..." the last bit about a lack of spice and alcohol tolerance left off. Tahts her private joke. It's a memory for her and James alone.
Camaderie.
(tristan)
He takes the number from cooper, [and even winks at the teenage girl. No need to dash her dreams just yet, hm?] then he pulls out his phone and adds the info to the digital display. Fingers reach up and snatch the paper airplane out of the air - or tries, fails, and gets it the second time around, and Tesrin's number is added too.Takes the joint he does, and sacrifices it appropriately, before settling back to listen, for now. He does snag some more pizza, and continues to munch comfortably, after shedding his jacket - James' gift making it nicely toasty here.
(Ratchet)
glance up at elderman, then down again. and lips open to speak - but Yulia beats her. better probably. dark eyes peek around, see she is last, and little voice somehow manages to carry to all. "ratchet. no moon bg, runt of whirlwind. sister of steven and jo."and quickly begin to inhale another slice, careful to not drip on the frog, or mar the shiny goodness of favored tool - the only thing about her consistently cleaned.
(tesrin)
*ok, he's had enough sitting in the sagging, though comfy, chair, gets up and ambles over to grab another 2 pieces of pizza and another soda. Gotta stock up for the night. He'd moved his stuff inside simply cause his tent was NOT a barrier against cold!*(james)
again, that approving smile
even if the chilly kinswoman beat her to it
these humble beginnings of confident initiative rewarded in kind
not enough to draw attention to it
but just what's needed to show her he noticed. approves. appreciates.
then the curved lips widen before a rumbling chuckle
thumb hooking towards Yuli's declaration"Wom'n's a damn arm'ry." and more than likely, the Ahroun knows it's literal as well as a figurative description of ability "Tris' networ' op'rat'r, 'n ratch't there c'n fix most a wha' she get' 'er han's on. Wha' 'bout you?"
chin lifts up towards both Tesrin and Cooper
not so much a demand as option to provide as they see fit
primary stages of securing the city's network of the Tribe
simply finding out who's best to go to for what need(yuli)
Her smirk to James' description and eyebrows wiggle some. her mood always tends to improve around family these days. She saw them or anyone of the Gaian persuasion infrequently afterall. Someone had once remarked she seemed more Glasswalker then BoneGnawer with her setup and accessibility... hell she ran weapons online as well as through more standard means.Her attention shifts to Tesrin whom she remembered as fairly interesting and Cooper who was little more then a name to a face right now, listening as she drank her way steadily through that bottle of vodka in her hand. Pizza gone for a little bit now.
(tesrin)
I'm good at scavanging up just about anything a body could need, and, if I do say so myself, I do modest sketchwork. If I see a face, I can remember it for years and draw it. Or do what some cops do, draw pictures from someone's description. Its a...composite drawing?(Tristan)
He stretches out comfortably, long legs crossed at the ankle, body reclining easily in chosen spot as he listens. There's no lack of confidence here, and he can't help but laugh at the assessment of Yulia. "Amen to that - could have used your talents a couple weeks go, but we'll leave that for story time." All part of the "bunch of kin are sent into a club" storyline.(ratchet)
head ducks, shy, at the praise. approval of elderman means almost as much as approval of steven.[sometimes more. not tell steven that. elderman elder man though. maybe not more - just different.]fingers touch bracelet - charm looks like - under coat. ratchet bits. for favored tool. has two now, one from elderman's alpha. both treasured. flash of silver, and slow clickclickclick when fixing things mentioned. before tucked away for another pizza. glace at scary one, and tesrin. Information filed away, silent and quick.
(james)
pizza's steadily disappearing into the bottomless pits known as Gnawer stomachs
and just as Yuliya's Siberian chill warms in the company of the jackal's blood
a shift comes over James' battle-ready shield to show true personality sheltered beneath
(packed up with a bunch of insane Get, didn't have a choice there, didya, Jamey-boy)
that easygoing, mellow Hood who one day just up and took a trip out of Albany
wonder if he should regret never looking back...though presently, he's assuring his Tribemates will spend tonight with full, warm bellies through little expense of their own, and that's more than enough for him
others need - a Hood provides"Yeh." confirming word to definition without having to actually say it "'tween th' three a ya looks li'e we c'n get jus' 'bout whatev'r we'd need."
a bit of stating the obvious, perhaps, this confirmation of information
also works to discreetly communicate the Ahroun's decree all Gnawers should, and will, work together
a resourceful pack all their own in the midst of the city's separate little clubs
just cause they're the Omega Tribe doesn't mean they can't step up to the line when it counts
better yet the secondary level of dependability for those times packs proper just aren't around
the competitive dramatacism of the other Tribes is just something he won't tolerate
after all, they have to struggle enough as it isafter Cooper's say, his own "talents" aren't added, verbally
(I can break shit real good, uh huh)
partially due to the simple fact he's the ranking Elder
he has to be able to do whatever is asked
or at the very least locate the capable sourcenod up towards his prettyboi brother
might as well shift gears and keep things moving
Gaia forbid this begin to resemble a Sept moot with bureaucratic hoops torturing everyone to tears
(yuli)
"You have number. Can always call." She liked a good fight and gunning down the occasional scumbag in Chicago was not as taxing as the fomori and Bsd she's faced at other times. Looking death in the face and surviving, like a good little persistent pest she is, was more satisfying at the end of the day when she came back to the empty apartment to review more orders and meetings.The jacket was finally slid off as she grew warmly uncomfortable in it... the hidden padding within it that resisted bullets made it not fun in warm places too. Now the two guns she wore to either side revealed as well as a few throwing knives on ehr arms. As well as the hiden peak of somethings claw scars at her back and side before tank and jeans took over covering duty.
(Tristan)
He chuckles and nods back. "Did call - got the machine. And that storytime would be now, I guess. I got a call from the bigwigs at the Caern, they needed a bunch of kin to go into the Excaliber - seemed one of you furry types fucked up and shifted inside. They dealt with him, but well - they had him on tape. Just me and a bunch of girls - sent a buncha woman to do a mans job, they did." No doubt he includes himself in that women's work - sorry, Cooper.but the grin never fades, as fingers slide through mass of corkscrew curls before letting them fall again. "Made it inside, the fang kin created a diversion - started a cat fight right there on the dance floor, it was fuckin beautiful... specially as one was as uptight a fang as you'd ever seen... the other was a fianna, and held her own, but that fang, damn impressive. - and I tried everything from hitting on the bartender to sneaking inside. Made it to the security office - and had to pull the cardinal gnawer sin as my own diversion to get outside - I tossed my recently devoured dinner all over his feet. Got the tape though, and everyone escaped and had a good laugh at my expense after - specially James there. "
Shoulders shrug - that's his story and he's sticking to it. "Next time I'll make sure to call you in, Yulia, so we've got a real stud to do all the dirty work." Teasing grin, and mock duck out of her swiping range.
(ratchet)
she listens to story, brow furrowing. makes note to ask steven later what excaliber is. pizza steadily disappearing, going, going gone. greasy fingers wipe over jeans that have seen better days, and soda opened and down. no cherry pies - but steven bring some when he gets here.she scratches under jaw, over shoulder again. then eyes are drawn to yulia when coat comes off. eyes widen, and shifts just -that- much closer to elderman. fingers dip in pockets. find latest trinket working on, and soon little monotonous hum wavers very, very softly under breath as ratchet falls into hand, and begs work on the small... music box? now set on top of the empty pizza box.
(yuli)
"Cuz I so studly, da?" She flexes her arms and does show off the subtle lines of well toned musculature there... but then she's keeping herself in good shape as best she can between drinking, smoking and bouts of junk food. That is followed by a throaty chuckle and she digs into one of the many pockets of her jacket to pull out the cheap pack of Camel cigarettes that are tonight's nicotine of choice. Bic lighter employed and she had a a long lunful go smoke to contemplate for a few minutes. Only juuuuust catching Ratchet's shying towards James. Not that it bothered her... she had a reputation of sorts in places, even being only kin.(primal)
The air is a little crisp, like tasting a sheet of flavoured ice on a winter morning. You know, Mum always tossed some sugar'd kool-aid in the snow to let it freeze over, then frozen puddles of cherry yum-yum for a tasty and cheap little treat. Ghetto desserts were all the rage....But yes, crispy was the word. Crispy and cool, frost decorating the digit tips and the inconsistent presence of a white mist emanating from a warm (RageFlameFireBeastBreathRuckusRipTearHowl...) body. The rustic doors and portals in the way, are shoved aside with that over-exaggerated ease that comes with trying (Read: Trying) to be gentle. The grind and creak and groans of protest from various doorways and access ramps, leading into the building. Finally, a flight of stairs and some Human noise to join the conflagration of dysfunctional engineering.
The thump thump thump of boot heels, grinding against the stairs. A silhouette bleeding into the firelight, yet failing to cross the grime line, appears inside the doorway.
Draped in rags, old and new, stitched together haphazzardly by anything usable (From wire, to string to rope to even some patchwork sewing) dangling down to a pair of well-worn and bleach lined hard-toe boots. Reaching up to a few inches over 6 feet, though the shoulders look a bit hunched and the features cast in shadow from the many-layered hood. He stops inside the portal leading inward, the hood turning to regard the four walls of the room, then ceiling to floor and finally the congregated mess of Rabble that is Family.
"...Th'z tha' part'e?"
An unmistakable waver of something (Red. Sharp. Stabby. Dark. Harsh. Snarling. Gaping. Awesome. Terrific. Forceful.) dances forward, as if to bleed from beneath all those rags and seep into the room to get a feel. A taste for all those within. Unmistakable Rage, clinging desperately to the newly entered body.
"...Nam's Primal."
Simple. Right.
(tesrin)
*waves a hand from his now way too comfortable chair. Over by the pizza boxes, soda, beer and sundries is his contrabution, a garbage full of various kinds of chips of all brands, munches on SunChips*(james)
Yuliya isn't the only attending with clawmark scars worn as medals
the ashed black ridges of gnarled skin cover his back from shoulders to waist
dark shadows beneath the stretch of wifebeater's fairly thin fabric
lanky mane of dreads luckily covering anything that creeps out from beneath itratchet's initial shift catches the raggedyman's attention
soon as he can feel Primal thumpthumpthumping down the steps
..... not to hard to anticipate what's going to happen next
weight shifts between the Ahroun's dully shined Corcoran's
long and lean frame arranged - subtly - into a more convincing position of "shelter"
she's no reason to hide from Family
but he'll still give her an invisable wall to put her back to"Make y'rsel' a' home." nod up for a greeting and salutory gesture, the invitation to browse the cornecopia of the jackal blooded's spoils of scrounging war spread over one table - pizza, chips, soda, beer, and enough halloween candy to give them all static shock "Know ev'rybody?"
it's amazing the amount of translations there can be for a simple nod up
this next one silently asking Yuliya to bum a smoke
since she's got her pack out and everything(Tristan)
Oh good god almighty. That's a wall of rage, and recognition flickers in dark eyes, lips curving to a smile as he lifts a hand and waves at Primal. "Heya."And he's laughing at Yulia, while digging out his own pack and beat up lighter, lighting a cigarette before checking to see if Yulia shares before tucking his pack away again. What - give her something to 'throw' at him? no way. "Damn straight, your studly woman. Instead of a cat fight we'd have had an all out brawl...
(Ratchet)
Yulila might have noticed only barely that little lean.but then there's primal. met once, scared much, but held on without being embarrassing. mostly. but the sound of clumps gets skinny runt to all out lean against elderman's leg. hands that work over little bits and bobs of the music box steadily coming apart and being put back together on the pizza box before her feet fall completely still. tremble. dark eyes dare peek up at Primal, then slam down again.
everyone rhya to ratchet.
slight shiver through body. its easy enough to see he scares her. but most things do. Elderman creates wall of safety, and it soaks through skinny runt, until hands begin to move again. slow, first, then steady, confident in the gears and bits and pieces of machinery in front of her. ratchet fix anything - cept being scared.
(yuli)
"Mhmm... brawl can be good, Tristan. I think you need good brawl or ten, da?" She winks, some, that accent thick, that English scttered badly. Only some know she does it on purpose as the whim takes her.She tosses her pack of cigarettes James' way as she turns to regard Primal with an nearly nonchalant air... odd for kinfolk but she's never been as bothered by Garou as many others. Call it that bitchy spunk she has. "Pass around James. I have more." She always does. Yulya was good for many things from money to cars.
"Yulya... not met you before." Half nod of greeting to Primal before her vodka bottle was tipped back for a healthy shot straight down. Drank like a pro and even now, seemed unaffected.
(tesrin)
*glances at the newcommer and just...stares, for a long moment. Jeeze! good thing Rin wasnt the nervous type. Crunch, munch, goes the chips, bag's almost gone*(primal)
He offers James a cursory nod of respect/greeting. Nothing definable as a "Good morrow Elder. What a fine ass you've got. Do you mind if I pucker or shall I simply plant?" but something along the lines of "Hey".The collected pile of three years past fashion scraps, wanders through the doorway slowly, allowing the Curse time to spread without shock or speed, least some get the jitters or jumps-
(A pair of eyes dance from 'neath the hood, leaping from beneath the shadow of the cowl to catch Ratchet's face hidden with deft ease, behind James. A wink is offered without the smile to make it appeasing, before-)
-Hard clumps of laceless boots on the ground, the Ahroun settles onto his haunches before the offerings, hand slipping free of the mountain of rags to plunk down a rather large bottle of Beer. A 40, the neck cracked and fractured, the label peeled and picked away to reveal nothing but the amber (colour of the bottle) beneath.
"...B'n a'bit busy. 'no a few bu'tha majer'ty jus' a bunch a fac's look'n fer nam's..."
A return greeting tossed in Tristan's direction, the large Ahroun seeming to cater more towards caution then any semblance of warmth or familiarity in this current situation, before turning firmly to regard Yuliya. Dark eyes under a hard cowl, stare quite openly at the russian.
Silent, a hand, half paused, over the pizza boxes laid out and open for perusal.
(james)
pack's caught, stick that will never be cancerous to James pulled out and lit
scissored between index and middle finger, it becomes a smoking pointer
box held up with his other hand in offer and tossed to whomever signals batter up
lanky guttermutt sinking to crouch just behind the trembling waif
negligent gesture towards both food and group leaving a trail of haze"You too, 'uh?" now there's a lopsided smirk gone wry "Fig'r'd nametags a be bit too form'lly AA f'r this bunch. Prim'l? Meet'cher Ch'cago Fam'ly."
each left to introduce themselves however best
his gaze drops when free hand finally settles lightly across hunched shoulder"'ey." nothing more than a murmur for Ratchet "Ge'me tha' bag a Starburs'?"
she may not be able to fix being scared
but she can sure find a way around it
since.... that bag's about six inches away from one open pizza box(yuli)
Her attention came back around to Primal as his stare sank into her. She just stared back smile fading a touch for some measure of puzzlement. "What?"She took another long pull of her vodka, neartly done with that bottle [liquid diet] and shifted a bit on the couch where she was sitting to watch this newcomer more. She'd already introduced herself... to a degree. Last names weren't as importnt typiclly anyways.
(ratchet)
little trembles still find way through hunched shoulders. other then steven and jo, elderman only one ever let close. crouch behind a beacon of safety, a wash of rage. strength. all things ratchet not. little runt relaxes little, soothed by fingers steady work while still listens.jumps little when hand falls on shoulder, dark eyes snapping up, before relax instant. old habits. little murmur, and gaze slowly shifts toward starburst. to primal. to elderman.
never say no to elderman.
swallow audible to those close nuff, fingers tighten round favored tool, knuckle white, even as little frame unfolds, slow. nother swallow, quick glance, and skinny runt moves away from safe haven toward pile of food and mountain of rage. dark eyes flick toward Primal, before grubby fingers tipped with ragged nails snap out and grab back of starburst.[cringe]
then turn and scurry back to safety of Elderman's shadow, offering him snatched prize with little [shy]grin. knows why made her go. little, shy, scared - but smart.
(annalia branson)
Barking Chains. Grapevines. Kinfolk Network. Somebody knew someone that was related to this person, who fucked those bitches on South street, near so n so’s crib. Word just magically had a way of getting around to the right ear eventfully. Like most women, fashionably late was a typical thing, but it wasn’t exactly considered late for this kinfolk to finally arrive at her final destination. The first pit stop in her schedule of late night parties, most clubs didn’t even start hopping until midnight.The heavy clomp of platform boots scrape echo in the girl’s wake, the warehouse strewn out before her as she came upon the door. A slender hand, bound in fishnet raised up to brush the heavy mane of wild hair from her face, flipping thick fiery-red and violet-plum tendrils against her back. That hand drops back down into the warm pocket of her stylish pimp coat. A dark purple cordoray jacket that looked like it was made from somebody’s couch. Old and well-worn with use.
She slips inside the warehouse after locating the door, dark green tinted lashes flutter against bright, honey-brown eyes, which flicked over the interior and to those gathered about.
(primal)
Primal's stare lasted for another (some would say awkward, obssessive, inclined, uncomfortable or even daring) moment, the shadows beneath the cowl presenting little but those dark eyes in pools of bloodshot white. Unblinking. Then-"Scars. Nice."
-And he turns to regard James pointing and introduction of the 'Fam', the Ahroun's multi-layered head bobbing in greeting to the surrounding. A following glance keeps with Ratchet throughout her adventure to the Starburst bag, before lifting to offer Tesrin a nod that flows into a shimmy of a twitch. As if something pent-up were looking to release. The layers shake and quiver like some giant gelatinous dessert for a split instant, before stilling once more, a huff of breath escaping the hood. The motion has him paused, as if frozen by some poor reception or a bad VCR remote with crossed-wires. So much so, he has little notice of the Newcomer upon entrance.
In fact, little movement or mention comes from the sudden trash heap of clothing, settled onto the floor. A poke or prod couldn't make it through those layers to check but words-
"...So wha' tha' 'ell's be'n go'n on 'n tha' cit'e lat'ly?"
A casual asking for recent events, threats, dangers and delights.
(tesrin)
*burning energy before getting here, stocking up on stomach filling pizza and chips, he gets somnelant in the heat and falls asleep in his comfy chair*(tesrin)
*burning energy before getting here, stocking up on stomach filling pizza and chips, he gets somnelant in the heat and falls asleep in his comfy chair*(Tristan)
Long inhale, slow exhale, curls are now wreathed in grayish plume. He watches James with ratchet, and the resulting scurry, grab, return and just grins. James is damn good with just about everyone - even he wouldn't have been able to connect with the little metis so well. Goodnatured grin lifts to meet Annalia as she enters. "Evening."Now there's someone who would have fit well in the club situation, hm? James may be PR for the Eagles when tris isn't around, but Tris tends to make himself known as the same with prettyboi friendliness. "Come on in- food on the table, drinks in the cooler. Ain't seen ya around before - new in town?"
Figure she's family of some sort to have gotten word - might as well take the step that see's her introducing herself, right?
(yuli)
"Weapon move as usual. Not killed too many lately. Big bore." She affects a yawn dramatically to show how boring and then smirks. Smirks and gathers up her leather jacket, that heavier then it should be lined coat and slips it on over scars and weapons alike."Da scars... I like. They remind me." Of why she is where she is now, laid out in marks on her body. She slides off the couch in loose easy agility and gives a wave.
"Got meeting. Give call if need something. You know I good for most anything." And heads for the door out, Annalia given a glance and nod up {heya] as she makes her exit.
(anna)
The color green carried a theme in her make up, splashing across her lips in a shiny metallic color and shadowing her eyes, haloed by the heavy eyeliner of typical gothic design. The rest of her attire, a basic black; long skirt gathered to the calf and a velveteen shirt over a fishnet one. Hands snake out of coat pockets to adjust a black strap across her chest to attach to a messenger bag.“I assume the party is either ending or just getting started. Give or take the designated time of arrival,” a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. The faint chime of invisible bells jingle in the mass of hair, tiny chimes woven into little braids peeking out every now and then with her head movements.
She walks away from the door, folding her arms across her chest, eyes on Tristan as he greeted her. “Not really…” a slight shake of her head at his question, “I’m local.”
There is acknowledgement of Yuliya’s presence. Her departure at Annalia’s arrival, the slight uplift of her chin tilted in a small nod, returned, as if to say ‘Night.’ Attention drawn back to the remaining family.
(james)
never say no to the elderman
how dirty of a trick was it for James to use that knowledge
was it sending the poor girl out to walk the plank
or showing her how to properly carry the cutlass
none but the Elderman will know what that test entailed
and perhaps those two will be the only that understand its lesson"Thanksss kiddo."
warm approval in smokey tones aimed down at trembling crouch
though the cavalier grin finds its way back topside"Eh... defeatin' evil, curin' the sick, turnin' wat'r inna wine....."
whatever his lips shaped to form as next quip gets distracted
first, by the departure of the scarred Siberian
second, by the arrival of.... Rainbow Brite?
both, regardless, get the same nod up
dark eyes following their newest companion"Nuh." there's a Yankee accent somewhere beneath that slur, really "Keep'n' i' sorta low key... Friday nigh', cops 'r out, all tha'. Gotta name, Loc'l?"
dreadlocked raggedyman seems friendly enough, doesn't he?
(ratchet)
warmth spreads from voice to cover little runt. who glances at starburst bag. then up. "ratchet like cherry ones...." barely said to elderman. whether hint or outright request is left for interpretation.dark eyes shift to watch anna. even dares little grin as turns to hide face against elderman just enough to dare whisper only he can hear. "she same color as ratchets vespa!"
then duck head to watch fingers that work on the little music box and all it's pieces spread on top of empty pizza box.
(Tristan)
He arches a brow - odd, he usually finds them first. But He doesn't say anything, as his bro takes over. He waves as Yulia makes her exit. "I'll call next time, studly." the goodbye offered with a chuckle, before he nods to Primal. "Same shit different day, still playing, still teaching, still working. There's a bit of work being done riverside - need people to swing hammers, if your interested."Cryptic enough until Anna introduces herself, hm?
(annalia)
Rainbow Brite flashes that green smile towards the Raggedy, Dreadlocked Jesus Christ. “I’d ask the same question of ya’selves. Word gets around of private shindig up in this district…” a pause, shifting her eyes over James. She looked young, barely weaned into adulthood with the fire of adolescence brimming in her eyes.“Annalia Branson of the East Coast Bransons Bronx side before transplanting mah ass Southside in Chicaga,” her first reply directed towards James, before tilting her head to look at Tristan. “The only hammers I swing are ones that don’t involve physical labor. Just movers and shakers.”
(stephen card)
*Footsteps above. Approaching the door. A pause and then the door creeks open. Decending sounds on the steps. Clomp clomp clomp. Clompclomp, hop, land. Turning and stepping into the light. A slender young man, with a flowing grace that seems to come with in. He's dressed in black lace up boots, black cargo pants with... neon green buttons on the pockets. A chain heading to a wallet that's usually empty because he gives Jo and Alex all his cash, a black bowling style button up shirt with more neon green buttons. A "G'G'" Over the pocket and a large Alien head in neon green on the back. His hair is sandy blond and could use a trim under a matching ballcap that has the same Alien head on it and 'Galacto Gas' around it. Lastly there is a pair of crome dogtags around his neck. Apperently he just came from a job.*(james)
"Good. Som'ne's gotta eat'm."after calloused fingers tear open the plastic bag
handful of cherry flavored candies are dropped into ratchet's hand
several more of the other tastes taken for himself and the bag's offered aroundbrow most certainly lifting as Rainbow Brite pipes up name, rank, and serial number
he doesn't move from where all six foot two of him's crouched behind the musicbox fixing girl
attention suddenly focused raptor sharp on Annalia
that would be an incredible amount of Ahroun Rage suddenly pinpointed
fortunately his surprised curiosity tempers it" Ya dunn say...." low chuckle rumbles muted thunder out of his chest "Got fam'ly 'n Alb'ny?"
not quite introducing himself just yet
halfwave turned direction towards the table of food greeting Stephen past the door
(.... oh... this should be rich)(anna)
The observant creature would take notice of the wide berth of space that is kept between this kinfolk and the rest of the group. Her eyes dart over people, mostly the garou types, and sweep away before she could hold stern eye contact.The burning sensations of rage subconsciously makes her keep her place away from them. Annalia is aware of the animalistic ferocity that makes skin crawl beneath the layers of clothes. She’s just hiding it rather well, for now. Her tongue flicks out over her bottom lip, wetting it. Curiosity doesn’t allow her to keep her gaze away from all of them, it gnaws at the back of her mind as she roams her eyes over the people again. Drinking in their looks, attitudes, body languages, before pausing for several minutes over Primal.
James snares the girl’s attention with his comment, she returns her eyes to him, leveling them on his face, more like his nose and not the eyes. “I’ve got family just about everywhere from what I’m told. Manhattan to Albany to Bronx,” shrugging her shoulders to shake off a small shiver which results from the Ahroun’s tempered rage. “Nobody believes in birth control.”
(tristan)
Brows lift, and he glances at James, hiding his chuckle. Long lost sister? The question definitely remains unsaid though, as he simply shakes his head. "Meant Primal, there Annalia, but I'll certainly keep that in mind. And if ya give me your number for the database, I'll be sure to call you if I need a real mover and a shaker." Easy enough grin there.A hand lifts and he waves as Steven enters as well. This rate, the party could go on all night - he stretches for the cooler, grabs out a beer, and settles back down again.
(Ratchet)
If the presense of the elderman keeps her calm, the offering of sugery cherry treat makes her day. she tucks the majority of them into her pocket, opening one and plopping the chewy goodness into her mouth before looking up as Steven enters. the change in ratchet is obvious.family. pack.
tension bleeds from her. steven never let ANYONE hurt ratchet. not that elderman or others would, but the feeling is simple security. she waves from crouch in front of elderman, and digs out piece of candy for him too.
(primal)
He finally comes to from the forced and sudden stillness, shimmying once more from beneath his layers of robes, gowns, linens and articles of summer-wear (circa. 1997) the head lifting ever so slowly to take in his surroundings as if from a restless sleep. The cowl and hood drip back from his brow briefly to reveal a weathered face of mulatto descent. Dark, sooty black eyes squint under the firelight even as the huddle of rags (a mountain of fashion scraps) twists a bit to orient firm and circled (Bags of 60 dollar groceries under those eyes) with something other then weariness. Anxiety? Apprehension? Or simply the day to day struggle for life, love and Gaian liberty?"So ain' nutt'n 'app'nen buh tha' usu'l shite."
Was that dissappointment in the Ahroun's gravel husk voice?
Primal turns slowly, inching around to regard first the presence of Steven, then 'round to orient on Annalia. A sort of grim humour frees itself from the attempt at impassive features in-
"I ain' work wel' wit' tha' pub'lik, Tris' buh thanks. 'hose tha' gurl?"
A pause. Eyes flicking to Steven briefly-
"'n tha' boy?"
-before returning to study Annalia, plain, upfront and firm in that stare.
(stephen)
*Crossing the room in a casual stroll he gives a smile to Ratchet, then a nod to James. A bit of a wave to Tristian that slips up. Large duffel bag materializing over one shoulder as he strides closer to his sister. Feeling more compleate now that they were together. Dropping to a knee by Ratchet he opens the top of the duffel that had a chain strap on it. Reaching inside he pulls out a bag. White with green. KK of the ol Krispy Kream on it. Offering the bag to Ratchet he nods and reaches out to softly stroke her hair and nod to her. Looking up to James from his crouch he reaches in and pulls out a black bag. The front of wich has the same green Alien head on it. Passing it up, the smell of fully decked out sausage dogs wafers to join the cacophony of smells already present.Slowly those blue eyes rotate around to Primal and one sandy blond brow raises* "Boy?"
*Voice coming out nice and strong. Curious. Amongst different company such words could get ya killed. Here. Probably just laughed at.*(anna)
Steven doesn’t go unnoticed by Annalia, her head bobs in quick nod. Green tinted lashes fluttering over honey-brown eyes. She shuffles further away from the door. More distractions, perhaps a pleasant one from Tristan, her chest expands, pushing out a soft rush of air from her lungs (a sigh of relief?). “Sorry, I thought you meant me.” a mention of Primal and she’s back to stealing another glance at him.Who’s the gurl? that brings her eyes back on Primal, a small lift of her chin and she snorts. “Spent so much time chained to your alley you forget about me already?” an acquaintance? I think so.
(james)
"Can' 'fford to, this day'n age."the quip's joined by a lopsided grin
though.... the raggedyman dreadlocked jesus christ seems a bit more deeply amused
population control isn't exactly that striking a topic
definitely not enough to inspire that glitter roiling in the living nightmare's eye
fortunately for Anna's tense instincts to keep a distance
it's a welcoming smile on the man's mask hiding the true inner beast
he's not laughing at her, however, it still isn't clear why she should join his mirth"'m th' one a call 'z shindig. City Eld'r, Fos'rn Fullmoon a Eaglesss War Pack...." a pause in the accented slur, wafting scents of the decked out dog simply something that cannot be ignored - appreciation for Steven's presence now doubled - turning back with a semi-apologetic boyish grin once the grub's securely in his hands "James Brans'n... outta Alb'ny."
(tristan)
He laughs, easily enough, and pats the couch by his side. He's sufficiently far from the rage machines so as not to bother her - but close enough to bother him. Which suits him just fine, thank ya very much. "Have a seat, there Annalia. Make yourself comfortable. Drink?"Distractions.
And then, chuckling. "Well, wasn't kidding about the number - I try to keep networked. That way when someone needs something I know who to call. Shakers included."
Then to Primal again. "That there's Steven. Ratchet's brother and packmate. Part of the Whirlwind." let's anna cover the rest by herself.
(ratchet)
stevens here. everythings right in the world. he crouches near her and she leans automatically toward him and into carress, and then sniffs as the bag is open. nostrils flare, little grin appears and pleased hum sounds in delighted rumble. steven knows. always.gives over piece of candy, and takes bag and opens. deep breath of cherry filled pastry smell, and she sets it carefully by her music box project to let grubby fingers dip into bag and pick out special treat.
glance in bag, at pile of food, to her treat, and then sees elderman grab fully decked dog. enough leeway for her to dive into her sticky cherry donut with delighted hmmm.
across Twister's winds"mmm thank you. girl there same color as vespa!"
(steven)
*A smile and nod to James and he remains crouching by his packmate. Looking over to Annalia at Ratchet's promting and he blinks slowly. Finding her color very curious to say the least. Replying back over the totem link.
And the Purple Pearl too.A nod offered to Annalia* How you doin'?
*His accent a touch hard to place unless you've lived there. Pure D.C.*
(anna)
“Ah, so you’re the fur ball that’s declared hisself top tomato around these streets. I hadn’t heard too much about that until it was brought to my attention recently. Guess I couldn’t lurk in the shadows forever with you boys n’girl running loose in the city,” she looks back at James, studying him, “Albany, ya say. Interestin, been to the Bronx much?” There is an odd glimmer of amusement that shines briefly in her eyes for the raggedy man, like when a child discovers a secret key that could unlock a trunk full a mysteries. Was there a connection between this kinfolk and that Elder?Annalia’s body shifts slightly, adjusting her weight as she rolls back and forth, heel to ball, on tall platform boots. Her arms pull away from her chest, taking herself off defense to relax a little. To Tristan, “That’s aight. I don’t mind standing for now.”
To Stephen, she looks over at him and then down at Ratchet, “Heyas, chillin’.” Her accent barely noticeable to place, a blemish of Chicago/Bronx on the vocal cords, he’s offered a friendly smile.
(primal)
The conversation has continued apace with Primal mostly out of the mix. Why?He's studying. Observing. Watching.
Annalia to be more specific. The young woman has his full attention with the commentary, though it takes a number of moments for him to fully connect previous evenings and happenings with the strange young Rainbow Child-
(Such a blur of misery and wanting and craving whole happenings of crack crack cracking shatter snap snap snapping shake shake shaking FUCK)
It isn't until the introductions are completed and everyone has been made friendly that Primal even gives the faintest hint of life once again: narrowed eyes. Narrowed eyes and a rather displeased mask in place of his features. The grime and dirt and muck are gone, replaced with what could be a young face, if not for the heavy bags and lone lines drawn through it all.
"...Yea'. You."
Says it all, doesn't it?
(james)
a connection between that day-glo specimen of a kinfolk Rainbow Brite
and this urban primitive dreadlocked raggedyman Fullblood Jesus Christ
it's probably easier to find a common thread between James and his packmate Modi"Think th' shadows'r dark 'nuff?" his head tilts canidly, grin cavalier scythe "We'd leas' still see y'r hair...."
un. fucking. repetant.
but at least this hot top potato has a sense of humor"Though dunn declare 't. Got th' title'n all i's benefits fr'm th' local dawgs....." a glance to his prettyboi bro in confirmation ".... las' Mar'sh? April?" that is humor and not an insult.... isn't it? "Only go' down a th' Bronx few times wh'n I ran wi' th' Green."
(Tristan)
At her declaration she'd rather stand, he shrugs and just grins. "No skin off my back, just offering." Then in reply to James' question. "Round about then, yeah." Bout the time the caern went up, and things got all official. Never thought he'd be around that kind of stuff again, but here he is. All because of his dredlocked bro. Sometimes, that's a good thing.He lights another cigarette, the last one having been put out at some point, and stretches a little bit before, just settling in again.
(Ratchet)
Annalia talks to her and steven, and she ducks her head again, concentrating on the little box at her feet. Dark gaze peeks up under rim of hat, as cherry remains of donut is licked from fingertips. bright colors. she'd almost brave her shyness to touch that hair, just to see if its real.little lean toward steven still, and fingers start work on the music box. monotonous hum sounding under breath - still listens.
(anna)
A quick walk down memory lane… a month or more back. So many faces… so little time. Rattling chains and growlish disposition, the monster in the alley that had scared the shit out of her and ignited her curiosity at the same time, her question seems to be answered. “Yeh, me.” Primal. “Primal. How fitting.” She rolls her shoulders beneath her coat, shaking off another shiver. Her tongue passes over her lips again, nervousness under the ahroun’s gaze.She addresses James again, Primal forgotten. “Don’t mock the frock ‘til you look in the mirror, Cap’n. White urban with dreads usually means a few things,” flashing him a cheeky grin. “Been to the Green once after my discovery of a Furryland. Surprised I never saw the sights of you there. Same last names… big family.”
She clears her throat, personal later, business first. “Sides the meet and greet, any purpose to this or you just want a figure on the ratio of Bee Gees lurking in the gutters?”
(steven)
*Steven runs his fingers though Ratchets hair and gives her back scrinchings like she likes them. Smiles to her and nods to Annalia's chillin' Reply. A soft smile gracing his lips. Looking back over to Primal he just laughs, shaking his head.* Well.. Infant. , I'm Steven Card, known as Fastball amongst the nation. Ragabash of the Gnawers. Twisters chosen, The Whirlwind.
*It seem's Steven's pretty amused. Hearing Annalia's words he grins even wider* "Primal... your parents musta just hated you man.*Looking back to Annalia he tilts his head still eyeing her hair. Looks to Ratchet and back to Annalia* Can we touch it?
*Grins, clearly meaning himself and his sister here*(primal)
"...Mild. Trus' me..."The growl is there, just a touch under the gravel-rock voice, as the pile of blankets shifts quite suddenly (or as suddenly as seems so due to the lack of movement throughout the ten minutes), quivering all over under some sudden body position change around. He turned in place to re-orient his field of view on the majority of those presen-
-parents must have just hated you, man.
The swathed Ahroun pauses. Freezes in place, the ripple of Rage seeming to flow with a bit more of a steady hand and a keener edge, even as the dark eyes (Intimidation is for the manipulative. This is instinct. Something you don't think about even when the urine-fear hits your nostrils) turn with the head swivelling not far behind, to regard Steven with a whole new interest.
"...Mum 'n Da, lov'd me tru', street-prey..."
The posture is crouched, poised it would seem though it is hard to distinguish under all those linens and lengths of cloth. The hard-nosed and weary Ahroun remains half-risen and half-pounced, the crackle of knuckles rippling in-synch alive in the air, muffled though it was beneath the blankets.
(james)
a brow lifts as the Fostern growls a laugh
seems Rainbow Brite can keep up with the big dogs
whether or not it will get her killed is another matter entirely"Can it."
for all his reputation as a relatively mellow Ahroun
James can pull Rank when he has to
deep umber eyes go from entertained to something not so amused
dark gaze bitter steel locked on first Steven, then Primal
there's a warning in the raggedyman's calm expression
he didn't get that Rank or run with the Eagles this long for nothing"You two Cliath's wanna c'mpare dicks, take't ou'side. Get 'nuff poodle yapp'n' by eggin' insul' a' th' Caer' Moots." silence lingers - heavy and expectant, there's a difference between playful banter and direct provocation "Clear?"
dreads shift over shoulders once response comes
potential thunderstorm clearing in but the span of one breath
back to the jovial raggedyman like nothing had happened
though a brow lifts at what few things Anna could be referencing"Ain't mockin' th' frock, kitty cat, makes you eas'er a fine inna crowd th'n me, ya dig?" cadent jive navigating its way through his slur... faaaairly well "Sides, I ain't brave'z them a wanna touch't. Been near ov'r two year' since I been a th' Green, all my crowd hangs'n Alb'ny. Blood's a big fam'ly, so dunn doubt yeh prob'ly move'd'r shook wi' some've mine. Tris' there's Big Apple nat've."
a pause, switching
Posted by james at 12:00 AMOctober 16, 2004.10.16.04. - impossible [kirk-imogen-tristan-evie][riverfront]
(imogen)
Begin winter. Northern states, northern weather, the windy city.Begin the general litany, mental and internal as to why on earth she continues heading north, colder and colder, and also why she has a job that keeps her outside so often. Her jacket, leather and thigh skimming seems to keep out the wind, but not the cold as it seeps through her clothing, blouse, jeans. The wind toussles hair that is always hard to manage, barely pulled back by a clip, hair sneaking free to brush against her jacket collar, to touch her cheekbones. Imogen, when cold, tends to go pale, than flush red - pale to begin with, it makes her almost wraithlike.
She's not quite paler, now, but needless to say, she's grateful for the coffee in both hands, the wamrth leeking through cheap styrofoam cups.
One cup, however, is one she is giving up. Tristan plays on a street corner, and draws the crowd he always does, though the colder weather makes most stay inside, or at least not stay long. In a break of the songs, the redhead smirks briefly and offers him the cup with an arch of an eyebrow.
Things a random passerby would notice: slight and petite, pale skinned and redhaired, she cuts an attractive figure, if a reserved one, body posture and movement that does not condone random passerby conversations.
Things a not so random passerby would notice: the blood of wolves that speaks of heroes. Pure breeding in its more pure forms.
(kirk)
[Kirk speed walks along with no particular destination. Visiting the caern made him happy, something he hadn't felt in a long time.His tangled hair blows about his face, and the wind stings his scars. He pulls his jacket tightly around him.]
"I should have bound a shirt too.....and shoes......and underwear," he mutters.
(tristan)
Evening time. Rush Hour. And Chicago's best networked Kin and all around good-natured Eagle kin of Pretty Boi Fame (or is that Pretty boi kin of eagle fame? Take your pick...) is right where one would expect him to be. On a street corner, in the chilly weather, wringing single instrument symphonies from beloved violin.Many regulars through this area expect him to be somewhere in the Riverfront - he's as much a staple here as he is in any place he lives more then a couple months. His fingers pull music that soothes the savage beasts from wood and string, all with an ease of long, long practice and comfortable showmanship. He's a street performer, and he's really, really, really good.
He sees Imogen as she moves his way - who could miss such a striking figure, after all? And while he may leer suggestively at far more.. masculine.. figures, ever the artist he can truly appreciate the beauty of the wraithlike redhead. The song comes to a close, the bow pulled from the strings to smattering of applause and rain of coins into the open case at his feet. He places the bow in hand, the same wrapped around the neck of his 'baby' before he folds the violin across his belly and accepts the offer of the cup of coffee. "Thanks, Imogen. How'sit?"
That easy going smile, and partially gloved hand wraps around steaming cup gratefully. His curls are under control at the moment, held back by knit hat that keeps the mismanaged mop from dipping into his eyes - and more importantly keeps his ears warm. It's hard to say how long he's been out here, but by the chill of his fingers that brush hers when taking the cup - and the amount of change and bills in the open case - it's been quite a while.
(kirk)
[Kirk had been listening to the violinist, and looks at him the moment the music stops, as if he was expecting more.](imogen)
"It goes," she answers vaguely in her rolling unamerican (scottish? irish? english?) accent as she lifts her own coffee cup to her lips and takes a sip, grimacing at the liquid. Imogen drinks coffee constantly, and cannot stand the taste of it. "Yerself?"The slight kinfolk's question half ends on an unfinished note, the last sound foreshortened, as she turns her head to look at Kirk. That gaze of hers is direct - humans can't do this. Most kinfolk can't either. An elegant eyebrow lifts slightly.
(james)
last week - it was not this cold
or at least, least week? it did not feel this cold
wind carrying a chill near ten degrees below the LED's touted 44 on the sign above
it flashes to red blinking interpretation of the time as James passes underneath
raggedyman paying the hour little to no mind, just as the rush hour traffic is fairly ignoredhe is, instead, resolutely focused on a particular singular thing that makes life worth living again for the bone chilled.....
at least... he was
somewhere between where that sign and a precise street corner - things changed
maybe it was the distinct tonality of the notes floating over ever-decreasing blocks
of perhaps a street performer's own interest in a gathered crowd
it just may be the sense of clarity lingering somewhere just on the other side of all those people
hell... it may just be that damned cup of terrible coffeethe mystery shall be solved shortly
guttermutt's progress staunchly halted at a cross walk two blocks and one street crossing away
tails of the patchwork trenchcoat dangling around the ankles of dully shining Corcoran IIs
it'z not the smoke from the Camel hanging out of his mouth that makes others arrive then... step.... back
nor is it the overall scruffy appearance of some six foot one likely homeless guy with dreadlocks hanging halfway to his belt
there's something else - something primal and predatory about the seemingly mellow dude
a sharp, hungry glitter haunting the depths of kind, deep umber eyes
the notches along the left side of his jaw which make a warm grin some lopsided, sketchy quirkapparently, even though a waxing crescent shines in the sky tonight, there's something about James that just screams hunter
(tristan)
She answers, and he chuckles, pausing a moment to bend an ear to a passing fan, chuckling as he nods and gives a time for tomorrow's 'show' with a wink and a promise. A promise of what, we'll leave as an exercise for the audience.Dark eyes pass over Kirk, catching Imogen's direct gaze as well. Most kin cannot look directly, or maintain the steadiness with out wavering. Imogen can. And Tristan doesn't do too badly himself. Of course - we'll not go into his normal reaction to rage either. He arches a brow, and then easily enough first answers Imogen. "The same, pretty much." Before taking a sip of his coffee and adding to Kirk. "Takin a bit of a break - I'll play a bit more after my fingers warm up."
Speaking of Rage. And the reaction. As much as Jukebox notes the clarity of notes, there is no denying that tug within at the approach of a particular raggedy man. Smile warms, and chin lifts - Eagle's hello, easily seen by the approaching tidal wave opening before the hunter in their midst. But gaze returns to Kirk, once more.
(kirk)
[Kirk feels unsettled by Imogen's gaze, and Tristan's as well, and has to look away. He coughs harshly and thumps on his chest a bit. His throat is sore for various reasons; the weather, his lack of sleep, lack in good hygene.He steps a bit further from the couple but bumps into someone.]
"Sorry," he says to no one in particular.
(imogen)
The crowd doesn't just part in the Garou's approach. They scatter like rats in the metaphor regarding sinking ships. Tristan isn't playing so there's nothing to keep them.And some very good reasons to leave.
The kinfolk (and it is her blessing or curse, depending on her deposition, that she can easily be recognized as such) arches her eyebrow further as Kirk steps away, the person he bumps into casting him a glance caught between distrust and fear and hurries on his way with a muttered remark.
Imogen's eyes are dark enough that in the evening, they are nearly black, and they lift briefly to follow the human that scurries away, and then back to Kirk her nostrils flaring briefly in dignified distaste for his lack in cleanliness, and his proximity to her person, though he'd stepped back.
A glance James's way, a brief nod of her head - the smell of his cigarettes, and she's reaching for her own, slowly patting her jacket pockets with one hand. It's something to note that despite the cold, her jacket is open.
(james)
the crowd..... scatters
just like cockroaches when the lights go on
at least in a city-particular metaphor
it leaves one curly-haired and one flame haired kin remaining on the corner stage
and..... one stranger somehow responsible for the parting human curtaina block and closing - James doesn't have much longer before the answer shall be revealed
chin jerks up in return nod-up to their greeting
action tipping the ashes off the end of his cigarette
allows hands to remain in trenchcoat pockets for at least another few long steps
boots coming to a sudden halt just the left of Kirk
one hand producing a battered Zippo on open palm for Imogen
the other reaching to take his own as mouth curves to crooked, ghosting grin
attention turning to weigh on the newcomer to the corner
brows cocking towards the frame of dreadlocks in queryhopefully, the first words out of the Fostern's mouth won't be along the lines of
izze both'rin yews, ma'ams?(tristan)
There's a blink, as kirk steps away. Interesting. But that easy grin doesn't fade - it makes one wonder if it ever does, or wary that should it disappear one should expect an explosion that just isn't pretty. Very few have seen that, however, as such instances are few and far between. Thankfully.He chuckles at turns the full wattage of that easy grin on Kirk. "Whatever for, m'man? Don't worry about it. New around here?" Stating the obvious, of course - but then again, it's mostly to get him talking, instead of skittering away. If he thinks Imogen and Tristan are frightening, heaven help him when he meets the Modi.
(kirk)
"Um.....yeah," he jumps a bit at James' closeness. "I'm new. I didn't mean to disturb you." The last part of his sentence trails off.(imogen)
Tristan turns his shining grin on Kirk and Imogen smirks as she pulls out a package of cigarettes and fumbles one out, one-handed. What would the Eagle pack and it's associated kin do without Tristan?...they'd meet a hell of a lot less people, to be sure. You know, some people might think that a good thing.
She glances toward James and his questioning eyebrow and she does naught but shrug, shoulders shifting within the leather as she reaches out to take his zippo, her attention drifting from time to time toward Kirk and Tristan talking. "Ta," she says to the dread-locked man, spoken around a filter fitted in her mouth. The zippo clicks open with a practiced motion of her thumb. The wheel clicks as her thumb causes it to spin, pressing metal against flint and lighting a spark that gives birth to a flame that hisses. She lights the cigarette, inhaling deeply as she hands Jukebox back his lighter, and lets the smoke exhale out of the corner of her mouth.
The redhead's attention flicks briefly back toward Kirk and his antsy nervousness, a faint line forming quick and fading as fast between her brows.
"Long time," offered James's way as she removes the cigarette to exchange it for another vice - a sip of her coffee.
(james)
quickly as it appeared, the Zippo's returned to one of the trench's many pockets
likely, James is the only one that could find anything in that coat on first try
it's a conglomeration of faded colors and fabrics added through time
subtle patterns formatted into the stitching create the most unusual side-effects
some could - if one looked close enough - resemble a few common Glyphs
if, of course, one knew where to closely look"Yeh. Been 'roun'. Work'n all tha'" few words, but enough to hint at an Empire State accent laced with the elements of an inherant slur to further complicate translation, at least the Ahroun is cognizant enough to slow things down enough so that each word is pronounced as clearly as possible for those unaccustomed to James-speak "Gotta name, kid?"
case in point that question directed at the semi-startled stranger
while casually calm, the man-skinned monster is cordial enough
a friendly warmth integrated somewhere within that cool confidence(tristan)
"Nah, you ain't disturbin me." Chuckled, as he lifts his cup to lips, taking a long drink of Imogen's offering. Some would think it's a good thing that the Eagles would not know as many people. But then again, how many times have they needed a number from his virtual yellow pages of a cell phone? Yeah. You need it done, chances are Tristan knows someone who knows someone who can make sure it happens."Was time for a break anyway, before my fingers froze. Name's Tristan." He'd offer to shake, but being as his hands are full for the moment.... and James asks for the kids intro, so he defers to the fostern - who happens to be his bro.
Smoothly body crouches before the open case, and he sets his coffee cup by a battered and tattered boot so he can scoop up today's earnings and make sure they're all in the lid, so that he can place his violin in the case. A cloth is used to buff up already gleaming wood - it's clear the instrument is his prized possession. Only then does he start to scoop the loose change and bills into a small bag presumably carried for just such a purpose.
(kirk)
He calms down a TINY bit.
"My name's Kirk. And," clears his throat, "I'm not a kid, I'm thirty-five."
He crosses his arms, obviously not the hand-shaking kind of guy. He coughs a bit more and looks to James. He gets nervous again and looks at the ground.(james)
James.... lifts a brow
thirty-five?
this "kid" is thirteen years his senior
.....whoops
the raggedyman reaches into yet another pocket on the trench
pulling out a pair of sunglasses that soon rest on the bridge of his nose
circular lenses waaaay too darkly tinted to be of any use this late at night
it may very well be an attempt at humor to smooth over the faux pas
poking fun at his own lack of observation skills to alleviate Kirk's unease".... I see." the soft laugh sounds like a chortled growl rumbling out of the lanky Garoun's chest, but at least it's accompanied by the faint curves of that forever lopsided grin" My mista'e."
Kirk's minimal introduction and self-origami is noted by the Fostern's dark eyes
some benefit of the doubt given to a strange situation and company
the stench of nervous anxiety is hanging heavily in the air, after all
hopefully, it's what inspires the level of cautious discretion rather than concise disregard
that he's the cause of the crowd scatter and hasn't distanced more than a few feet from the Ahroun himself does give away at least some expectation to his heritage"'m James, his bro" there's a quick nod towards the prettyboi violinist "'n one've th' top dawgs 'roun' this dis'rict. Findin' y'r way 'roun' allrigh'?"
it's a loaded question, that's for sure
now the test is how much will get lost in the translation
(tristan)
.....whoops. Indeed. And leave it to Tristan, pretty boi bro of the rage meister trying to hide behind his shades, leave it to him to actually laugh - though he does try to smother it behind a quickly lifted hand, while somehow managing to duck AWAY from any swipe that he rightfully deserves for not keeping his mirth at bay.Dark eyes twinkle as he grins, unrepentant, up at his bro, before returning his attention to the coinage he's counting more by feel and guestimation then anything else as he puts it away. The soft velvet bag is tucked into an inner pocket of his jacket, and the lid closed to protect the Violin until he takes it up again for his evening 'shift'.
(kirk)
Kirk looks a bit lost. He's never heard that certain accent of James', but does his best to translate.
"Uh, I just got here," he thinks a bit, "Yesterday. I haven't really had to do much navigating."
Kirk nervously checks the time on his watch and fiddles with the compass in his pocket, obviously trying to release some energy.(imogen)
The kinfolk's voice had been heard a few times during this, low, cultured and european, but it has now fallen silent. Her attention moves briefly toward Kirk as he coughs, eyes narrowing momentarily.Gaze shifts to James as he speaks in various code words one might pick up, though it's anyone's guess if she does. Neither confusion nor realization works her way through her features, even as she takes a step away, blowing cigarette smoke toward the sky.
(james)
if there's a smoldering glare for Tristan's giggles
they're most fortunately hidden by the small, round shades
James remains the portrait of ease to Kirk's agitation
which is probably why he's Eagle Pack PR
smokes' ashes are flicked to the sidewalk in a moment's collection of thought
without further information to go on - he's not about to prematurely divulge any, either"Easy 'nuff a nav'gate 'roun' if y' keep y'r nose clean 'n keep up contac' wi'h th' locals."
muscular shoulders roll in a shrug
to the indiscriminate ear, the phrasing sounds mundane enough to be boring
nothing more than a streetwise derelict offering city survival advice to tonight's newest tourist
some good will effort to ensure the stranger lives long enough to enjoy Chicago's cultural wonders
a friendly conversation at the end of a street musician's performance set
the double meaning can, again, be missed or seriously taken to a fresh arrival's heart
the dreadlocked Ahroun's"Lookin' f'r anyplace partic'lar.... 'r jus' plannin' a hang 'roun', see th' sites." head tips, canidly "Visit fam'ly?"
(kirk)
Kirk cringes at the mention of "family.""I was," figures out a way to explain himself, "Told that I needed to come to Chicago in order to...." can't htink of the right words. "Get...help."
He leaves his compass alone and coughs once more.(tristan)
Oh he doesn't even have to look to know that glare is there, smouldering with good humor. He'll pay for it later, he's sure. The locks are flipped on violin case, before lean kin stands again, bending only to recover coffee cup and finish off the cooling liquid inside. It's with practiced ease that the cup is then tossed into the nearest trashcan, scoring points without even touching the rim.To Imogen then, he grins and winks. "bum a fag?" said with a perfectly straight (*Cough*) face.
Incorrigible.
Attention returns to Kirk and James as shoulders roll slightly, hand digging into the pockets of his jeans in search for his own battered bic.
(imogen)
Until Tristan speaks, Imogen's attention has been focussed on Kirk and James in an abstracted way. But this is until Tristan speaks."Wow." Dry sarcasm.
A glance cuts toward Tristan, and a fading smirk, as Imogen retrieves her cigarette package again, the soft cardboard package crinking between her fingers as she speaks around her filter, offering Tristan the entire package, "How long yeh been holdin' on to that one?"
(james)
"..... from?"the Fostern raises a brow
expectantlyKirk better start picking up on clues or being a little more forthcoming
cause James isn't about to hold his hand through the preliminary process
guy's his senior by over a decade, so there should be some familiarity with protocol
..... cuase his slurred accent isn't that bad.... is it?
(tristan)
He just grins - completely unashamed and unrepentant. "Little while - just waiting for the perfect time, of course." He takes the cigarettes and taps one out, returning them to her before flicking battered bic, and setting flame to tobacco and paper. Tucking the lighter back into his pocket on exhale, easy smile wreathed in escaping grayish plume.James' accent isn't as bad as most, with its battlescar slur, and Kirk's skittishness is certainly cause for... curiosity. But the kin, for now, simply falls quiet, attention on the cigarette between his fingers, and the flick of ashes to the cement below.
(kirk)
"Spirits! Omens! Gaia! I came here to escape, following orders from a higher power!"
The Theurge is not angry, just exhausted. His voice cracked a bit towards the end of his outburst.
"Sorry, I'm just....I haven't.....GAH!" Kirk looks like he's about to burst into tears, but restrains himself.
He looks, no EXAMINES James' appearance closely. He observes the way James stands, glares, and holds himself.
"You a Gnawer?"(imogen)
Tristan does not get a reply back, though the kinwoman reaches out without looking to take back the cigarette package, her gaze falling back upon Kirk.Speech nearly comes, before it is self-silenced and instead she looks down the street then up it, watching it's near emptiness thoughtfully.
The gathering as a whole towers over her. Some by nearly a foot, some by more.
(james)
ask and ye shall recieve
(sure got your answer there, din'cha, Jamey-boy)
nothing more than an amused, crooked grin in face of the exhausted outburst"That obv'ous?" it could have been a scathing bit of snivery, but here shows a little more of the Full Moon's ability to make fun of himself - for the stitched Glyphs and ghetto-fabulous jackal blooded style do tend to give things away to those in the know "Tack on a tha' City Eld'r. Fos'ern. Full Moon. Eagle Pack. 'n y'r stand'n' th' middle a my territ'ry."
(evelyn bryant)
Random street somewhere in Chicago.
That’s the way it always goes. Somewhere along a random street are collected together a few, talking. Smoking. And then along comes another figure. Not so well acquainted with these streets as she is the downtown region. She’s a higher end girl, Evelyn. One could say higher class but then…there are things about her that would dispute such a claim.
She’s got coffee in one hand herself, a magazine tucked under her arm [The trash-filled pages need to be scanned and absorbed, the front cover is lurid and bright with some unfortunate celebrity receiving likely unwanted attention] and her eyes upon the contents of her bag, which she holds open and attempts to push previously mentioned trash into.
Strands of blond slip in front of her eyes, catching on her lashes as she keeps her head bent. The evening was cold enough to have her wearing a coat. Soft black leather that doesn’t end till mid thigh on the statuesque dancer’s frame. Her nose is pink from the chill and she sniffs softly as the task is finally completed and the Fianna Kin lifts her head. Casts back dreaded hair from her dark eyes and catches sight with the brown gaze of a few familiar faces.
She steps off the curb, and moves toward the gathering. The faint smell of cigarette smoke twining toward her approaching form.
(tristan)
Kirk....explodes, a bit, and that gets the attention of dark-eyed boi for a long moment. Poor guy looks exhausted. But he can't help but chuckle at James' little bit of fun poking at himself. He certainly looks more the part then Tristan himself does most days, but then again, he's only kin and doesn't get the addition of shaggy coat and other forms to fill out the full bg look.The blond approaches, and Tristan glances up, offering a bit of a smile toward Evie as she approaches. Other then that? the kin keeps quiet, and continues to smoke his cigarette.
(kirk)
Kirk stands straight up but doesn't meet James' gaze; he was raised to feel lesser than those higher in rank. He feels the need to give his information.
"Sorry. Cliath. Crescent Moon. Black Fury." Kirk seems to step down a bit from James, as though he had committed a cardinal sin.(imogen)
This corner was rapidly becoming popular, it seems, from Evelyn's approach. The meeting of those of the blood.Evelyn gets a slight glance, "'lo," as Imogen sips her coffee again, and finding it mostly cold and intolerable, steps away from the group to throw it into the garbage can down the street, tapping ash from her cigarette as she goes. Kirk and James's introductions are background noise that she seems uninclined to take a part in.
(evelyn)
The glance and bare hint of a smile from Tristan is returned likewise, a brief curvature of full pink lips, maybe some shared humour since she’s not quite forgotten that night at the Excalibur as of yet. She’d had such an enjoyable conversation with James trying to explain the How’s and Why’s of her bleeding ear and tattered clothing.Then the dark eyes slip to meet Imogen’s form and she gives another easy, slight blossoming of a smile and tilts her head to the side, coming to a halt close to the other Kin’s former position, before she shifted to disguard her intolerable coffee.
“Evening.”
She mumurs, her eyes steady on James and the unknown one for a moment, it seems her softly spoken greeting included them too, before she too lifts her coffee to her lips and tentively sips from it.
(james)
the Gnawer Elder just chuckles when the Fury backs down and fesses up
filtered cigarette dropped to the cement and crushed beneath Corcoran's sole
Evie's arrival gets a patented Eagle pack nod up"S'bett'r." approval in the slight affirming dip of his chin, the grin slashing a little fuller across his features, weight spinning on a heel and proppring his shoulders against the building's wall, hands slipped into the welcoming warmth of his pockets "So.... what c'n we do ya for, Kir'?"
(tristan)
Well, he doesn't giggle at that. He could, but he's behaving. Kind of. Instead he just turns his attention to Evie a moment. "all recovered I see.." he hasn't forgotten her cat fight at the Excalibur either, it would seem. Not likely any of them would. "your friend too?" Evangeline was certainly the more frail of those two. He'd been impressed with the steel under all that pampered softness in the Silver Fang kin. And surprised. Incredibly surprised. Imogen he'd expect to have the balls to pull it off (though she'd not resort to a cat fight, she'd have just started shooting, like as not.) - Evangeline he'd expect to have run crying. Color him pleasantly surprised.A nudge places the violin more firmly between his feet on the cement, to keep it out of the way of those approaching and passing by the rather busy corner.
(kirk)
"Honestly, I don't know...exactly. I left," corrects himself, "No, ran from my pack. I didn't even think I'd make it here in one piece. I really didn't think I'd find any Garou."
He smiles very weakly, and laughs the laugh of fatigue.
"But, I found the caern and..." Kirk drifts off, like he's zoned out. He has no idea what any of these people CAN do for him.(imogen)
The coffee drops into the basket, and Imogen turns back to look at the group. Cynical amusement sparks briefly across her mouth, and for a moment, she remains as she is, apart, and pulls a cell phone from her pocket, the small sleek type that barely fits in a hand.Number dialed, she presses the phone to her ear and lets it ring. Words are quiet and almost inaudible over the distance as Imogen calls someone, or retrieves messages, or something equally inane from her place a score of feet or so away.
(james)
there's already been a point or two that's inspired James to lift a brow
however, decorum maintains itself behind the facade of friendly demeanor
nothing given away about the inner working of his emotions or mind
collecting the pieces of information and oranizing them into useful facets
chin dips in another nod shifting his dreads over squared shoulders"One." the Ahroun has the patience of a Saint - which is probably why he's City Elder - mellow tones drawing Kirk back to the present from his little fatigue journey sk,ywards"Wha' reas'n this high' pow'r give ya to run 'way fr'm y'r pack. Two." slow and easy so the guy's not overwhelmed again for another outburst "Where ya run fro'."
there's more, obviously, but first things first
(evelyn)
A quiet ripple of laughter. Soft, and pure amusement.
“Yes, all better now. Though I was sad to throw out that top.”
Brief frown as she remembers her shirt being torn by that little firecracker of a girl that flew at her, nails and all. Evelyn seems to drift herself for a minute before she glances toward Imogen, murmuring something into her cellphone, then addresses Tristan’s other question.
“Evangeline is fine as far as I know. I dropped her home afterward and…”
[Flashback of finding Sevastian’s party in full swing as two disheveled Kinfolk stood in the doorway, blinking.]
A slightly lop-sided grin. “She was pretty amazing that night, wasn’t she? I honestly didn’t know she had it in her.”
(tristan)
He chuckles and nods. "That she was, Evie. Though I'm afraid Ja
mes there will never let me live down having to commit the cardinal sin for bg's. " Easy grin, and he shrugs, slightly, attention still on James and Kirk for the most part, though he's not missed Imogen's call, or anything said by Evie either.But, for the most part, he's still quiet.
(kirk)
"I've run from Wisconsin. Rhineland, actually. Um..."
He unbottons his jacket and reveals about two dozen claw slashes on his chest and stomach. They are obviously from Garou in crinos. A few of them have turned white from age, but the majority of them are infected. Two or three haven't even fully healed.
"That's why I left." He rebuttons his jacket.
"I wasn't exactly accepted by the pack. It turned into a life or death thing."
He looks uncomfortable, since he's never been this open before.
"I got to Wisconsin's southern border and asked Gaia for a sign. I wound...up here."
He trails off towards the end.(evie)
Evelyn’s brows lift behind her coffee cup, as the comment is made during the slide of the warm bitter liquid past her lips. She lowers the cup and holds it between both hands, letting the faint heat comfort her cold-bitten fingers. Her eyes shift to ecompass the other James she knows. She can hear, faintly, the quiet rise and fall of Imogen’s voice. But now the Fianna Kin’s attention is also pulled toward the two conversing and in particular, Kirk.When he unbuttons his jacket and reveals those claw marks, the blond’s lips tighten into a frown and she shakes back the golden mane of hair, glancing at the other, wondering at the response.
(james)
"I symp'thize."while the Gnawer doesn't flash his own set of ashed Crinos scars
he seems to honestly understand the situation that Kirk speaks of escaping
elements of deep seeded sorrow hidden by the uselessly dark sunglasses
but expression can be seen as it tugs at the corners of his mouth
that, however, is an epic tale to be told at another meeting
attention draws down to the current problem of unhealed wounds
(.... how.... strange)
digging out a scrap of paper and pen from the variety of pockets
using his thigh as a tablet to print a collection of information"'s here's Cli-ona, heal'r. 've ask 'r a take a lookit yeh 'n give yeh place a res' up f'r th' nigh." the pen pauses, gaze lifting ".... yeh fin'e anyone a th' Caer'?"
(kirk)
"No one I noticed." Kirk is relieved the James understands. He looks like he is about to collapse from shear exhaustion.
"Thank you."(tristan)
Gaze is drawn by the revealing of scars. Hell, it's his favorite game! 'Compare the scar' game has gotten him into more then one pair of nicely filled out jeans, for sure. But, then again, there's the state of those, and he can't help but wince. Having his own set of nasty gnarly gashes at more then one point in time - he knows that shit has to hurt.Brows furrow a bit, slightly, in confusion perhaps as he watches, listens, waits.
Then he looks back at Evie and chuckles. "so - anything else exciting going on?"
(imogen)
Imogen from her distance, still glances up at the sight of Kirk opens his jacket, her gaze resting briefly upon the his body, absorbing it thoughtfully, before glancing toward Jukebox. For a moment, she listens more to what the Garou say than what whoever on the other end of the phone says, and she must ask for repetition.A few more moments pass, and the kinfolk disconnects the call, closing it off, and starting to walk back to the group, tossing her cigarette, now finished, away as she goes.
(kirk)
Kirk goes into a coughing fit. He doubles over and gets on his knees, while his hands grasp for his throat and chest. His fit stops, but he remains on his knees. He stares at Imogen absently. He clears his throat.(james)
again, the Elderman nods
a shallow furrow of concern forms between his brows
but those forming questions just have to get in line to be answered
they are either unimportant at that very moment, or just don't concern Kirk directly
pen resuming it's progress as he goes back into lecture mode"A'ight. Have'r take yeh th' Caer' t'morrow af'r yeh res'n eat. She'll help yeh see th' Guardi'n f'r couns'l 'n figurin' out wha' ya need a do fr'm here 'n out." paper's handed over once his message is complete. "S'er name', num'r, home addy. My num'rs on th' bottom if ya need an'thin...."
another pause as the Gnawer gives Kirk a once over from toes to hair and back again
he doesn't have to be a medic himself to know that the Cliath's on his last reserves"Yeh g'nna make it'f I give yeh cab fare....." nod up towards the peanut gallery gathering of kinfolk they've acquired " 'r ya want one a them a go long'z well, jus'n case?"
(kirk)
"I need someone to go with me." He stands up steadily, and looks at the group of kinfolk.(imogen)
There is a brief pause in her steps as the metis falls to his knees and her head half tilts to look at him, dispassionately."I thought yeh didn't get sick," she says, flatly. "Gift o' the mother, all that."
(kirk)
"I didn't think so either. This isn't bacteria or virus. Just, bad living."(evie)
Evelyn’s gaze is sympathetic upon Kirk for a long moment before it’s drawn aside by Tristan’s comment.Her smile is brief, tinged by the concern felt for the Garou double bent over.
“Depends on what your defination of exitement is I suppose.”
Her dark eyes shift to Imogen as she moves back toward them and Evelyn, giving her coffee dregs one last shake, shifts to tip the cup and remaining liquid into the bin in much the same way Imogen did earlier. She stands back then, sliding her hands into the pockets of her coat and tugging it tighter around her verging on under-weight frame.
She glances at Kirk as Imogen speaks and her frown obviously says she echoes the other woman’s question. Listening quietly and absently lifting a hand up after a moment to tuck hair behind her ear.
(tris)
At the glance from his brother - well, there's no question. He bends and wraps fingers around the handle of his case. "I'll take'im, bro." Like there was any doubt at all. He blinks at Kirk's last statement though, and chuckles. "Well shit - don't tell that to my kid, he's certain my smoking will give him cancer."Gotta love the boy, really. But something doesn't quite sit right with the answer, and the glance at James says so. Then again, what's he know, really. But if bad living is the culprit? the pretty boy is SCREWED to say the least.
(kirk)
Kirk grins weakly. "Not that bad living. The kind you're givin from day one. Bad raising and shit like that."(james)
soon as that coughing fit started - an escort wasn't even a question anymore
but he still gave even a Cliath the respect to make his own choice for assistance
James isn't the type of Elder to take that dignity away from anyone
the affirming nod to Tristan's volunteer preceeds the appearance of a cell
not exactly as fancy schmancy as Imogen's sexy little mobile
but someone sure loved the guttermutt enough to give him a reasonably fashionable wireless
it does the job and dials up YellowCab well enough
efficiently distracting him from the health conversation
why isn't his concern - solving the problem is
(others need, a Hood provides)"Cab's on th' way."
thumb hits a button to kill the connection
few extra bills pulled out of yet another pocket and handed over to the prettyboi
enough to cover round trip fare combined with tonight's performance tips already in the case
cell's buttons beeping again as he types in something with... minor mistakes
(techno-savvy James is not)
sending a text to give the healer at least a head's up to what's coming her way(tristan)
He takes the offered cash and it's slid into his pocket, the locks on beloved baby's case checked once more to be sure everything is secure, before he's tugging knit hat a little farther over ears. Long strides - all of one or two - carries him to the Fury's side, as dark gaze watches for the ever efficient Yellow Cab.He doesn't even tease James about the fact text messaging is somewhat beyond him. Give the boy an Xbox and he's a genius. Give him a cell phone and he's hopeless. Go figure.
Around the corner comes the called for Cab, and there's a grin for all there - Evie and Imogen, and of course his bro. "Alright - let's get you to Cliona's." Cap pulls to a stop, and he opens the door for the Fury, before sliding in after him and giving the cabbie directions to the Healer's home as they pull from the curb.
(imogen)
Her lips move in a brief smirk, which is the sarcastic opinion as to Kirk's medical assessment.A glance toward Tristan as he departs, "Night," she says, lighting another cigarette, as she steps so Evelyn doesn't find herself a complete victim of second hand smoke.
(evie)
“Think he’ll be okay?”The question is more a vague afterthought of thoughts preceeding it in the Ballerina’s head. All unspoken save for that question. Softly asked and not really even said for the sake of an answer. Absent speech that Evelyn hears herself say, even as she’s more focused on shifting her attention from the departing Cab to glancing off in the other direction down the street.
(imogen)
"Theoretically." Comforting, Imogen.(james)
James' shoulders roll in a slow shrug
dark eyes following Evie's to watch the cab pull away
animal senses picking up the underbreath question"She'll do ev'rythin' we can f'r'im."
he has confidence in the Fianna's healing ability, no doubts appearing there
but the things that have him most concerned are not included in the carefully phrased reply
(concerned? the Fostern is fucking confused)
body language, though, might give away some shared skepticism(evie)
A brief sniff signals her reaction to Imogen’s response. Comforting, Imogen. Indeed. Evelyn’s gaze snaps back to linger on the only remaining Garou as he speaks. Evelyn’s brows lift but on the subject of Cliona she remains silent. Sure, she has issues with the Fianna. But she also knows Cliona will do everything she can for Kirk.She shifts her weight from boot to boot. Her coat rustling in that soft way of all leather articles. Signaling her unease perhaps, her uncertainty still present even with those responses to her vaguely mused question.
Dark eyes drop now to the pavement, to study her footwear. Somewhere in the recesses of her bag she can feel a faint vibration. Her cellphone announcing someone’s desire to communicate with the dancer. She begins to rummage for it.
(imogen)
A glance toward Evelyn and her cell phone, before looking back at James, "Y'ever seen that before?"(james)
a dark brow cocks towards the frame of dreads to mirror Evie's
regardless of anyone's personal opinions - he's sure of the Healer's ability and dedication
silence lingers for a moment in visual challenge for the dancer kin to speak her mind
clear enough he'd allow her to say whatever she felt was needed
clear enough he'd have no hesitations of putting anything needed back in line, either
a nod acknowleding the choice of silence
approval, perhaps, at the resulting discretion"Nev'r."
the single word speaking volumes as James turns to the other female
glasses finally lifted away to perch on the shaggy pillow of haphazard dreads
fingers falling to rub the tension points at the bridge of his nose
just.... a moment to make absolutely sure he did see that
or at the very least Imogen and Evie shared the same hallucination"That ain't s'pose a be poss'ble....."
the last part murmured as the ballerina's own question
while the Cliath didn't feel it necessary to mention his birthmoon
legendary purports an obvious choice in the matter
..... which makes it all the more confusing(evie)
Fingers finally locate and capture the elusive vibrating annoyance. (She’d throw the stupid device out if she weren’t dependant on it for so much.) She glances briefly at the screen, flashing at her a message that she reads discreetly, holding it beneath her face so that her lashes drop to half-mast, revealing her choice of gold eye shadow for a minute.She’s either unconcerned by the message or doesn’t like it because it’s after only a second or two that the Kin lifts her eyes once more and addresses the topic at hand, again in that quiet tone.
“What…does that mean, then?”
She searches both faces for clues to their feelings on the subject of the ailing Kirk.
(imogen)
"Supposedly," low voiced, "taint c'n do it."She shrugs, slightly, as if expecting some doubt that she might know this, or have it from a reliable source, she adds, "One o' m'ancestors died that way. Apparently."
Another addition, "but I've never seen it f'r myself." Evelyn gets a slight shrug for her question. Imogen doesn't know.
(james)
oh yes... Imogen the Inspirational
he can't help the sidelong glance at the good Doctor's input
that's about the best guess he had, as well - something was just wrong
one of the reasons he contacted the healter by text instead of voice
far easier to type a warning than try to say it to where no one else hearsCliona prepared for the arrival as best he could
her pack a resource to assist however she thought needed
the Guardian's pack alerted beforehand to take necessary steps
James worried for the safety of his brother - more habitual than anything
of the choices, Tristan was by far the strongest physically
been through enough shit to know when it's time to bail out the cab's door
poor driver left as distractive bait recklessly drivingthe Ahroun.... just doesn't reply
nodding slightly to Imogen's hypothesis
vague confirmation of rumors and urban legends
lower lip caught by flat teeth as if to say they've done the best they could
cause.... there really isn't anything else he can say"Catch yeh 'roun'."
it serves as a conclusory effect for his departure
chin tipped to nod-up farewell in a glance
and the raggedyman returns to his quest for that one thing which makes life worth living through the relentless Northern State winters time and time again for the bone-chilled soldier's of Gaia's devoted Armypiiiiiizzza
fresh baked and delivered right to the fucking door(decker)
James walking down the street -- Decker walking up that same street.Patrols. 'R somethin'. Maybe they just didn't trust the kin to be alone. The Modi and the Ahroun: you'd think they couldn't possibly be more different. Couldn't possibly know each other, 'cept on the passing the former juts his jaw at the latter: some sort of nod, or something. A fist comes out and he bumps knuckles with James.
"'Sup."
...and then, sliding past with a hand briefly clapped on the other's shoulder. Knit gloves today, the fingers cut off, which seemed a good idea at the time, but now seemed a horrible one. Even his fingernails felt frostbitten. Streetlights rake over him, the short-buzzed hair and the angry eyes, the heavy clothes that were rapidly bundling up towards wintergear.
(evie)
Evelyn gives a brief tilt of her head in response to the farewell. A hand slips free from a pocket and makes some vague curve into a wave before it’s side tracked into pushing more of the blond mass from her features. She nudges her bag, casually slung over one shoulder, back into its rightful place on her slender shoulder and glances at Imogen, then down the street. She catches sight of a familiar figure.
“Well…”
She murmurs, quietly surprised, pleasure apparent only in the dark eyes as she watches James approach, just as the other departs. And coming along with her James? Evelyn’s eyes flicker briefly to meet the other Kin’s. Decker.
Interesting.
(imogen)
A glance toward James as he starts to leave, "Night," she offers at the Gnawers departing back, before her gaze flicks beyond to the two other Garou departing. Her eyes shadow briefly, lids dropping to a near narrow, before the expression fades.Evelyn's gaze felt, her attention slides briefly toward the blonde Fianna. It's met fairly evenly, smoothly and an eyebrow lifts slightly, half question (Well, what?), before her attention turns to lighting another cigarette.
(james)
knuckles bump
worlds collidethere are few opposites left to make them any more extreme
buzzcut granite statue and dreadlocked urban primitive
joined by a force far stronger than the raptor totem screaming across the skies("S'up.")
My curiosity.
words telegraphed on phantom wings
clarity wrought in abstract thought that bypassed the impeding physical slur
it forwards the impressions sent like a rapid-fire slideshow
images of the Garou bearing infected wounds that should have healed
the after-effects of "bad living"'s flimsy excuse
at least there's salvation in the closing chapter of pizza and beer back at the factoryGot a story to tell you. the invisable smirk is tangible Later.
sliding past without breaking stride
hand clapped on shoulder breif, temporary bridge between
worlds floating back apart as if their paths had never crossedPosted by james at 12:00 AMOctober 14, 2004.10.13.04. - forgotten language [rihana-cliona][cont'd from last scene]
(rihana)
Now is when she should, of course, fill them in on the little oddities about herself. Now is, of course, when she should go into some detailed story, rich and intregueing or dark and forboding, delivered in joint parts of accented English, misused vocabulary, Spanish flavouring and pantomime.Instead she...
...hesitates.
THe veil shifts ever-so subtly, like she might be opening and closing her mouth. Starting and stopping.
Amber eyes slip from one Garou to another and her brow furrows. Unsure. Pensive.
It isn't calculation they see. Not the marks of someone formulating a lie or contemplating manipulation. But rather the uncertainty of speaking where perhaps she should not. Speaking secrets long gaurded and perhaps not meant for their ears.Finally she closes her eyes briefly, as if summoning courage - nerve. It arrives and her shoulders straighten, her face lifts, the veil rustling with the movement...
"Will you... cambiar... change? For me to see, please?" To make her meaning more clear, she indicates the both of them and then seems to make her form smaller before slowly increasing, arms lifting.
(cliona)
She watches, listening. James asks for clarification, and she just nods. The same things she'd like to know as well, but understandably, he is an Ahroun. She does not lead in battle of any sort if she can help it. She does have too more often then not, of course, being alpha and without a pack ahroun, but if she has the choice, she leaves matters of protection to the Warriors and does as she is told.She continues to watch Rihana as she contemplates what to say and when, choosing who to trust and how much, all with the subtle flutters of her veil. it is when the request comes that she blinks, and looks toward James, and then back to the little Strider kin requesting something most people tend to avoid - even when they are off the blood. And to this question, Cliona has the oh so witty reply...
"Uh....."
before her mouth snaps closed and she blinks, and then, with a soft chuckle. "Aye, lass, if ye wish, I suppose I kin.... if yeh tell me why?"
(james)
Cliona is far more eloquent than James - in a lot of ways
blood of the Bards courses through her veins
the Crescent Moon's well-versed in the imagematic language of spirits
not to mention, she doesn't have the speed impediment harnessing her accent
so... why let the trend stop here
she voices the question - he just seconds it with a lifted brownot the answer he was expecting , that's for sure
(rihana)
"To know better..." Again her deep olive brow is wrinkled, her hands moving in Iberian expressiveness as she searches for a way to explain. Words they will comprehend and yet still gaurd whatever it is she feels the need to...
Her brow clears.
"To be more sure. Ustedes could be of anyone, any this or that. No dis-" She fumbles with this word and finally manages something akin to 'di-rrr-peck', "No offensive I mean," (just knock off the last syllable, eh?) "Pero - but - El Destruyador...the Destroyer - the Namer... they become clever for bad things."She shifts a bit, knowing she more than likely bungled her words. Hopefully not beyond all comprehension... and those startelingly clear-amber eyes watch them keenly for their reactions.
(cliona)
Brow furrows slightly as she picks through the bungled and tangled, yet very careful explanation, watching the girl just as much as she seems to watch them, every little reaction pinpointed, examined, tossed together with the whole. finally, she shares a glance with James again, and then. "Ye wish t'be sure we arenae o'th'Wrym, tis that it? Though o'course, tis certain they be just a wee bit sneaky and likely could pass off as us at anyrate, but if'n tis th'explanation ye wish, then I dinna see why not."She couldn't, after all, make it to the door without either or both of the Garou slicing her down if need be.
Slender body stretches, and she pulls to a stand, tugging her tanktop over her head [very little modesty left] and slipping from her pants. These are not dedicated, and for a quick show, she's not going to shred them. In baring her skin, she bares the extent of her scars as well. Her belly a tangled mess of repetitive attacks, hip to hip, from up under her ribs, down diagonal to her hip, curving around behind her. The rest of her skin is unmarked, but for the spirit tattooed henna swirls from elbows to fingertips. A final shrug, and she taps the ever present rage, and shifts. To Glabro, to Crinos. Here she pauses, and it is interesting to note that the hair color shift? has taken effect here as well. Darker underneath, red tipped, though it will grow out to its normal red and black tipped. She is smaller then most, slender but still strong.
Animalistic shoulders shrug, a gesture asking if that is enough before she shifts down again, to slip once more into her clothing.
(james)
that brow lifts higher and James.... James actually laughs
a deep chuckle rolling out of the Ahroun's chest
not often one is asked so point blank by strange kin
there's usually a far more complex dance
and given the course of recent City-wide events
he has to give credit in trying to be safe rather than sorryhowever...
just because they're not of the Wyrm doesn't mean they're guaranteed trustworthy
proven, thus, by those very same recent eventsthe request is justified enough for the guttermutt
Cliona's little peepshow dutifully missed as the Gnawer twists from sit to crouch
leveraging against the sofa's cusions to sloooowwwwly stretch and stand
dreads shaken out over muscular shoulders soon hidden beneath urban-camo pelt
sure looks like Rin-Tin-Tin got a little too friendly with Freddy Kreuger
brown and black coat shaggily covering the lanky living nightmareand his Rage belts forth a thunderclap
though unlike the shorter Fianna
James remains in Crinos - watching Rihana
his head tipping in canid expectancy(rihana)
She herself has to concentrate in order to understand what Cliona says, entirely unused to an Irish accent. Finally, however, she nods - after wincing a bit as Cliona says 'Wyrm' so flippantly (it should already be clear that she has what modern society would call 'superstition' - what others may recognize as old world wisdom) - indicating both that Cliona understood and her acknowledgement of Cliona's warning. Simply watching the two of them shift isn't proof positive.
An eloquent shrug of her shoulder, liftinf of her hands, and cant of her head gets across her response: What in this world is absolute?The petite woman seems unabashed when Cliona strips. This may be surprising, given her very apparent modesty (she keeps half of her face covered for crying out loud and her clothing, baggy and worn, renders her rather gender neutral). Then, again, reference back to the Old World feeling and such a unperturbed response is not so odd -- Cliona is Other. Other's do as they please. Far be it from her to take offense or stand around being shocked when she's in said Other's own abode.
James laughs...
And Rihana arches an eyebrow slightly, but deems the laughter non-mocking in intention, for her eyes smile back quietly and she nods slightly...
Acknowledgement of the oddity of her actions.
Gratitude for their not having ripped her head off for even presuming to ask it.They both shift...
She tenses. Especially when the Ahroun shifts, his Rage flowing, raising every single fine hair on her body and causing her buttocks to clench; the involuntary lowering of a tail evolution long ago illimination from her physique.
She watches them closely, however... sitting up - with slow, careful motions - on her knees, her head moving as she peers over them. Up and down. Eyes pensive. Searching. Searching for old sings that might betray them... a mark... a bat-like elongation of the ears.
SHe cannot be sure, of course.
But she tries to be close to it.Finally she sits back on her heels and rests her hands on her knees...
...and begins to speak. To move her hands. At one point she even draws out a bit of paper and stub of chalk from her bag and uses pictures to help tell her tale. Disjointed and accented and painstakingly trying to be comprehensible - she tells her tale.
Quite a tale it is, to boot.It starts off...
...a long time ago.
And in a land, far, far away.
It starts off in Egypt, in the time of Pharoahs - more specificaly, in the all in all well known (in the Western world) time of the Hebrew captivity in those times. She speaks of a man (Moh'she'sea) who free'd those slaves - but after that point she veers from the 'popular' story and speaks of a group of those slaves who did not follow the Popular diety of either the Hebrews or the Egyptians. Slaves who also walked through the sea-made-to-walls but diverged from the others during the 40-years of Wilderness. She speaks of this small tribe who followed Earth and Moon, to whom the Others came, of whom the Others were ocassionaly born. She speaks of their journeying all directions of the compass, for many a generation until their numbers grew and they found a home....in speaking of this Home, she hesitates. More pronounced a hesitation than her frequent pauses to think of a word, or better draw a pictogram (she writes no words).
Softly she sings a hushed, husky melody under her breath (ba'shana, haba'ha, ne'shev a'hamir peseht...) then resumes her telling--
--She describes to them a Caern and the Sept that grew up as a result of it. She does not describe in great detail - not, it seems, because she is holding back but more that the details are not known to her. She describes the power of this Caern as being one of Memory. She draws an hourglass and cricles it repeatedly... Memory not only of past, but present and future all together. A Holy place, dangerous and wonderful. It would seem the Sept existed for a fair amoutn of time - a few more generations at least - but saw a increasing number of attacks from many an Enemy until, at last... Disaster. Loss.
Only a small number of the populace survived, perhaps purposefully evacuated......here she pauses again. Perhaps she rubs her throat. Her wrists. THe telling depleating of what reserve of energy she has managed to build up. But there is a Need in her eyes - once such a telling begins, it is not easily cast aside.
She shifts her shoulders, concious of the marks there...
...and continues.These survivors again began to Wander, through many a land in at least three different continents. An exact record is not important, suffice to say that they became nomads once more until, many centuries later, they took up a more permanent residence in the Iberian peninsula, the Southern realm were a gypsy-like people were not so much targetted as they might be in other areas. Were mountains afforded them seclusions. Privacy.
Now she returns to that Caern...
...indicates her upper back/shoulder blades and speaks of the ritual phenominum of a few of her people - in each generation - being marked with a history, a map, a legend of this Caern. Keeping it safe for the day when a Prophesy might be fullfillled - the Caern found again.There is only one problem.
...they have forgotten how to read the marks.
Wry, but acceptant, are her eyes and body language as this is admitted. Sad. But never losing hope entirely. A Gaurdian people who do not shirk their duty although there is no one who remembers, outside of their small circle, that they gaurd anything... and no one even within the circle who remembers how to decipher its ancient, isolated language.And the situation is worse.
I am the last.
SHe shouldn't have these marks. She is too young, not trained. The only way being 'chosen' makes sense to her... is that she is the only option left....with that, sits back wearily. ANd looks to them, sure they will have questions.
(cliona)
She is of a line that speaks stories as easily as they breath, and nothing is better then a bards tale - but a bards tale watered with liberal amounts of beer, of course. She, once she is dressed again, refreshes everyone's drink of choice, and settles to her chair, curling up easily in the oversized softness.It is Logan's chair, and she hovers here as if it is the only place she still feels his arms around her. Safe, comfortable, comforted. That her bed is lonely is a foregone conclusion. That she keeps herself out of the house as much as possible likely is as well. That the sound of voices, a voice, now fills the room with a tale comforts her as well is also likely obvious. There are few things a Fianna loves more then a story, after all.
She listens, and watches, and nods her understanding as pictures are used where words fail. She gathers the gist of the story, and surprised brows arch at the forgetting of how to read it, as well as the explanations of those words that so confused them before. She is the last.
Oh.
She finally opens her beer, and takes a few swigs. After a few more moments contemplation. "So - th'tattoos an such, tis th'story o'this caern, th'way t'find it, etc. But ye canna read it, and ye are th'only one left who knows th'story atall." Way to cut down a tale into a few sentences, hm? She glances at James, and then back to Rihana... "th'markins, th'etchin o'th'tattoos.... tis spirit born? or some other way o'tattoo'in yeh?"
(james)
there is nothing the Ahroun has to hide from her inspection
just as there was nothing he chose to sheild from her first soul-penetrating glance
quietly standing until she's satisfied he is no Child of The Abyssit is something else that keys James' interest on the dawning story
besides, of course, the etiquette ingrained during his tender years
the Fostern was born beneath the battle of Luna's pregnant glow
yet beneath the tutelidge of Frankenweiler eyes
knowledge's thirst grew to temper the Scab Warrior's hungera velvet ear swivels towards Rihana's hesitant voice
cupping each word that joinrs the ever-growing strange tale
attention rapt enough to cause a little hitch in his downward shift
a pause or... three.... in progress from beast to man
finally settled once again in casual recline against the base of the couch..... well fancy that
dreadlocks shift against bare shoulders when the raggedyman slowly nods
facts, figures, fantasy, and legend falling into a relatively logical place
strange, but overall perfectly sensible to him, really
beer tips towards Clionathere are questions, allright
but we'll take them one at a time
and that was top of his list, too[pause]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMOctober 07, 2004.10.07.04. - there is no rushing prophecy [rihana-cliona][ic room - con't from tattoo scene]
(cliona)
Her visitor still sleeps, and she continued to check on her on occasion, as well as on James, who has the run of the guestroom, kitchen (like there's anything to cook in there. scoff.) the living room with it's big screen tv and gaming system, complete with a handful of games that rumor left behind having already beaten them.She's gone up to her room, and now returns much refreshed. Showered, two-toned hair still dripping down her back, dampening the thin cotton of her tank top which shows a strip of [scarred] flesh between it's bottom edge, and the top of her flannel pants that hang low on lean hips. tattoo'd fingers are occupied in pulling a brush through her hair as she moves downstairs, footsteps light on the carpeted floor. First, to they're guest, she checks to see she still rests, before she grabs a beer from the bar, and settles into an easy chair, curling up comfortably in the oversized comfort.
A nod to James, as she opens her beer and drains a few swallows. "ye finding everythin' allright?" ever the hostess.
(james)
while there may not have been much in the kitchen in the way of food
peace of mind comes from knowing there will never be a shortage of beer in any Fianna's home
it's one of these fine, endless bottles that James has helped himself to"Mmmmmhm."
the answer a bit vague from where the Bone Gnawer is parked on the floor
long legs tucked into a neat crossed arrangement giving beer secure refuge within
ashed scars along his back pressed up aganst the front of the couch
dreads hanging damp and heavy from his own shower in the guest bath
dark eyes glued to the little digital car ca-REENING down the digital track
oh yes - Jamey-boy made himself quite comfortable with the big screen and Grand Turismo"She still sleep'n'?"
sidelong glance/nod-up chanced only once the race is over and he's back in the pit waiting for the next track to load
(rihana)
At first her sleep was almost akin to her faint of a few hours ago: Deep. Dreamless.Then, as sleep is want to do, it altered. Becoming a miasma of visions and sounds and smells and tactile reincarnation of that which she knows and that which is as alien to herself as is the better workings of the universe. Like a thief stealing memories of a place, a time, a people who once where, are now, will be...
...forgotten.(what do you remember?)
Restless, became her subconcious, gossamer fingers slipping through files in drawers no one remembers and to which no one holds the key and then...
Awakening.
No, not an epiphany, but the literal sense of the word. She wakes up...
...and falls off the couch.
Small in form and rather depleated in weight, the sound it makes is negligable. But it certainly suffices to get her own attention. If she wasn't awake before, she certainly is now. And now that she is awake there is one immediate question in the forefront of that thought machine of grey-matter dogsmeat:
"Donde en carrajo estoy?"
After a moments blinking and hasty rising to a crouch, her conciousness pushes past the fog left by subconcious and into the more recent memory realm of just where on earth she is. And why.
She frowns.(time passes. a few minutes.)
Jesus-esq sandals (a member of a Lost Tribe) make a likewise negligable sound on the floor as her shy, cautious (curious) passage takes her towards light and the sound of voices, male and female. And then she's at the door. She looked rumpled and the worse-for-wear when she was brought in; a state which has been made no worse and no better from her sleep save for a clarity of rum coloured eyes above her veil.
"Perdona," Still somewhat hoarse of voice, "...E'scuse me...?"
Her feet shuffle and her travel pack of brightly woven threads is held close before like the clutching of a talismen.
(cliona)
She watches the game a bit - she'd never gotten the hang of them herself, very little time to practice being as she doesn’t stick around 'home' any more then necessary on most days. Everywhere here there is the taste and scents of him - from the couch, his favorite chair she's now curled up in, his pillows his clothing.... all set off by the bare space on the desk upstairs where his laptop always was.As much as she loves it here - sometimes she hates it too.
Still sleeping, he asks, and it's followed by a muted thump, and her own soft chuckle. "Aye - or rather, she was, wasn't she now.."
She glances up at the lass as she moves into the room, her pack held tight and close, and she smiles. "Slainte, lass... how're'ye feelin?"
(james)
though the big screen's volume is kept at a minimum
the Ahroun's close proximity coupled with couch's physical barrier
probably kept him from cluing in on the near-mute thump
but at the Theurge's chuckle and sound (feeling) of approaching feet
he thumbs the pause button and turns around to look back at their guestmuscle bulges and cuts as an elbow bends to rest on the couch pillows
supporting the twist of torso that allows dark eyes to peer over the furniture's top
skin's losing summer's tan but there are still the tell-tale paler marks of a Warrior
Eagle's brand on his breastbone, the mangled clutter of near-evisceration on lower left abs
blackened Garou clawmarks spilling down his back from where they begin somewhere up under those dreads
inks glitter on his inner forarm as right hand snags the beer to lift in salutory toast(rihana)
The dog, a fair sized mutt, sticks close to the petite woman, sniffing audibly. Loyalty - protectivness - has it stick around, but its clear enough that proximity to the two strangers continues to make the animal nervous.The woman, for her part, seems to be better gathering her bearings and takes two more steps further into the living room when Cliona responds. It take a moment to figure out what the devil she just said (Slainte? huh?), but the gist of it is understood and her eyes crinkle a bit in a good-humoured, rueful smile a brief interuption to her lingering caution.
"Ah, bueno... good, señora. Perhaps un poco - a bit - sore, si?" A bit of a chuckle, only mildly tinged with nervousness, as she dares to let one hand leave the pack long enough to passingly rub at where a hip might be beneath her baggy clothes. "Maybe needing a lee'tle masturbation of the limbs, si?"Yes. She did just say 'masturbation'. No... that probably isn't the intended word.
Her eyes continue their passage then. Openly taking in her surroundings and the visage of those within the room. They note what shows of Cliona's scar... and what shows of Jameses' scars. Her brow furrows thoughtfully and her arms tighten further around the bag a certain tension seeping back in. But in her eyes there is a clear curiosity that bears the lacings of... hopefullness? Reverance?
It's kept gaurded, though visibly so. Subterfuge isn't something this girl is at all adept at, that much seems clear.She dares to dart a glance at the TV then and her eyes widen. Not as though she's never seen a video game, but very much that it's not at all a frequent sight. The widening is a quaintly pleased thing though and she makes a breif sound as though she is about to comment...
...taking another step forward,
Then drawing herself up short, eyes flickering back and forth between the two present as if some voice in her head just advised her that now is probably not the time to get all enthused about the alien wonder of Western techhnology."Ah..." Shuffle. "Gracias- thank you... to let me sleep over your... seat."
(cliona)
She... well, that unintended word was timed with a swallow of her beer and she near chokes, trying to hide her laughter behind a cough, behind her beer, which she quickly swallows more of. She manages to get herself under control quickly enough, and nods. "Aye, lass, a bit o massaging might take th'soreness."She waves her in and gestures toward the other seating in the living area, noting the excitement - as little as a widening of her gaze - as she sees the game. "make yerself at 'ome, lass. Think nae more about it. Tis nice t'have a wee bit o'company."
fingers slide over her belly, absently tugging her tanktop down a little, hiding more of the scaring of her mangled belly, as she continues. "Dinnae know if ye remember - but I'm Cliona... and that there tis James... he brought ye here when ye fainted.."
(james)
did she... just sa.......
if there's any indication James has a reaction to the incorrect word
it's hidden in a swallow or three of beer
he's polite enough to refrain from pointing out such a thing when she's obviously still unsure
let's get comfortable with one thing at a time
and offhand wave inviting her further into the room to explore at will
including the opposite end of the couch offering a seat between himself and Cliona"Y'r sleep'n' pretty deep there, f'r the firs' bit."
explaining, in part at least, a reason for the lead-weight disorientation accompanying the bodyache
there is most certainly a matching curiosity in the Fostern's deep umber eyes
he has his share of questions... but they're postponed since this isn't an interrogation
noting Rihana's theater of reactions as she navigates her way along"Jamez Brans'n," another trademark, habitual, nod-up, introducing himself a little more formally now that she's a bit clearer head "Fos'rn Ahroun 'n Bone Gnaw'r trib'l Eld'r."
most of his rank and title wouldn't mean much to a kinfolk
but it's instead the gesture to show an element of respect and put the woman at ease
even if she's a stranger and bares no apparent Rage
James still recognizes she is a creature of value and and he will continue to treat her accordingly
besides, he wouldn't have brought her here to be healed if he intended some malicious harm
here's where he quirks a bit of a lopsided, yet welcoming, grin"Yeh go' ques'ns.... ask'm freely."
(rihana)
A bit of a smile in her eyes as Cliona tries to mask a laugh - and avoiding choking. Plainly she's used to people having such reactions and is fully aware that she mixes up words. Wich isn't to say that a blush doesn't further darken the deep olive of her skin - it does... but she inclines her head birdlike, catching the word Cliona emphasizes, presumed to be the right word. Nods a bit and then, with puzzlement and no little precaution (how badly did I mess it up...),
"Massasging" With her slippery, earthy mediterranean accent the word is made exotic, "What means masturbation, then?"Good lord.
As if having bizarre tattoos on her back wasn't enough.Invited to sit, she nods again and moves fully into the room. When she gets to it, though, she hesitates... darts a look at Cliona.. at the seating.. at James. Well, he's on the floor so it must not be an affront to the hostess. That decided she settles on the carpeted floor. Carpeting is, after all, quite a good deal more comfortable and luxurious than what she is used to. Legs crossed 'indian' fashion, she craddles the bag on her lap and makes a specific motion of her hand towards the dog. Said dog follows, if with more hesitance than herself, and lays down beside her, head on one thigh. One of her small hands moves to rest reasuringly on the mutts head, scratching behind one ear. Getting comfortable and awaiting a response from Cliona...
"Si... Clee-ona y Jamez. Rihana," Indicating herself, her name pronounced with only the barest breath of the 'h' and the accent on the second syllable.
Then James is speaking and she turns to pay due attention to him. Calm.. smiling a bit if her eyes are any indicaation (and they are). Right up only he gets out the words 'Ahroun' and 'Bone Gnawer' that is. The others, even if she does understand them, don't compute. But those two are enough...
She tenses. Not so much in fear of him, nore surprise really. For all her simple speach - simple ways... she is not simple-minded. But her wariness has returned and with the affirmation of her suspicions her unease seems to be born of feeling she might insult him. She feels the urge to stand.. but they are sitting.
Slowly her eyes drift back to Cliona, her request for the definition of 'masturbation' forgotten and she queries quietly;
"You...also? Yuesera... Bone Gnawer?"
(cliona)
What means...Oh lord. Here she is, barely a year past losing her own virginity and she's being asked to clarify other matters. Slender fingers slide through two-toned hair, holding it back a moment, and then chuckles softly. "I'll... aye, we'll explain that'one a wee bit later."
She notes the relaxation, then the instant tension, even as she shakes her head. "Nay, lass. I'm nae a Gnawer, but Fianna. Fostern Theurge." Her head tips, slightly, and her voice is soft, soothing. "tis alrigh' lass, ye canna offend us lass, we're to o'th'more easy goin cousins ye'll find in Chicago, t'be sure. So ye go right ahead and ask yer questions.... we dinna mind, and will return th'favor with a few wee questions o'our own in time. Kin I get ye a drink?"
(james)
James' chuckle... isn't so soft
though it's directed more at Cliona's sudden loss for words than the mess-up itself
his Frankenweiler roots coming to the rescue and validating her question and efforts
(never would the Hood deny someone knowledge)"Yeh nah tha' fa' off. 'S a more..." just how to put this without leaving room for misinterpretation or instigating further unease...."..... pers'nal sort've massage."
(rihana)
Fianna.
A bright spark in her eye. "De los Hada... ahhh..." THe furrowing of her brow, seaking out the english word. Her eyes close... a moment -- Eureka! a gleam of triumph and, "Fairies. Fairy-folk. Feh-ah-nah." Pronounce with the same supple softness similar to her own name.Nodding, quietly, her brow furrows once more, fingers stroking the bumpy, rough weave of her pack with it's glittering bits of mirror, crystal, beads and buttons sewn onto it. The bag a magpie might bear if magpies had bags.
Her eyes open and her head lifts - veil rustling, giving the barest glimpse of a jawline and naught more; the shifting of the long coil of so-black-as-to-gloss-blue hair that curls onto the floor - looking to James, following his answer of her previous question... one jet eyebrow arching. A muffled sound like she's murmering his words to herself and...
"Oh." Yes, she blushes again now... but she also laughs and with that - coupled with her pleased reaction to Cliona's voicing of her tribe - it becomes clear that wariness of offending them aside...
...hope is winning out here.
Her laughter is soft, but earnest aand pleasently self-depricating. Good-humoured she shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders a muted motion beneath volomous fabric. "That word I will not use again, si?"Eyes crinkling with her smile, she goes back to looking between the two of them with that sort of hopeful pleasure that toys with awe.
Garou.
The Chosen.
Right here."Aldonza Rihana. De Los Que Viajen en Silencio - family of Silent Striders. Pueblo Crespusculo... Tribe of... Evening?.. no - Twilight. People of Twilight."
Now her gaze.. deepens. Darkens. Somber. The darkness of loss, in which the flame of hurt somehow manages to burn more brightly.
Light always shines stronger in darkness, afterall and this is made manifest in eyes the shade of rum held up to firelight.
"The people who where." Softly, that... and then she looks between them again, her next question voiced.
"Is there Strider with you?"(cliona)
He starts laughing.. and she....
...well she just makes a face and sticks her tongue out at him. Sometimes it's fun being the 'youngun' and all, and far be it from her to not take advantage of that fact now and again. She just flashes that good natured grin at the young woman who shows such delight in her tribe, as well as her self-depreciating humor.She tips her bottle at her in toast. "pleasure to'meet ye. As for th'Striders - tis nae around I dinnae think at th'moment, but I've a.." just what would one call that dirty old man with the lecherous eyes and good humor.... "friend who came by recently t'elp us out o'a wee spot o'trouble. He tis Strider, and I kin get ahold o'im anytime if'n ye 'ave need..."
(james)
Cliona's flashed one unrepetant and rather lopsided grin
packing up with a bunch of Get - he'll take any levity that comes along
appreciating Rihana's ability to laugh at herself, as well
things have bene far too serious around here, lately
the guttermutt tips a wink back at the realization
it leads to tip and drain of the bottle that's lifted for an empty toast to concurrence"Yeh, prolly save't f'r special 'ccasions."
with his good-natured smile and smoothly low tenor
aside from the Rage and rank - James seems a fairly hard Garou to offend
he is, after all, a Council Elder sitting on the very carpet with a veritable stranger"'e's th'o'ly Strid'r I' come 'cross'n th' las' year I been here
(rihana)
She smiles at James and Cliona's mild antics - seeming to take solace in what she takes as a display of companionship. Affection. Family.
Wise.
Which means wisdom enough to know the value of such things.(the world is full of loners and it is over-rated)
Then she's working to piece together understanding the pairs accent and two-fold forgien vocabulary (what a trio this group makes). When she has, she doesn't respond straight away but contemplates the response - and that which she herself should give.
Her shoulders shrug - feeling the difference of her skin there. Knowing.
(there is no rushing prophecy.)
Finally,
"I see." A faint nod and acceptance in her gaze. "Then one I meet in time, if the Mother allow."Now, again looking between the two of them, "You have preguntas -- question?" The smile in her eyes showing up again, even-tempered and knowing (lingering sadness). "About what you see...," No, that's not right. Past tense. "Saw?"
(cliona)
She is a sensitive lass, really, when it comes to making others comfortable, and she can't help but smile and appreciate it when Rihana relaxes. The three of them, their various accents and the way they speak would likely give a linguist heart failure, but it's a taste of what she loves her in Chicago - the flavor. And not just the flavor of the alcohol.She tips her beer back and unfolds from her chair, padding on bare feet through the carpet to the bar, grabbing a round of beer for the three of them, refills on her's and James' part. Returning, she passes them around and nods to the question, stepping up onto the seat of the chair before curling up again, much as a cat would a claimed throne. [ye know what they say about Redheads and cats, dinna ye?]
She opens her beer, and then. "Aye lass, tis a foine, if wicked bit o'tattoo work ye have on yer back, isn't it now... twas th'only thing I could see twas wrong with ye o're then a wee bit o'exhaustion..."
(james)
as carefully as the Strider woman observes - she is being observed
James' expression a little more deceptive since he doesn't have the veil's protection
it's the art of a street performer to watch his passing public without pardoning a stare
the nod at beer's acceptance also serves as affirmative answer
only difference which woman his gaze tick-tocks to mid-movement"I wan' a know ev'rything y'r willin' a tell me 'bout las'night.... includ'n' th' mys'ery a tha' tat."
Rihana recognized the word Ahroun
meaning she understands a part of his birthright is protecting those of the Nation within the city
he will allow the chance for her to speak of the things she deems important he hear
(surely, it seems, he is capable of finding some way to procure the details she chooses to hide... with little hesitation or regret... if the safety of those he guarded were in question)
a continuance of his display of respect - though quite possibly a test, as well[pause]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMOctober 04, 2004.10.04.04. - balance [cliona-swift raven][ic room, cont'd from last scene]
(james)
James watches the strange woman quietly
barely a nod of his own acceptance before she's drifted back to sleep
at least this time it's with less painfinally, the Ahroun registers cold beer sweating against his palm
nodding towards Cliona the gist of his intentions
battered Corcoran's take the dreadlocked guttermutt to the door and outside
his black workshirt is still mostly wrapped around the slight woman
so the white wifebeater allows bricks to press against scarred shoulders
weight shifted onto his heels for some attempt at repose
long, lean body slung agaisnt the domicile's outer wallbottle's cracked open just as the Gnawer lights up a Camel
dark eyes drifting on rising smoke to the sky above
(.... the fuck you just get yourself into, Jamey-boy)(cliona)
She nods toward James in return, and flows to a stand herself. She reaches across the woman, only to pull a soft blanket off the back of the couch, and drape it over the tightly coiled sleeping form. A brief touch to assure that she is sleeping comfortably, and she bends to grab her own beer, and turns to follow the Gnawer outside.She doesn't smoke, herself, but far be it for her to make him drink alone. Outside, she settles to sit, sprawling rather comfortably across the steps of the front stoop, near where James reclines against a wall. Fingers slide through her hair, holding it back off her face and off her neck a moment before letting it fall again. Bottle opened, and tipped back, several swallows drained though she looks far too young to have been able to buy it, let alone be allowed to drink it. Kids these days.
Of course - it helps when one's Beta and Elder owns a bar, and the irish lass in question has her own bar on her territory to cavort about in too.
"that... twas just a wee bit odd, wasn't it now.." murmured, gaze occupied in sweeping the street. Automatic.
(james)
soon enough - the cold gets to him
temperature's suuuuuure dropped in the time they were inside
gooseflesh ripples up the length of bared arms
though it does little to the iridescent tat shadowing the inner planes of right forarm
likely cause it's tucked nice and tight up against his flank
maybe that beer outside wasn't the best idea after all
loathe as he was to smoking around an injured person
even his heavy share of Rage isn't enough to totally fend off the wind"'s..... one way a puttin' it." concurrence in a smirk, muscular shoulders rolling to smooth out the encroaching shiver brought by near freezing temperatures "Dunna wha'th'fuck'a make've ih.... but cou'dn' leave'r jus' sittin' there, 'lone."
the raggedyman's presence is just as odd as the situation itself
dreadlocks and surplus clothes - he doesn't fit into the posh neighborhood
he's as rough, jagged, and scarred as the lawns are deliberately manicured
luckily he's camped out with Cliona so the cops won't be called before he can finish the smoke(swift raven)
:::::a the roar of the harley is heard moving slowly down the street. The large cherokee man riding it. Roughly 6'4" with large muscles. Wearing ripped jeans, tanker boots , and a black shirt with a wolf picture howling at the moon. His long black hair flying behind him in the wind:::::(cliona)
She nods, slightly, hands rubbing against her arms. She stands, and moves inside a moment, returning just seconds later, having only gone inside far enough to open the closet door. Stepping out again, she holds out one of Logan's warm jackets toward the Gnawer elder, putting on her own after he takes it, and returning to her sprawl across the steps.Why she didn't stay someplace warmer, she'll never understand. "I woul'na o'left her, either." And she wouldn't have, no matter how much Percy would mutter about her and her 'death wishes'. He near had a fit when she went to see Chloe, and contracted the recent disease. Never heard anyone say I told you so so many times in such a short period.
She glances up at the motorcycle headed this way, brows furrowed slightly. Not Kemp - he rides like a bat out of hell. Getting a bit cold for riding at any rate.... "'ow's yer boy, an Rumor, by th'way? Havena seen'em since 'e left 'ere t'get vaccinated."
(raven)
:::::riding slow enough to recognize the face of the female he pulls up alongside te road near them with a smile:::::(james)
the Harley's roar gets his attention, too
easily enough categorized as not Kemp's
that rider actually sounds.... sane...
it's enough to keep the Ahroun's attention on the well-lit streets
even as he's gratefully shrugging into the warm jacket
sheer lupine instinct to guard pack's territory
even if this isn't his technical home turf"Thank'." nodded after smoke's flicked and ashes sent to the cement "Both're doin' allrigh' far'z I know. Saw'm at Mass.... though ain' seen'r since we hole'm up't y'r place."
the slurred speech fades behind the rim of beer bottle
timing a swallow with the Native's arrival
he seems to know Cliona - so James is attentively silent(cliona)
She nods her welcome, though her gaze is on Raven, and then he stops and she recognizes him and that easy going smile returns, voice soft to James. "Tis Raven, new about'ere, Wendi judge."Then, louder as she lifts her bottle toward the man on the bike. "Slainte, lad. Ye met James'ere yet?" A gesture toward the lounging [though attentive, even if it is not his territory, a fact that is not unappreciated] gnawer by her side, an invitation to join them on her stoop.
(raven)
::::the cherokee man climbs off of the motorcycle and puts on an old black duster . He smiles as he walks up to the two slowly as he nos:::::: hello. Ys thanks for the invite. ::::he walks up to the stoop::::(james)
a brow lifts towards the mane of tangled dreads
nodding to file away the information as its offered
...... works for him"Eveni'." his chin lifts in the trademark Eagle nod-up gesture which the Wendi will find substitutes for a variety of phrases, the smoke scissored between two fingers gestures back towards the Irish Theurge and her pseudo-introduction before stretching to shake "Jamezzz."
all the Elderman says until formal salutations are given or demanded
after all, he's a guest in this territory, too(terry mencalo)
[]another roaring motorcycle is hear in the distance,it is getting close fairly quickly[](raven)
:::he nods:::: my name is Otaktay Swift Raven. ::::he was fiarly big. Not the biggest man , but he was quite muscular . He played with his long raven black hair a moment:::::(terry)
[ The motorcycle is seen a bit down the street,barely creeping along now. It pulls up infront of the stoop,an extremley large man is seen riding a harley,he looks of native indian decent,and has the wendigo tribe symbol tatooed on his right biscep](cliona)
She lifts her beer, and arches a brow. "thirsty?" in offer, and then makes the intros. Offered, not demanded - this one's been welcomed into the Bawn already. "Ye know me intro already, obviously.. this'ere's an elder. He kin fill in 'is own blanks if'n he wishes.""This's me and m'lad's land - but ye're welcome long as ye keep yer nose clean. Raven 'ere, he showed up for th'fun part o'th'moot - missin all th'bitchin and whinin', showed for th'drinkin. Tis th'way I prefer it meself, with nae th'ability t'make it fly th'way."
She chuckles, and shrugs. Then her gaze is drawn by yet another motorcycle. "Fookin'ell - dinnae ye notice tis a wee bit frigid t'be out ridin??"
(terry)
[ the man is wearing nothing more than a leather vest,jeans,chaps,and cowboy boots. He sniffs in the direction of you all.(for lack of better phrase)](raven)
thanks ::::takes the beer:::: nice to meet you :::to james and then looks at the other man that just rode up and spots the tribal symbol and seems to look confused. Finally he smiles:::::
well damn. I didn't think i would see any othes here. ::::turns to James:::: I am a cliath judge Wendigo.(james)
the raggedyman's response to another hog is little more than a snort of smoke
(yeah boss he noticed it was a bit cold to be out riding)
it's only after he sees the second man's tattoo that words fall from his mouth
(Northern Tribe.... this chill's still springish to them)
filling in the blanks as is proper, anyway
making sure to slow his speech enough so the slurred words are discernable
battlescar notch along his jawline already beginning to quietly ache in the chilling nights
things are gonna suck come Winter's deep freeze"Jamez Brans'n, Jukebox, Drumz'n'Skulls, BeeGee Fos'rn Fullmoon a Eagle pack 'n city Eld'r."
the guy with dreads has an easy enough smile
lean and lanky and just an inch over six feet even
Elder or not, he doesn't exactly seem more imposing than the Irish Lass in charge
that is, of course, until his Rage takes a breath and expands
living inner volcano testament he's more than earned his scars and rank(terry)
[glances over to Raven,smirks. Then shuts off the engine to his hog,stands it,and steps over. He stands roughly 8' tall,and resembles a brick wall. He takes a step onto the side walk,pulls his vest down a bit to show his breed,tribe,and auspice marking without speaking a word.](raven)
::::nods::: my name I go by among our kind is Heart of the Sky.
:::::turs to look at the towering man. damn that guy was huge and nods at him::::: I am a judge(terry)
[bows his head to Raven in respect]
"I am warrior,my name given by Gaia is Splinter's Oak. You can call me Terry."[a thick cherokee accent]
(cliona)
He....takes her beer, which was already opened - but she takes it all in stride. There's plenty more where that came from, and she's about to stand and get a full round for everyone when Terry gets off his bike."fookinchriste'sabiggun" muttered. James, at just over 6 foot towers over the little lass in charge, and Raven does th'same - and this one. well. So she just sits right where she is as gaze flickers over the silent show of breed and auspice. He finally adds a name, and she nods, slightly. "Cliona 'Ricinus' Murran, Fianne Spirit Talker, fostern, Alpha o'th'Dragon's Flight who runs this bit o'turf, Mistress o'th'Rite f'th'Sept, elder in th'temporary absense o'me beta."
Now that's a mouthful. To Terry. "As I was telling Raven 'ere, tis me turf, from here t'Esixx, and on t'Claddaughs Pub. Yer welcome as long as ye keep yer nose clean and keep me and me lads in th'know."
(raven)
yeah. This is her pack's teritory and well from as far as i can tell you could come stop by and talk to the Children of gaia.
I am staying in a house owned by the gaian children.
(terry)
"As long as no one smells of the wyrm,they don't have to worry about me. That makes me wonder why I in weaver jungle."[glances around at the concrete huts and shudders]
"Something I have to get used to."(james)
James stays pretty quiet during the conceptual interlude
allowing Cliona to outline the do's and don't's of her territory
his doesn't begin until once they're across the River, anyway
Terry's last comment gets a chuffing laugh from the Elderman"There's 'nuff wyrm-taint in Chi-town a make y'r stay in th' Urb'n Jungle worthwhile." there's wry glint in the street showman's eye "Eagle turf star's 'cross th' wat'r, Riv'rfron' distric'. Same rules 'pply 'cept y'r walkin' a th' ground a Germ'ns 'stead've th' Irish'r Coggs."
(terry)
"So,many problems with wyrm creatures lately?"(cliona)
Fingers scratch across her belly, idlly sliding along the ragged scaring there in an automatic action after the Gnawer's words. Chuckling, she nods. "Aye, tis th'truth, inna it now..." Then, after a moment. "An if'n ye plan on stayin a wee bit - ye'll need t'be taken to th'bawn. Raven there likely kin give ye th'ins an'outs o'it, bein fresh welcomed hisself, an a tribemate t'boot.""If ye'll pardon me a wee bit..." She unfolds and stands - barely 5'5" it seems, and definitely the smallest of this little group. Hell, even in war form she's still slender and tall - graceful, powerful, but shorter then most. But you know what they say about dynomite and small packages, right?
She lets herself inside long enough to grab the rest of her half-rack o'beer, checking on the lass still asleep on her couch, before returning to her stoop. Grabbing a beer for herself, she nods to the rest. "elp yerself." and nudges the carton more towards the center and in reach of them all.
Terry's question gets a snort. "Yer in a bleedin City, what do ye think? tis enough taint t'keep us all busy an' all our chil'ren's chil'ren too."
(james)
the Gnawer grabs a new bottle, replacing it's void with the empty he held
jumpstarting another Camel off the one near filtered to keep the trend going
that butt's shoved into the old bottle to sizzle in beer's dregs
only able to call forth a deep, rumbling chuckle to the latest question and response"Which Cogg's ya stayin' wi'?"
dark eyes turning to Raven since Terry's heading off for the night
(raven)
:::::he grabs a hold of a beer and stands back to his full height::: thanks. i appreciate it. See your teibe isn't that bad. ::::shakes his head with a chuckle:::::
::::::turns to James:::: Leroy.
he is letting me stay at a house of his.(cliona)
She snorts, chuckling. "Tis what th'say. We are th'most hospitable t'be sure - barrin th'Coggies, but they ne'er 'ave enough beer. A shame it is... Though m'lad Percy tis learnin. Even if all 'e drinks is prissy girly concoctions." A sad shake of her head. That boy has some serious learning to do in order to keep up with his packmates when it comes to drinking, for sure. But he holds his own and then some when it comes to fighting - when it counts.If there's a brief tension at the mention of LeRoy, it fades quickly enough, and she? Has no comment. She watches Terry as he gets back on his bike and heads away, and then returns her attention to the conversation at hand.
(james)
"Butta?"the name's refracted with a fond - if lopsided - grin
seems the raggedyman has a history with the large Coggie
whatever Cliona's tension may be a result of
it has no part of James' repetoire with his battle buddy"'s a good man. He'll take care'a yeh."
(raven)
yes. he is a good man. i have spoken with him and Nelly of the pack.(cliona)
She agrees with James, for the most part - but the recent argument is still too fresh, and still cut too deep. He meant to hurt her, and he did. She drowns it in a few more swallows from her bottle, draining it by half, before going ahead and nodding her agreement with the raggedy man."Aye, seems 'e always has a houseful o'folks in an' about Avery. Kin cook a mean set o'ribs too - careful, e'll put a might bit o'meat on yer bones.."
(raven)
(raven)
yeah. I have enough meat on my bones and the ribs are good.
(james)
James snorts in amusement"Wh'n he c'n put'n keep meat'n a Gnaw'r's bones... then I"ll be 'mpressed."
(cliona)
That brings full on laughter. "Hell, I'd be impressed too, wouldna I now - I've seen th'likes o'ye eat I have. Me caterers were might impressed with yer boy when he stayed here an how much th'lad an'lass could put away. Was might bit smug when th'got th'payment too, I'd wager."She shakes her head, chuckling, and finishes off her beer, easily reaching and opening another.
(raven)
I can pack away quite a bit myself :::seems to drain down the beer and gets another one:::: hope you don't mind.(james)
"Tris?" a brow lifts, slightly, above the growing, slightly lopsided, grin "'s 'bout th'o'ly kin I seen tha' c'n match me puttin' grub 'way."(cliona)
She nods, chuckling. "Aye, that 'e kin. Think 'e tried ev'ry thin' on th'menu at least once a week, and th'caterers 'ave ne'er been happier. Mournin 'is loss th'are, since I usually catch me grub at th'pub. Just tis nae th'same without Logan t'share, is it now..."A flicker of something in her gaze [longing, sadness, ache.... things James could easily recognize, knowing it well] before it's shrugged off again. "th'keep askin me t'ave 'im move in." and there's that easy grin again.
(james)
this time, the brow lifts all the way
the Ahroun giving the Theurge a sidelong once-over
(he recognizes, understands)
it ends with a chortled drag off his smoke
(just as easily shrugging it away)"Dunn think ya his type, Cli-ona."
(raven)
::::smiles;::: thanks. :::: begins sipping on the beer::::
yeah i haven't been able to talk to to many around here and most have attitude problems.(cliona)
She laughs and nods. "ye think I dinnae know that? Th'first week when 'is lad was here with'im was th'most action th'place has seen for a long time. Near drove Rumor t'distraction, it did. Nah, I'll jus 'ave t'suffer havin all th'covers to meself, and sharing th'occasional meal with appreciatin Gnawers." tips a wink James' way, before arching a brow at Raven."Aye, depends on who ye talk teh' for th'most part. Th'Rage runs thick in a lot o'em, and ye get used t'th'attitude. Hell, th'other night when ye join us at th'moot, was nae me shining moment, atall, at all. Was a wee bit pissed. Tis th'irish in me, it is."
(raven)
yes. I know how that is. we all have the rage in us.(james)
two beers down, seems the Elderman is calling it quits
for the empty bottle is not replaced
half-smoked cigarette used to accent his gestures
whisping incent trail of cancer he'll never get rolling towards the sky"S'common, 'specially roun' th' full." a grin quirks "C'n tell ya nah, Rav'n, I'm PR f'r Eagles..... don't 'spect any frills fr'm th' res've'm. Eagles're a war pack 'n ac' like 't."
(raven)
yes i know. i think i almost got into a fight with a member of your pack at one point. Small Get by the nme of Kemp. i think he is a member of the Eagles.(cliona)
She arches a brow at Raven. "ye did, did ye now? Dinna doubt it. Th'kids a good'un t'ave at yer back, however. Ne'er seen anyone more ready t'defend 'is pack and 'is family, nae matter what it involves."Easy, the grin, and the twinkle is back in her gaze, full of mischief... "and ye know what th'say about us wee ones - feisty 'n fierce..."
(james)
the Elderman settles Raven with an even gaze
hard to tell what that crooked smile really means"Yeh... he's one've us. What'z th' pro'l'm?"
(raven)
yeah. he kept getting in my face cicleing me when i was talking to Decker.(james)
"Yeh... my Alpha." dreads roll across his shoulders when the Gnawer nods "Wha's's get'n' in y'r face f'r?"(cliona)
This may be her territory, bit this tis Eagle business, and thus the Irish lass simply falls silent.(raven)
I don't know. I was just in the area not knowing just passing through and saw Decker and was talking to him and then Kemp showed up and started circeling me talking some stupid shit.(james)
finally, the lack of discernable expression ebbs into a chuckle
strange the Wendi spoke of those hard to converse with
and there he was talking with Mr. Personality himself
James is, frankly, quite amused"Yeh, kid's gotta mouth on'm, give ya tha'. Glad ya dunn get'a th' poin' a throwin' down."
(cliona)
She laughs and nods. "Ye should o'seen th'get up he was wearin when we was all sick and shite - he showed up with fookin goggles an a snorkel, sprayin every one with Lysol. Thought Imogen was gone t'kick his arse..."(raven)
no we didn't . I can keep myself in control
any other of my tribe wouldn't have a second thought though I don't think(james)
"Good." the nod is slow, thoughtful - the gaze dead weight. "So few've're kind c'n keep th'r cool un'er pressure 'n the Counc'l rarely give secon' chanc's."was he talking about the Council
or any potential Eagle pack retaliation
should, of course, the kid not deserve what's coming....
then gaze ticktocks to Cliona, considerably lighter"She should've."
(cliona)
At the word about the Council, there's another bout of tension through her shoulders. She doesn't like having to keep sitting in for her Tribe, and she certainly doesn't like some of the recent... recriminations coming from her opinions and choices.Resolutely swallows it away in the finishing of yet another beer. Kind of makes one wonder just how much it would take for her to actually get drunk - or even tipsy for that matter.
(raven)
well i have been able to and it has helped me wen i needed it to :::::finishes the second beer:::: thanks for the drinks though. i really mean it.(james)
"Hard less'n a learn f'r mos' Fullbloods."there's a compliment in there, somewhere, apparently
James has yet to have an experience with a Wendigo to sour his opinion of the Tribe
Swift Raven seems to be holding up the inherant integrity thus far
good sign, at least, given recent events(raven)
yeah. and sometimes a lesson a little to late. i t takes some a while to keep it under control(cliona)
She shrugs away the thanks. "Tis nae a problem lad... me gram raised me t'always welcome new comers with a beer or two. A wise woman, me gram." Grinned, fondly enough.She stretches, slightly, and adjusts her sprawl on the stoop, and conversationally. "On th'other 'and, too much control kin be jus' as bad. As wit'it all - balance tis th'key. Somethin yerself as a judge knows well, I'd wager."
(ranve)
:::nods with a grin:::: yeah. balance. That is my duty. And you know what? for me it is one hell of a duty.(james)
"Then y'll do y'r birthmoon prou'. 'Specially if yeh c'n teach't a oth'rs."Cliona stretches, and James straightens
pulling his weight off the home's outer brick wall"Duty call."
a nod towards the front door and what lays sleeping within
Ahroun opting to excuse himself and check on Rihana
another nod-up serving as his parting gesture
and the raggedyman moves to disappear inside(cliona)
She nods, and the ragedy man heads inside past her stretched out sprawl. She waits a few moments before she too stands. "Aye - I should b'getting in meself. Watch yer back out there, Raven."And with that, she offers him another beer, before taking the last and heading inside herself.
(I'm about to die here - heads gonna explode. damn flu. Thanks for play!)
Posted by james at 12:00 AM.10.04.04. - tattoos [rihana-cliona][ic room]
(james)
Pure Bred
James didn't notice it before
his focus was trapped elsewhere
and it was something that dawned on the guttermutt in transit
but as he stands over the painwracked woman now
dark eyes watching her as he sums up the situation thus far
bringing Cliona up to speed on the wretched thing he brought to her doorit's unmistakable
this last and final one has better breeding than he, himself
it's something that gnaws on the BG Elderman's thoughts
...... the consequences that could come from her loss ......
his head shakes to push those grievances away"Think y'c'n hel'?" brow cocks above deep umber, he's already outlined his hesitations on acts of samaritanship towards those he's.... not entirely sure want them "Dunn'a where else a tak'r."
(cliona)
She had been surprised at the knock on the door - but as soon as she'd seen who it was, she let him in, helped him lay out the woman on the couch while she listened to this... odd... little tale. Slender fingers push her hair back [different now. two-toned still, but backwards. Black roots, natural red ends... odd that.] with slender fingers [now permanently marked - much like henna, but without washing off. Swirls, lazy, random, hypnotic from elbows to fingertips] before she starts to examine the woman, fingers tugging at clothing here and there to find the nature of her wounds."I kin try, lad, tis th'best I kin do. O'course I'll try..." lad. He's what, 4 or 5 years her senior? but that impish, goodnatured grin breaks free as she peeks over her shoulder at him and finishes it off with "...James - yuf." and winks.
Then, back to Rihana, to see just what may be needed healing wise before she touches her.
(rihana)
Faints don't tend to last a long time, a brief period of being rendered unoncious. ON the journey over, she'd awoken, albeit groggily and barely so. A slow blinking of large eyes, jet pupils dilated in a sea of gold-flecked amber. A moments shocked, bewildred stiffening followed by a muffled utterance of pain. The clumsy lifting of a hand that feels first at the veil on her face as if to assure herself of its continued presence... and then the small hand (a petite woman and in the over-sized, bundled up clothing she is rendered all the more child like) fumbles just as clumbsily - and with equal determination - at the strangers neck. Patting. Padding. Pressing. There. A heartbeat.
And her eyes close again.By the time they arive at the destination, the woman/girl seems to fade in and out on conciousness. Like flexing between restless, on-the-verge-of-waking sleep and then into a calm stillness of deep repose. Like she is exhausted and wished both for the shelter of unconciousness and the knowledge of wakefulness but can fully achieve neither. Cliona begins to check over her and, sure enough, sees fress blood stains on the upper-back and shoulders.
But there are no slash marks or punctures on the jacket with it's numerous and sundry colourfull patches - patches in need of patching themselves. Peel away the jacket and there is a long sleeved shirt beneath more stained than the jacket - the stains making a bit of a blotchy pattern. But the shirt is likewise un-harmed, giving no sign of cause for the blood. Lift the shirt. Prod it up and the mystery is solved......tattoos. Fresh. Deep. Intricate and detailed though hard to decipher with the caking blood and rising bruising. It sweeps from base of neck down to the juncture of shoulder-blades and outward... ending abrubtly, the work incomplete.
As far as physical trauma goes, it's a puzzlement: Tattoo's can hurt, yes, but surely this wouldn't drive someone to the sort of pain the Gnawer witness. The odd ritual he encroached upon. The exhausted, abrupt faint.
Perhaps she just has an insanely low tolerance for pain.(james)
perhaps she has an insanely low tolerance for pain
though, given present company, tattoos aren't just what they used to be
James watches curiously, but unobstructively
keeping a slight distance between Cliona and himself
(he's already touched her, been touched.... already damned if he is to be)
little more help than the occasional concurring nod"Lad."
chuffed in a soft laugh
nothing more than a murmur
he's more concerned about the strange woman and her stranger pain
(cliona)
Already damned. She's been damned herself an awful lot lately. She needs a new hobby, it would seem. Send her out in battle, something, but not puking up her lungs, if you please. She didn't stop then, however, and she doesn't now, even if the symptoms [if they can be called that] are completely out of the ordinary.There is no sign of injury but for the tattooing. Odd indeed.
She settles back on her heels for a moment, and then with a brush of her fingers, tender, over the woman's brow, she lays her other hand against the skin - broken and bruised, tattoo'd far deeper then they should be, and with a deep breath [ofgaia] she let's loose the Touch of the Mother into the woman/child restless on her couch.
(rihana)
The Touch certainly has an effect; It doesn't heal away the tattooing nor does it evaporate the congealed and drying blood. It does, however, cease any fresh flow and the bruising becomes a thing of the pass, which makes the tattoos much more dicernable.
Not that there is much of anything to be discerned.
It could be a mad-mans tablet. An unearthed artifact. The both of them have probably seen an example or two of ancient Semetic sigils, Sanskrit, and heiroglyphics though they cannot identify or read them. They certainly know Garou glyphs whe they see the and they do here, mixed in and styalized with all the rest to make an oddly breathtaking mosaic as primaly appealing as it is... errie.
James felt that erriness when he came upon her. Cliona can share in it now. There is a certain mystic quality to the artwork.. the language... the picture.The Touch also serves to relieve the exhaustion the woman seemed to be in, not to mention the pain (the physical pain at least) and this time when she awakens her pupils are no longer dilated. There seems to be a lingering lethargy about her as she lifts herself up, thin arms trembling slightly with the effort. Looks around above her veil and speaks in a voice hoarse and heavy tongued.
It also happens not to be English.
"Quienes... quienes son ustedes? En donde... donde estoy?"(james)
a brow most certainly lifts as the healing reveals what's beneath
he's seen his share of inks and wounding rites in his day
but what Rihana's skin displays is another thing altogether
no doubt about the heebie jeebies James is feeling nowand she speaks!
.... sort've
brows drop back down to furrow beneath the avalanche of..... (quirk).... Spanish?
he understands as much of it as he does the majority of the tat's symbolism
though he's heard enough to hypothesize meaning out of the questioning tone"Jamezzz." slurred with a thumb hooked towards his chest, then it rotates to the Theurge beside him "Cli-ona." then his chin lifts - Eagle style - at the woman "You?"
(cliona)
Slim reddish brows furrow as she studies the tattooing, though she's quick to help the woman sit up when she wakes and is insistent that she do so. There's certainly some eeriness here, and she glances at James again [whoooboy. what did you get us into?] but the majority of her attention is on Rihana.She doesn't try to interpret the Spanish, letting James take the lead on that, as she stands and moves to the bar in the corner [having a rich mate has its perks] and pouring a glass of water, as well as grabbing a round of beer bottles for those who might want them.
Returning to kneel by the couch, she offers the water to the woman first, something to help get her orientated a bit better - and only after she takes it does she offer the beer to James. She doesn't open her own just yet, but nods to the introduction, and doesn't further confuse things with her hellish accent for now.
(rihana)
James speaks first and so it is on James that her gaze settles as she draws herself to a sitting position. A cautious pose, with an air remeniscent of a bird at its perch not sure yet if a situation calls for flight. Cliona moves and her eyes dart briefly in that direction... both curious and wary.When speaking to someone wearing a veil over the lower half of their face, it forces one to focus on the eyes for want of other means of facial expression with which to discern mood, thoughts, etc. If the eyes are the windows of the soul, some people definitly have windows made of one-way glass. They look out. You don't look in.
She isn't one of those people.
Quiet openly her eyes furrow and quite plain is the confusion, unease, sadness, remembered pain, and - perhaps in paradox - hints of relief and curiosity in the child-like womans eyes.She accepts Cliona's offered water and the heaviness of her brow briefly lightens as gratitude slips through.. she raises it up, a hand moving to lift the viel enough to allow her to drink and-
-stops before the glass completes the journey. Againt her eyes dart. Suspicious but hesitantly so. An afterthought. Like a person who was quite recently a highly trusting person, but has since found reason to believe that not all are to be trusted.She wavers...
...holding the glass
Then opts for answering the dread-locked man."Rihana... Hana. Ah," She blinks owlishly like sleep is still insisting upon her company, but clears her throat and continues. English now, her words very much accented. "Where am I?"
(james)
the dreadlocked man gives her time enough to orient herself
not much to the imagination discerning how confused she must be
other than the pulse-searching touch - she was pretty much out for the count the whole way
relief shows as she switches to English
least the heavy accent will fit right in"Hana." said slow so he can wrap his mangled tendons around the word and parrot it fairly accurately, won't take the woman long to realize he's got a thick Yankee accent worsened by a slur likely stemming from the notch along the left side of his jaw "Y'r at Cli-ona's pad, I brough'cha here, she heal'd yeh." .... a pause, seems this FullMoon is capable of empathizing emotion beyond battlelust and senses Rihana's apprehension - and exhaustion.... "Ain't g'nna hurt'cha. Think't best yeh sleep nah..... we c'n talk more'n th' mornin'."
(cliona)
She nods, slightly, and offers the woman a tender smile. "Aye lass, ye kin rest safe here. Tis a wee room off there ye kin sleep in, or th'couch here if'n ye'd rather. We'll nae hurt ye."Soothing, and barely more then a girl herself, usually instilling confidence of one kind or another as she nods to the water. "tis jus water lass - though I've stronger if'n ye'd like somethin' t'elp ye sleep.."
(rihana)
No doubt about it: She has a hard time understanding the Ahroun. One eyebrow raises and her tired eyes - darkened with the miasma of things she is feeling and thinking and is, generaly, too exhausted to sort out - squint slightly. Then relax. Whereas many likely become stand offish - if not annoyed - at his troublesome speach; she registers that is is difficult to understand. Then accepts. Then seems to focus more on his tone, body language, and such matters of bearing than anything else. Even tilting her head slightly, a bird-like motion. She does the same with Cliona, then... there's a bit of a pause; then a slight relaxing of weary (marked) shoulders. Apparently she's understood the fundamentals of what they said. More over, apparently she seems be more inclined to believe them than not to.
Either she's a good judge of character/intention.
Or she's just too damned trusting.She glances off at the direction of the indicated room, 'brow furrowing again. Then shakes her head slightly and pats the coach briefly,
"I stay here." Hoarse and quiet. A pause. She dares a sip of the water.. then another, longer, eyes growing more and more heavy lidded. She offers the cup back - wariness mingled with gratitude mingled with equastion mingled with shyness mingled with ease of humour - and then settles down on the coach, curling up in fetal-fashion, eyes still on them though they are but slits now."Gracias.... James... Cliona." 'James' she can handle. 'Cliona' she... ah.. makes a bit unique.
Then returns to unconciousness.
[end, cont'd next scene]
Posted by james at 12:00 AM