May 29, 2005.05.29.05. - askin' one thing [eagle pack][downtown]
(decker)
No pack house yet -- so the Eagles will be gathering at one of the many abandoned docks toward the north end of their protectorate tonight, near the caern. The scene's nothing they haven't seen before: the lake waters lapping at the concrete rubble-strewn shore like a freshwater ocean; the setting sun casting shadows of dilapidated dock machinery and shambling dock hangars across the water. A stiff wind blows out of the northeast, still cold. June was almost here; summer, unfortunately, was not.Out of the way of the wind, back to a tractor whose tires have melted into the concrete, Decker's feeding wood chips and bleached driftwood into a fire almost invisible in the sunlight. He squints against the sun, nodding to Kemp as he shows up.
There's no food. That's James' job.
(kemp)
"Ok, works for me." A lift of his chin making the now red hair dance across his shoulders and sides of his face in a wave of red that ranged from deep deep almost burgandy to bright brazen red. Some parts looking better than others. Figuring if he got sick of it, he'd shave his head and let it grow out. A tiny little tuft of scraggly hair starting to sprout on his chin where he had been trying to encourage it's growth. Shuffling on up to dump a few broken 2"x4"'s for the fire.(james)
ask and ye shall receive....just on the other side of the near-non-existant fire appear a pair of boots
above stretches the casually familiar fading pattern of second-hand BDUs
somewhere just before waist level appears a pair of paper bags
.... just to keep the tandem trendone's weighted with a variety of subs James just went creative on
some of this and some of that which should appeal to the lack of decisive orders
the other bag almost leaks a distinctive chill around heavier cast
bottles clustered within portraying Stone Brewery's finest selection out of.....
.... well...... some things just shouldn't be questioned just as long as they're here, yes?the guttermutt's head tips and casts a lopsided grin
notably shorter dreads flipflopping against the slope of shoulder"Sum'ne ord'r room s'rvice?"
(imogen)
So often does Imogen appear out of place in her surroundings, that it must seem almost normal to those who have known her long enough. From bloody alleyways, to decrepit factories, now to abandoned docks, she is left almost untouched by it all.She rounds the corner, an instant after Kemp does, apparently having either driven him, or perhaps had a moment of insanity, and allowed him to drive. Her hands shove into the pockets of her leather jacket, slim fitting and falling past her waist to brush against her jean-clad thighs as she walked.
A glance toward Kemp when he speaks, gaze resting his way, before she shrugs at the Rotagar, "S'good," she replies, apparently finishing a conversation they had been having prior.
Everyone seems to be arriving at once. There's a glance for Decker, and then one for Jukebox and his carried goodies. It's impossible to be surprised that out of all the Eagles showing up tonight, it is the Bone Gnawer who provides the grub.
(AnneMarie)
No pack house, as of yet, though one had been offered. Perhaps tonight it will be offered again. As such, the deserted dock is a place of meeting. She looks out of place here, yet strangely at home at the same moment. She is dressed as usual, perfectly pressed slacks (with the bit of stained darkened cloth along one thigh, where whiteboard is swiped clean between bits of her conversations), silken tank top under light jacket. Heeled boots that bump her already tall height another 2 inches, short shorn hair, silent demeanor, rage.In a word, Modi.
Her footsteps herald her otherwise silent arrival. Kemp, Decker - both receive a nod. James is subject to a slower glance, a once, twice over. After all, their meeting has been limited to one passed out Gnawer drug from a building on cleanup, and various moots. In the end lips curve into what might be a smile if ever allowed to live that long, and gaze drops, nod of hello given. She crouches by the building fire, and empties her pockets, to add to the pile of shared goods one baggy o'primo weed with rolling papers. And in jest, a bag of Big League Chew bubble gum for Kemp.
Seems she pays attention, for the Omega knows her place, and her packmates, well.
(Tristan)
He'd gotten the message, and since he's yet to have been able to see with his own eyes that his brother is indeed here (and more importantly ok) he wouldn't miss this meeting for the world. And he, in true Gnawer style, does not show up empty handed either. A grocery back with chips and dip to go with the other things he knows will be brought, as well as soda's for Kemp. He's mom, after all, and knows better then to suggest he drink beer. and get cancer.He walks up, violin in one hand, bag in the other, same ole pretty boi as always, and trademark grin slips across his lips. "I'm here, party can start now." He puts his bag down, his violin in some relative safe place. Kemp's hair is mussed, Anne nodded too, Imogen winked at, Decker receives a wave.
James. James gets a long. slow. slow. long once over. Judging, perhaps, searching most assurdedly, and then the smile warms. "Welcome home, bro.." said aloud, though underneath? 18 different shades of meaning.
(decker)
"Sheeit." The Modi uncoils to his feet, left hand grabbing the bag with the sandwiches, right hand gripping the Gnawer's shoulder for a moment, hard, before he thumps him on the arm. (Surprisingly) white teeth and crooked smile, "Welc'me back, Drums on Skulls."They could say the same to him. Then he crouches again, ripping open the bag: wolf ripping flesh to get at entrails. Kemp gets his attention next, a long stare at the hair -- "Tha fuck you do?" -- before he tosses out sub sandwiches at complete random. One for James. One for Kemp. One for Annemarie and one each for the kin; one for himself.
(kemp)
Snagging the sandwich out of the air when it came his way. Right in the middle of a nod to Annemarie and James and a big ole wet kiss on Tristan's cheek. "Who? When? It wasn't me no matter what anyone says! I didn't touch her tits, didn't say nothing about them. It was Kirk. He said they were falling, not me."
"And the crazy assed Kin? All I did was yell, didn't touch her but she thought she might run my ass over like I couldn't smell what she was and what she'd been doing? I'm telling ya, I hate girls, I hate them more than the runs." Pausing just long enough to take a bite of the sandwich, talking around the mouthful. "Mmpha been, mphpa, James?" Going for one of those pops Tristan brought.(AnneMarie)
She catches her sandwich neatly and settles it on a knee, the other hand reaching behind her, settling on the ground as her weight shifts, smooth and silken, animalistic until she is sitting on the filthy planks of the dock. Perhaps, for all her insistance on looking well put together, she's just like them after all. Legs tuck in, and she opens the sandwich, taking the time to spread included napkin across her lap. OK, so there are still some differences.And she, of course, is silent. You get used to it.
(james)
"Ssss'good a be 'ome."phrase slung around that forever lopsided grin towards his brother
it's free, easy, and ultimately unconcerned by the varying scrutiny
animate spark dancing deep within mellow umber betrays the morphing moon
cryptic physical messages (... in 18 different shades....) lost in attention shift
a trademark nod-up to AnneMarie interrupted by the hard grip and thump on his armstreet performer through and through the Ahroun doesn't miss a beat
fingers climbing up to ruffle through ropes barely reaching his collarbone
composure regained in some expression between wry grin and smirk"Got'uh haircu'h?"
greeting's retaliated as fist connects to the Modi's shoulder
a story to tell there may be..... but the raggedyman isn't sharing just yet
spreading the wealth of Stone, instead, following up the sub toss with a lobbed bottle
Imperial Russian kept for his damned self, thank you very much
(.... brew's so dark you can't even see through the bottle....)
easily waiting either the next level of interrogation or an explanation for tonight's party(imogen)
Imogen takes the sub when it is handed to her, dark gaze dropping to the wrapped package, and then looking at Kemp as the motormouth goes. "I think he meant yer hair," she says, drily, though not before Kemp had begun to excuse himself for just about everything he's done in the last week.(Tristan)
His lips quirk into a smile, and as his hand falls on James' shoulder, before creeping up to tug on one of them shorter dreds, knowing full well he's one of very few who get away with the affectionate action. It says nothing, it says everything.And then, to Kemp, as he snags his sandwich midtoss and then studies the boys hair. "Kiddo, ya missed a couple spots, next time let me help. But hell, looks cool." So declared, it's mussed again and he winks. "Rumor'll like it."
A flinch away from the swipe surely coming, he settles down next to his violin and digs into tonight's eats. Who knows where it'll disappear to if not inhaled right away, after all...
(kemp)
Throwing the rest of his sub at Tristan for that Rumor comment. "Girls suck! Except Imogen, she helped some with my hair."(decker)
Fuck. Everyone was getting haircuts and dyejobs and shit. Decker reaches up and rub his prickly buzzcut. Maybe he oughta grow it long, Fabio-style. Heh."Fuck you do that fer?" directed smirking at Imogen, re: Kemp's hair. "As if he don't look bad 'nough already."
Settling on his haunches, back to the once-yellow side of the tractor, Decker takes a few silent bite of the sandwich while the pack got acquainted. Settled. Whatever. Then he wraps what remains of the sub up and drops it between his feet for later. When he leans forward for a brew, his balance is perfect, shifting smoothly from one position to another, and back.
"Alright." The lazy smirking humor disappears, and it's down to business. A chug, a stifled grimace at the fizz, a wipe of his mouth on the back of his mouth. "'Case y'all ain't noticed, we moved to tha docks. James -- you back with us fer a while now, 'r you leavin' again?"
There was a story behind his absence. And someday the rest of them might even hear it. But not tonight.
(imogen)
James lobs a bottle, and she catches it, one hand grabbing it from the air, and the other hand soon following it to insure she didn't drop it and it's precious contents. While she may or may not eat her sub, guaranteed, the former Fianna kin would drink.Imogen smirks back as she takes a seat on a bit of broken concrete, a hand reaching up to push back a strand of decidedly dye-free hair from her eyes.
"Saved my ceilings," she answers Decker as she twists the cap off the bottle, and silencing as things start to get down to business.
(james)
the Gnawer's mouth pulls down in half-frown
a sign of negation rather than after-effects of heavy brew"Got a meas're a biz'n'ss a tie uh loose en's nex' full.... oth'r'wi'e y'r stuck wi' me." the merry cadence of self-depreciation as can only be pulled off by one of true Jackal blood "'Den set?"
a slight nod up summarizes the extent of that question
James has consistently located a comfortable dwelling for his packmates in the past
just like meeting eatie treats, it's simply another one of the things he does
all he needs to know is whether or not they're planning to settle in this new territory long enough to make it worth while(Tristan)
He just laughs, and catches the thrown sammich "Hey! I taught you better then that, you don't waste good food." A wink, and he hands it back, still chuckling. "Damn kids today.." muttered playfully, though he quiets when Decker speaks.. more then interested in the answer to the question.And when it comes, he grins a bit, snags a bottle of something or another, and settles in to listen to the big boys talk.
(kemp)
Snagging the bit of sandwich when it was thrown back at him but not without making a face at Tristan before stuffing the sandwich in his mouth. If his mouth was full, he might be quiet for a bit.(decker)
"Naw," den was definitely not set yet. Hell knows where poor Kemp has been sleeping lately. "'S part'a what we gotta talk 'bout."Annemarie 'n Kemp, where you been runnin' patrols? How much ground you think we kin cover with four?"
(AnneMArie)
She's eating slowly. Precisely. Cleanly. More like one would think Imogen eats, if anyone ever saw her do so, rather then the inhaling of the rest of the Eagles. She listens, and then, flicker over totemphone, to save the need to write. It'll be passed along to the kin, she's sure.I still occupy Gustav's old office building. Complete with spar circle, heavy bag, weights, living quarters, kitchen, bath, and basement firearm practice area. As mentioned before, the pack is welcome to it.
A pause, fingers catching a bit of mayo as it drips from her sandwich, liked clean. She let's Kemp take first crack at the Alpha's question.
(kemp)
"I been riding all over the fucking place as long as I knew it didn't belong to no one else down here. With four we can go a lot further, just don't know how fast or well. My cover's been a little thin. Annemarie's been pretty much running the same areas, crisscrossing here and there."(imogen)
When AnneMarie speaks, she cannot hear her, but she can see the change in the others (and the mute herself) when she does, so Imogen's gaze turns that way, too, watching the mute, until Kemp starts to speak. And then things are aloud, and she looks at the rotagar, a line forming for a moment between her eyebrows before she reaches down to pick up her bottle and take a swallow.There of course, is little enough for her to add to this. Kinfolk do not patrol, and even if she could, Imogen would likely not want to.
(AnneMarie)
A nod agrees with what Kemp said. Then, He rides, I walk, catch in between in perpendicular lines. Several blocks, easily. More distance is not that hard. She spends most of her evenings doing said patrols. Fighting when necessary, or simply when she needs the outlet. Cleaning up where she can, when she can.(tristan)
He too can pick up the cues of Totemphone, and has little to add to the conversation. Instead, he keeps eating, and just enjoying having them all together. Yes, he's a sap. It comes with the territory. and so he, like Imogen, simply listens.(decker)
Listening, the Modi's unwrapped his sub and taken another few bites. "Gustav's old buildin's over in Skid Row, ain't it? Kin we stretch that far?"(AnneMarie)
More like between the two, downtown and Skid Row. One does not shit where they eat.(kemp)
"Shouldn't be much of a big deal with everyone around now." Moving towards the bag of goodies Tristan brought to start digging through for munchies.(james)
mouth otherwise unoccupied by his own version of twisted English
the sub sandwich disappears in far fewer bites than should be healthy
washed down by intermediate mouthfulls of the strong beer
(... ya gonna be feeling that one soon, eh, Jamey-boy?....)
quietly listening to his packmates converse(decker)
A nod. "On what -- Elston, near tha Fireside? We kin cover that. Use that as our western den. Let's set another one up here, in tha docks, on tha eastside. James 'n Tristan, kin you git on that?"(AnneMarie)
A nod. That'd be the one. Agreed, she makes a mental note to have keys made for those that need them, including the one for the basement and firearms cabinet. Sure, it's empty now, but of ammo for her own weapon, but the keys will be available none-the-less.(james)
the guttermutt levels off a slow nod
head tipping in gesture of meandering thought and plan
easy enough to find or damn well create what the Pack will need"Insi'e a week'r so." dark eyes strafe over to the prettyboi kin, an unnecessary convergence of like minds (.... Team Gnawer, at'chore service, Boss!....) for James is a showman, after all "Maybe less."
(Tristan)
His name's mentioned, and he looks up, victim of having let his mind wander. He nods, however, after sharing that un(so)necessary clash of dark eyes with his own, lop sided grin in reply. "No problem. I'll spread the word we're looking. Have possibles to check on shortly after." Nothin like being the cities best connected Kin..
(decker)
Decker nods again -- slow, moving more his neck on his shoulders than his head on his neck. The last of the sub is demolished, and he balls up the wrapping, tosses it into the fire. The plastic outerwrap is stuffed into the tractor, offhand. Ain't no treehugging conservationist, Decker."'Nother thing. Imogen says she got pictures of some killin's we oughta look at."
(kemp)
"Oh man, no nekkid girls?"(decker)
"Dead nekkid girls." Decker's grim.
(imogen)
A glance at Kemp, "I don't think it will be th'kind o' naked that you'd like."A glance up at Decker as he speaks her name, her mouth twisting in something that is both wry and a grimace at once. "Not yet. But I will." Unlike the others, she hasn't touched her sandwich, though she's swallowed some of her drink.
"And pictures o' where th'bodies were found, in case there's somethin' in 'em that I missed."
(( As an OOC FYI: Whoever gets the photos needs to roll some dice to try and decipher 'em, which means we need the ST, who isn't on. Heh. Or to Forums PM him, which would, you know. disrupt the flow. ))
(kemp)
Shrugging slightly, at least they would be quiet and not try to run over him. Bitches. Part of him could almost understand killing a girl. Falling back to stuffing his mouth with munchies.(decker)
(let's do it on forums, then.) Decker grunts. "Alright. Kin ya get 'em tomorrow night?" A beat of thought. "Might wanna show tha Wyrmfoe, too." Glance at Annemarie and Kemp. "Fuck happened with tha challenge? Yu Gan 'n Barny."(james)
Oh. Peachy.
the thought isn't broadcast
but the Gnawer's expression states the same
idle hands busying themselves with plucking a baggie out of his pocket
seperating out a little packet of rolling papers and then a single sheet from within
joint rolled in a few seconds flat before it's caught between flat white teeth
Zippo's flame sparking hazy scents spiraling into fire's smoke(AnneMarie)
She shrugs, slightly. It did not happen, as far as I know. I assumed it to mean we continue following Barny as Wyrmfoe.She glances toward James as he sparks and lights, before attention is drawn to the rest of her sandwich, finished, the wrapped thrown into the fire. she stretches long legs in front of her, then, crossing them lightly at the ankle and leans back on a hand pressed against the wooden planks.
(imogen)
Can she get them tomorrow? "I should," she answers, almost uninformatively. The conversation moves on to other things, and she turns her head for a moment to watch James roll his joint.(kemp)
Glad Annemarie answered cause he wasn't sure. Quietly watching James before muttering. "Gonna give me cancer." His ward against all things that caused bad memories or evil in his life.(decker)
There's a scowl. "Fuck they think a challenge is, a dinner invite ta make 'r ditch as they wanna? 'll check at tha Caern t'morrow."Might give Kemp cancer, but Decker seemed to think it was a good enough bargain: he holds a hand out for the joint, continuing, "Y'all remember that Glass Walker shit? 'Bout gittin' tha kin packed under Eagle too?"
(james)
sparked, lit, and lungful of fragrant smoke plumes back into the air a good 30 seconds later
arm stretches to his left and hands the J to his Alpha as proper
where the rotation goes after that is out of his hands
lopsided grin quirked at the young Rotagar in tease"Wha'.... li'e tha' dye ain' already sproutin' a brain tum'r?"
(kemp)
"No man, it says on the bottle it's safe. Don't see anything about the Surgeon General or just say no to drugs on the bottle." Pausing with a frown at Decker. "What kin?"(decker)
That earns Kemp a wtf look. Slow, like you talk to foreigners and retards: "Imogen, 'n Tris."(imogen)
The subject that Decker's brought up has earned him Imogen's undivided attention, though the reason, is unclear by her expression. She does, however, very likely remember the 'glass walker shit'.(kemp)
Frowning and sticking one finger in his ear to wiggle it like clearing something out before smacking himself up side the head before speaking again. "Ok, so like draw a picture cause I don't know what the fuck you are talking about."(james)
James just laughs at the comeback
actual reasoning aside, he can't really argue that logic
but his gaze turns intead to the shaved, undyed male Fenrir of the group and tipping a nod"Dunn get nowhere wi' th' Walkers tha' las' time I talk to'm 'bout it."
(decker)
"Imogen knows," is all Decker says. Passing the ball. Maybe he was tired of listening to himself talk. His eyes narrow as he sucks a hit, and then passes it to Annemarie -- skipping Kemp altogether, 'cause we all know he doesn't wanna get cancer.(Tristan)
He blinks, and looks over at Decker, curious. Pack like actual pack? Interesting concept.. and something he did not know was possible.He keeps his mouth shut, however, and listens carefully.
(AnneMarie)
She arches a slim brow as packing the kin is mentioned, but has nothing to add to it, unsure how it would be done. Instead, she leans forward to take the passed J, lift it to her lips, inhale and hold, as she passes it on to Imogen - or on to Tristan if she does not take it.(kemp)
Waving smoke away with a frown, even moving back out of the way of it all. "Oh good, bring up Glasswalker shit and then pass the buck. Will someone tell me what this mumbo jumbo is about? I mean are we talking doctor Jeckyl or what?"(imogen)
The redheaded kinfolk's gaze rests on Decker for moments after he's passed the buck, before she inhales, turning her head toward Kemp. "There's a rite that allows kinfolk t'be bounded t'the pack. Lets us in on th'.." her hand moves slightly, gracefully, indicating with motion the silent conversation that the Garou can take part in, "...thing."Her explanation is rudimentary, based upon her understanding, and her tone is without indication. Imogen could be on the witness stand, and she might sound just like this.
(kemp)
"So like it just lets ya talk in my damned head and hear shit, or does it give ya other things? Will ya change? Will ya get stronger? What else does it do and what's it take? I mean, seems to me if there is such a thing, everyone should of been doing it a long time ago in the cave man days and beyond."(decker)
"Naw. They don't change. But they kin git stronger. Talk in yer head. Hell, if they ever figger how ta channel Gnosis, they kin Clap yer ass too."Figger they have been doin' it fer ages. But 's a Glass Walker thang 'n they don't let on 'bout it." Sniff. "So we gotta find a Walker ta squeeze it outta."
(kemp)
"Well better not be me. I seem to piss everyone off so better be someone with a sweeter tongue. But I'd personally avoid the clap cause I don't want it on my ass or anywhere else."(Tristan)
Blinks. Interesting. He just chuckles at Kemp and teased. "Think of all the mom nagging you'd get then..." Having the ability to Clap someone's ass would be nice - so says the kin who almost always seems to be in trouble, who hasn't been in too much trouble lately which only means big wicked things lurking around corners....And then he's just chuckling at Kemp again.
(james)
"Camp'sss Diez Altim'eh" - or some semi-reasonable facsimilie thereof, in James-tongue "Bi'nary's las' I knew've wi' any c'nnec's."(decker)
"'S ask tha Grand Elder." The pack was a collection of accents, slurs, drawls and truncations. It's amazing anyone understood anyone else at all. And of course, by "let's" Decker means James. PR Man, welcome back. "He kin point us in tha right direction, maybe."(imogen)
Imogen rests her forearms on her knees, leans forward and listens, for now.(james)
the guttermutt chuckles low and rolling
let's of course translates to the PR department of Eagle pack
meaning the Army O' One that is... he
near empty bottle of Imperial Russian Ale lifts and tips in salute
(Lemme pencil that right in....)
expression once again saying what his mind and mouth do (or can-) not
patiently waiting for the topic to thus unfold beyond "Y'all remember...."
and give him more leverage than good looks to win the Grand Elder's help(decker)
Unfortunately, if James needed more clues than that, he'd have to ask. It's long since gotten dark on the shoreline. The fire Decker had built earlier doesn't seem so dim now anymore. In its ruddy glow, the Eagles sit gathered -- first time in how long?Oddly enough though, there's little contentment in Decker's pose. Maybe it's 'cause he was never one to sit around and have meetings, after all. Much rather hang with his crew on the street corners, cruise with them down the roads.
Still, this was long overdue.
"One more thing." James and Tristan didn't know this yet; the rest of them had had at least some warning already. "Been thinkin' 'bout pullin' tha Fangs in with us."
And that's it. He just tosses it out. Waits for comments, criticism -- hatemail.
(james)
Decker waits - and... yet again, he shall recieve"Are you outta y'r fuckin' min'e?"
the comment is actually laughed, strangely enough
dark umber eyes locked right on steely grey
this will probably hurt, later, but James isn't concentrating on that quite this moment(kemp)
Hate mail? Naw what he got was a glower and Kemp was getting up and moving back to the shadows. Grumbling right away. "Like who?"(AnneMarie)
She had received warning, yes. She was told to watch, yes. She had nothing to report as of yet, but had assumed even at the time of the request that he knew more then she was likely to find out.James laughingly explodes, and it is with far more steal then it would seem at first. She glances at him, then to Kemp, then back again to decker. It is a question that does need answering.
(Tristan)
....blink. And james took the words right out of his mouth adding only. "didn't learn the lesson last time?" yeah. that might hurt later too.
(imogen)
A glance to Kemp when he stands up, watching as he retreats toward the shadows, an eyebrow lifting in expression. Still, she holds her silence.(decker)
"Fuckin' ferget everyone in Chicago 'r somethin', Kemp?" Poor Kemp gets the brunt of Decker's kneejerk temper, though those eyes are locked right back on James. "Josephina. Gabriel."Pause.
"Fuck no," quieter. Quiet. "Ain't outta my mind. Think. Where's all tha shit flyin' outta? Downtown. Who holds downtown? Tha Fangs. Think they kin do it theyself?
"I don't."
(Tristan)
"Seems to me, if they can't, then they don't. And if that's the only benefit..." Pause, shakes head, kinfolk pretty boy should just keep quiet. Maybe someday he'll learn that lesson.(kemp)
"Right, and we are down here too. So fuck them. They can pack with someone else. They ain't alone, but it don't mean I want to suck their dicks either to make 'em all nice and cozy."
(james)
"Yeh."just as quiet
just as calm
he may be outranked - but James can match Decker's deadly stare
he's done it before and there's little doubt it will happen again and again
the guttermutt isn't going to back down
"'n you fuckin' ferget wh' happ'n th' las' two time we trus'd a Fang at'r backs?" the rhetoric is followed by a snort of discontent "I ain' makin' tha' mistake 'gain."(decker)
Funny. It's not the direct challenge that raises Decker's ire. It's Tristan's quiet comment. Leave it be. Or something along those lines, anyway. A sensible suggestion. Why bother picking up another's mess?And yet. It brings the weight of his stare swinging around to bear.
"What?"
The bottle of -- beer, russian ale, whatever it was he had -- ends its life in the fire. Pitched in. Thrown in. Decker's hands are open now, relaxed on his knees.
"They cain't. So they don't? You gonna say that 'bout tha caern too, Tristan?"
And then everyone's talking at once, and Decker just lowers his splitting head like a bull about to charge. Muscles tense. Jaw clenches. But motion, when it comes, is simple. Benign. He holds up his hand, as if he could physically shut off the barrage of words.
One at a time. To Kemp: "Someone else. Who? You gonna trust tha Quick ta hold Downtown? They cain't even hold theyselves. Who else? Tha Knights? Barny's tha only one I seen'a late, 'n I only seen 'im once in six months."
And to James.
A long pause."Tha first Fang frenzied. Tha second -- " something almost like a hesitation, as a frown flickers across his brow, " -- Tuck was my mistake. My respons'bility. I thought he was ...more'n he was. But Gabriel 'n Josephina ain't Tucker. Don't ferget they was the ones who bought out tha Wyrm while we was cleanin' 'em out in blood. They got contacts. Connections. We could use that.
"I ain't tellin' y'all ta decide tonight. 'M tellin' ya to think about it. Go seek 'em out. Talk to 'em. Test 'em. Strengths 'n weaknesses. Judge 'em as they is, not as ya think they is.
"Fair 'nough?"
(kemp)
"Oh Hello? Where the fuck did we just move? Is this downtown or am I blind and really in the Ritz in Cali?"(imogen)
The bottle flies into the fire, and the mixture of alcohol and heat causes it to shatter with a shock of sound. Imogen does not flinch, but she does straighten, deliberately, her muscles coiling tighter, as she follows the argument from Garou to kin to Garou to Garou. Other than AnneMarie, she is the only one who hasn't offered an opinion aloud.And hell, AnneMarie's mute. What'd you expect?
(Tristan)
Jump. Of course he does. and then he stands, slowly. And faces Decker. He meets his gaze a moment, then drops them, as he picks up his violin. His voice is just as low and angry, quiet but intensely furious. "No."that's it for a moment. His baby in hand. His chin lifted. "What I meant is this, and if you knew me as well as you think, you'd know what I meant. We are in Downtown. Therefore they don't hold it alone anymore. They couldn't do it on their own, and we're here now to pick up the slack. There's no need for them to be brought in, trusted as pack in order to do what you want. Alliences, truce, whatever you want to call them, but there ain't no way a fuckin' fang is gonna watch you back, most certainly not that fuckin whore Josephine. you think"
Yeah, her names well known around the clubbing scene, a scene he's connected with. Think her little trysts are completely unknown? think again.
"Remember that I almost died helping you raise that fucking Caern too. I don't have claws. I don't have teeth. I don't even get to get in and see what you get to there, it's JUSt a dock to me. But I do everything in my powerto help bring it here, and to help keep it. N'don't you fucking look down at me for doing my goddamn job and doing it well. AND. for all of that, You know what the pack decides I'll go for, because that too is part of who I am. But I ain't have to like it. And you don't have to like the fact I hate the thought of anything at all. And now, I'm going for a walk. If there's not anything else. rhya.."
And yeah. THAT one, is gonna hurt.
(kemp)
"Ya talk like they are the only ones in Downtown now, so we gotta take them in or something. They can't join with one of the other parts of packs because, well they aren't good enough or what?" Shaking his head slowly. "I ain't for it. I ain't for going to make nice, nice with them and doing some sort of soriety rush shit with them to bring them in. Stand on their own? Well if they have been then they are good enough to bring in some of the parts of packs and strays and increase their numbers. If they ain't that good, I don't want them either. Adn maybe I am the youngest and maybe I got no say in shit. Maybe I have a big ass mouth. So tell me to leave and I'll be one like you think they are, only just one." Nodding towards James and Tristan. "And what they said."(decker)
Hear that?Cracking of knuckles. Popping of neck as he cocks his head to one side, then the other. It's the sound of his temper wearing thin. His eyes are fixed on the fire; the fire's reflected in his eyes, and deeper, burning like molten steel in his veins. The fire's the only safe place to look right now. And disrespect only goes so far in making a point. That distance is almost spent.
His tone is so low they can barely hear him. That's not a good thing.
"You best watch yer fuckin' mouth when you speak to me." It's impossible to tell who he's speaking to. "I ain't tellin' you again."
After a moment he reaches down and takes a handful of gravel from the ground. Lets it trickle from one hand to the other, through his fingers, back to ground.
Centering, maybe.
Holding on to his temper.Exhale.
"Lissen." He's speaking through clenched teeth. He's about done speaking, period. "'m askin' one thing as yer fuckin' Alpha. Think on it. Measure tha Fangs yerself. Then come back in a week 'n tell me yes 'r no.
"You don't wanna?" The last of the gravel slips to the ground and he rises, dusting his hands off on one another. Slow. Methodical. "Then let's talk in blood."
(James)
in a previous life, the Ahroun would have expected his packmate to simply explode
he's been witness to numerous occasions that took no more than a single trigger for detonation
partially, he'd tensed to brace against the avalanche sure to come after the flying bottle
but maybe the Modi isn't the only that's grown in the past half-yeardreads slide along strong shoulders as the guttermutt's head tilts
quietly listening (... acknowledging....) to the careful explanation
glancing towards the prettyboi's outburst
rotating around to catch the Rotagar's follow-up
and still.... James sits silent as their newest packmate
considering his own response just as deliberately as their Alpha did just moments agothe flare of Rage is ebbing from deep, earthen eyes
the primal animal fading away to leave the man's soul bared"'n what'bou' th' one tha' destroy' Rune's condo?" the question is nearly a murmur, hovering just about the fire's softly crackling flames - he knows Decker's hearing is good enough "She wan't Tuck'r, eith'r.... but they were all Fang'. I dunna 'bout you, Deck, but I'm runnin' outta things I c'n lose on chancin' faith. Work' wi' Jose'phina b'fore, an' I'm not ssssaying I won' do so 'gain. I'll figh' b'si'e her'n Gabr'el, use their contac's, c'nnec's, 'r whatev'r else they got comin'."
another pause, solid hit off the roach would go here, if he had it
too bad he'll have to settle for smokey air"But I will no'h call a Fang broth'r. No'h like you. Kem'. 'r any've th' res' tha' were real pack. If y'r askin' one thing'z my Alpha.... don' make it be a choose."
both hands raise, palm open, in submission
he's said his piece and won't argue anymore
gaze drifting away in deferrence towards the fire
it's clear enough that James' choice is made a full seven days early
there won't be any blood to spill tonight or come next Monday(decker)
Decker's tired of flapping his jaw.There's probably shit he could say. Hell. Kemp picks up some of it. Bits and snatches leaked to the totemphone. 'm wrong all tha fuckin time. Like when I put Imogen with th'other kin 'n she got hurt. When she would've been alright otherwise...
...what 'bout you? Cain'tcha be wrong --
-- I AM ASKIN YER FUCKIN OPINION THIS TIME --
...jus shuthafuckup.Just shut the fuck up.
But none of this comes out his mouth. He just clenches his jaw. It seems the storm has passed them by. Sometimes he thinks this pack could do with a little less talking, a little more bloodshed. Like a real fuckin' Fenrir pack. But this pack isn't a Fenrir pack. Not wholly. And you get what you get. And he wouldn't change it for the world. There was strength in diversity. Or some such shit.
"You want me ta lissen to you, Kemp, you give'it a week before you gimme yer final answer." Pause. "You too, James. One week."
Problem with the Eagles: they were all stubborn as hell.
A glance around. "'m done talkin'. Takin' a walk." Pause again. "Y'all comin'?"
(Tristan)
Maybe they can't tell who it's aimed at. Its enough that Tristan considers it directed at him. There's nothing from him, however, other then a nod. Jaw clenched so tight that it pops.There are reasons he does not hang around the pack house, wherever it might be, much any longer. There are reasons he spirits in, does some things, and leaves while no one is there. The older he gets, the harder it is to play the good little Kinfolk with a penchance for cleaning and no opinions. He'd always spoken up before, he's been beaten down before. Perhaps now, he's simply tired of the beat down.
He'll cook, he'll clean, he'll play maid, he'll.... fuck it. Right now, he's walking. "Later." That's it. He glances at james - perhaps there's an apology writ in his eyes, perhaps not. Maybe the glance was just too quick to see, to tell, or maybe his brother knows him so well it's not even necessary. But regardless, his violin in hand, and he's walking away.
(AnneMarie)
She takes the baggy donated, tucks it into her pocket -it'll be placed somewhere in the packhouse and the location filled in. She stands, and smoothes her slacks across her thighs, her hands tucking into her jacket. She's not said a word on any of this, and the only thing she does now is nod. She'll walk with Decker.(imogen)
Imogen shakes her head at Decker's question. She isn't coming. One can imagine the kinfolk has to get up early tomorrow for work, and already, the hour is late, and the sun is closer to rising, than it is to having set. One can imagine she has had enough of this.A glance toward Anne Marie, and she reaches into her jacket pocket, to pull out a small notepad, flipping through pages filled with various notes all in the kinfolk's nearly illegible doctor's scrawl. "If yeh gi' me the address o' th'new place, I'll come by t'morrow wi' the photos, and gi' 'em to whoever's there," she says, offering the mute the notepad, as her head turns to watch as Tristan stalks off.
(AnneMarie)
She nods, and reaches for the notepad, and writes the address down in her neat, precise handwriting. Under it, adding "I will be there." before she hands it and the pen back.
(kemp)
He was to the point he didn't care if Decker listened or not because he knew he wouldn't listen. He'd fuckin do what he wanted and to hell with them all. It was a waste of energy. Heaving a long exhaled sigh. "Night Tris." That was all he said. Right now he was busy considering his place in the pack. Pack was like a bird cage and he was the low man, the lining on the bottom of the cage and guess where all the shit fell?
(james)
the raggedyman's initial response would be something along the lines of flippant
a collection of phrase mocking the necessity to hear something twice to understand
but what would such things be coming from the mouth of Eagles' mellow Ahroun?
little more than pebbles cast against granite, likely
there's a roll of his shoulders that shoves away the biting anger
why waste breath now when it's just going to be repeated come deadlineNah. the problem with Eagles, they were all stubborn as hell Think I've been walking enough lately. Just got here. dark eyes roaming over the deepening shadows creeping across the docks, TotemPhone tones so much different than the mangled reasoning that must still echo somewhere in the waves Probably wouldn't hurt to.........
just what _is_ the story behind the Gnawer's absence?
it drifts nightmare just beyond the abandoned musing thought
shoulders rolling as weight shifts foreward and to his feet
dark gaze catching the paraphrased glance of the prettyboi
explanations lost in the dismissing push of shrug
(..... shit happens, we'll work it out....)
lopsided grin erasing the former direction of his packspeak
head shaking the shortened mop of dreads back into proper disarraywhat the fuck was he thinking?
one rocky meeting sorely failed in filling the void from the past six months
pack's been apart for far too long(imogen)
Imogen takes the paper from AnneMarie, glances at the address and the missive written beneath and nods. "Ta," says the pure-bred kin, with Fianna blood in her veins."Enjoy yer walk," it's said in general to those gathered, because what Jukebox has said is on unheard channels, and the kinfolk steps away, putting the notepad away, and then sliding her hands into the pocket of her jacket.
From here, she'll head. Well, wherever it is she's heading. Work, home. Whatever.
[end]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMMay 19, 2005.05.19.05. - sidekick employment agency [imogen][riverfront - back home in chicago!]
(james)
a 12 mph wind isn't enough to truly disturb the growing fog
it's rolling in off moist pastures surrounding the city in seige
snaking through the open airway maze between the concrete spires
fondly blanketing the streets and alleys in constantly thickening layer
settling comfortably around the low density places not yet occupied by moving beingthe being, however, is just enough of an addition to make a difference
hazy smoke swirling away in ghostly wake that slowly fades
playing tricks with shadows from yellowing streetlamps
makes the moisture-laden air seem to sentiently wipe away evidence of his passagemoments after his path culminates to perch on convenient railing
the slate's been wiped clean as if he'd been sitting there all along
vaguely translucent mists returning to a state only disturbed by the windit's like he'd never been gone at all
dreadlocks swaying in the swelling tides breezing by
shortened lengths playing far more freely with the light temptation
makes it a bit more difficult to light up that Camel
ropey threads keep clambering over his knuckles to reach for flame
and it's only after the third angle found by head and shoulders that the Ahroun succeedsexhale disappears into the fog
smoke curling away then just... lost... in the night air
deep umber eyes roaming just as negligently about the scene before him
a moment taken to refamiliarize himself with those aspects of home(imogen)
Sun is setting. It ignites the sky like flames, and catches across the river, giving life to a city that is all cold glass and grey concrete. Cold city set on fire, give it a moment, squint just right......and it's almost beautiful.
Imogen does a rare thing when she sees James - known as Jukebox - sitting up on that railing, and having his smoke. She smiles at the sight of his dread-locked raggedy back of his head, his back and his tattered coat. It's a quick smile, a moment of a curving of her mouth, and it fades quickly. His back is turned, and he doesn't even see it. But she smiles, nonetheless.
Smile gone, she comes up behind him, her foot scraping against the concrete sidewalk. Imogen is not clumsy - such things are done on purpose. Garou are dangerous, when caught unawares.
She comes up beside him on the railing, glancing up at him, before taking out her own package of cigarettes, tapping one out into her palm. When the cigarette is lit, and she's taking her first exhale, she finally speaks.
"Welcome back."
(james)
his back is turned, so he cannot see her endangered smile
there's no revelation of the setting sun's fog-filtered sheen on firey hair
or the way petite form cuts through thickening blanket as a scythe
delineations of strength writ in the subtle phrase of heiritage and persona
or a dozen other conceivably romantic things dreamed up within the growing hazeno - not a single means of connection exists between the two save a steadily decreasing amount of feet separating their worlds
"'sure sigh' f'r sore eye'."
he still hasn't turned around
scuffed heel merely etiquette announcing her arrival
he recognized her approach long before
just as she can recognize the lopsided grin that formed in salutation
shown by the gentle swell of muscle barely revealed along the back of rugged jawline
betrayed by the warming tones clashing with temperate chill
or something else only she would be astute enough to notice giving true meaning to flippant phrase(imogen)
There are a few people - Garou - in this world with whom Imogen is comfortable. And fewer still that she would be pleased to see again.He says that it's a sight for sore eyes, and perhaps he means her, or perhaps he means the river, or the sunset. As it is, she makes a soft sound that is mostly mirth.
She takes another drag off her cigarette, and silence falls, spilling between them. Cigarette smoke spills from her mouth as she exhales, her hand reaching up to push back strands from her face, tucking them behind her ears. Her hair is pulled back, as it always is. Her hair falls into her eyes, as it always does.
There isn't too much she has to say after that. Not 'Where have you been?' or 'How are you?' or 'Back for good?'
Just silence and a cigarette smoke and the setting sun.
(james)
she makes a sound that's mostly mirth
a strange harmony that lingers no further than the hollow between her tonsils
a tone never meant to reach for chilling air as was his
a private comment forming only enough to create a presence in silent conversationcuriosity in what little suggestion grows to complex interaction between them
there are others the raggedyman could, reasonably, be sitting beside on this very street
the moments filled with peppering questions which demand the litany for absence past
explanation and excuses gaining favor so glorious stories would be heard
a riotious homecoming to celebrate the reconnection of friendship shared
..... and with Dr. Slaughter, it's the silence James prefers they share"So...." serenity of approaching night broken at long length somewhere around the halfway point of his Camel, expression guided by the barring force of arm's lift to scruff fingers through somewhat ill-behaved shortened dreads, lifting to a weightless grin crookedly shaping a lazy murmur ".... anyone ap'ly f'r tha' si'ekick p'zition 'r th' job st'll op'n?"
a glance of deep umber eyes past the bunched fabric armoring shoulder
millisecond connection of sight that reveals the morse-code playful glitter cavorting beneath earthen hue
it's almost silly the way he turns back to the water just before it's wholly recognized
defeats the purpose of beginning the contact in the first place, it would seemunless..... one was to consider the lack of logical convention present in any such past encounter
(imogen)
Silence, then. Imogen, herself, prefers it, as well. One might think this is fair play. That were Imogen to leave for months on end, and then were to return, she would prefer to be met with silence and a lack of questions, than a barrage of them.Silence, then.
Until James breaks it, his cigarette half done, hers half-way finished as well. So.. he begins and she turns her head briefly to look up at him. Sometimes after being far from the kin, it's easy to forget things about her. How slight she is, how small (the memory of her indomitable personality leaves a memory much larger than life). How fiery her hair, and how pure her breeding. How dark her eyes when the sun has gone down.
The question brings forth a smirk, one corner of her mouth lifting. The darkness of her eyes swallows any light that amusement might bring, but her smirk speaks it instead.
"Well," another drag of her cigarette, "No one ever seemed t'measure up."
(james)
"Izzat so...."brows lift in tandem towards the ropes of hair in a constant state of rearrangement
freeze-frame second at their arrival that's just enough to pause the dreads in constant wind-driven motion
while it's likely just a result of this new tip of skull into the never-ending winds
the street theater in James is surely not quite yet dead
miniature performance continuing to the thoughtful half-frown around a thoughtful drag
lungful dispelled to the night as if some fortune was told within those spiraling patterns
dark eyes meet some figure with cloak-and-dagger secrecy on that far off corner down the road
ashes tapped free in concert with the slightest tip of his chin in sage-like nod"Jus' migh' give't a whirl m'sel'..... provi'e th' term' seem reas'able 'nuff." a thoughtful pause for heart's single beat "Hear'f th' payz goo'?"
(imogen)
That so.
"Mm." It's a sound of ascent, and little more.Her smirk remains playing across her mouth as she leans her forearms on the railing again, looking out past them both to the black river. The wind plays with her hair, sending strands whipping away from her face, freeing a few more from her clip. She taps ashes from her cigarette, and turns back to look at James once more.
"Payment is rendered," to many, she might well sound serious. It takes someone who knows Imogen to hear the wry tone in her low voice, "in pizza and beer."
Maybe at some point in this evening, or afterward, James may notice that the kinfolk is without her pager. She wears jeans, and the number of times the raggedyman has seen her with it clipped to her pocket is uncountable.
Her cigarette finished, she flicks it away from her, turning back, arching an eyebrow in the Bone Gnawer's direction. "Acceptable?"
(james)
attention narrows as the serious explanation pulls together
James doing his part to lean in close enough that no detail will be missed
nodding grimly to each item listed as compensation for a sidekick's folley
then a moment spent in silence to consider the breadth of such an opportunity of wealth and fame
properly assessing the situation - nothing less would, of course, doit's the longest he's studied her since each put flame to paper
dark eyes meeting the equally dark shadows in night-painted blue
of all he's noticed through past glances of the kinfolk dishing the deal to his future employment
rare has been the occassion his eyes wandered away from her gaze
and only then it's nothing more than observation provoked by injury's clue
he won't notice her pager's gone until enough time passes without it's hailing beep"Thing I c'n live'ih tha'."
it's spoken to the riverwaters previously attracting her weighty gaze
some grand declaration to the unseen forces which play invisable audience to their skit
he would do best with a dramatic gesture to punctuate the decision's essence of finality
but dignity adheres to the casual flick of smoked down filter to the black rippling waves"Where I sign uh?"
(imogen)
The smirk twitches a fingersbreadth from a smile as she straightens from the railing to look up at the Ahroun."Yer participation has always been assumed."
(james)
the twitching smirk is met with a sidelong glance
and raised a low, throated chuckle"Well... tha' cu's out hav'n a make a good'n'pression a'thuh inn'rview."
(imogen)
A smirk, "That cuts out havin' t'run the interview," she replies, flipping perspective effortlessly."Hungry?"
(james)
laughter barks across the river's black waters
chasing away echoes of that low chuckle
shifting the mood as easily as she flipped perspective
weight rotating to return boots to sidewalk"Chris' wom'n... though' you'd nev'r as'."
invitation's sweeping arm offering an half-bow escort that will never be taken seriously
attempting to revive the swiftly failing evidence of formality with obvious afterthough
for appearances sake, and all that other shit a business venture is supposed to entail
(... it's good to be home, Jamey-boy)[end]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMMay 18, 2005.05.18.05. - lunatic revelations [retro in albany] *fr[albany, ny - retro]
(something wicked)
How long has it been? Days, weeks, months? Minutes, maybe hours? It is hard to tell, really. It's little things, things that cause things to swim and fade in and out of context. Sounds, sights, and ugh. smells.One sense at a time, starting at the worst.
Smell: Urine. feces. blood. rot.
wyrm.Sounds. Muffled voices. One sharp, one slurred beyond recognition, laughter. Crying. A baby. hungry, wet, all of the above.
Sights... nothing. darkness. putrid cloth covers his eyes, blocks any light, an references.
Feeling: Shoulders ache, arms behind back, bound from wrist to elbow, something holding elbows high, so high shoulders feel like they're being pulled from sockets, body weight hanging, feet barely touching the ground, but perhaps enough room to stand and release some pressure. If he can stand.
Everything hurts.
Perceptions.... he is not alone.
(james)
scentit's first choice tool for bringing someone to
smelling salt capsule broken open
ammonia mauling the unconscious senses
snapping a distant mind back to the harsh present
drop-kicking a soul into a situation it may or may not desire to be in
disorienting at best, debilitating in a whole new way at worstthe smell of urine isn't that far off
the animal wrinkles its human nose at the offense
drawing attention towards pain welling from waking bruised skin
it expands into the dull ache pressurizing skull
gravity calling to point hazy agony burning his shoulder jointsphysical assessment finds its way home far before sight lazily returns
shadow people dancing in the blanket of darkness
ghostly voices echoing some parallel from some radio tuned just off-station
no..... that's not a radio.... that's not a blanketperceptions.... he is not alone
ketamine's left a foul taste in his mouth
no telling if the bloodscent matches acid-etched lacerations decorating his chest
he couldn't see past the filthy blindfold if he tried - wanted to
lips pull back a distasteful grimace finding a stretch does little to relieve the strain on his shoulders
breath hissing past clenched teeth with little thought to consequence(.... oh just what did you get yourself into now, Jamey-boy....)
(something wicked)
Movement, hissed breath, bring bored gaze around to the hanging man. whipsnap of something across unseen, unheard lines, and then the thud of chair legs landing on the floor.footsteps move toward him, and just as he might consider stretching again, there's a kick that lands squarely in his side sending him swinging from his rope again....
"tick tock, it never stops" sing song voice hissed close to dreadlocks as he comes close again. This voice he remembers. The slur is new, thanks to him, and miss-healed jaw.
In the back, the baby abruptly quiets.
nails drag down bare chest, across the newest of his welted scars, still tender to the meandering, almost teasing touch. "Ready to talk, yet, Jukebox? Oh yes, we know who you are... we've been waiting for you..."
(james)
movement. sound. impact.resultant grunt is anything but discernable "talking"
some gutteral exhalation in the language of his primal ancestors
it hardly does justice to bitter smirk twisting below the blindfold
there's some notion of self-satisfaction hearing a newly-placed slur"Yeh?" gravely and clipped, whatever tones slide out of a parched throat get cut short by the command of touch tease/torturing not-quite-healed wounds "Y'r red carpe' welc'm'z a bit lackin' f'r gues'lis' vee eye peeeeeezzz...'less I miss th' fruit bask't on my way'n."
the lingering effect of whatever tranq's they're using produce interesting effects
far more pleasant than any loyal Gaian should be in such a situation
unless.... packing with all those Get truly has driven James crazy
a distinct possibility, for sure, but safe bet's on the intravenous cocktail swimming beneath his flesh
and that the BoneGnawer Elderman's far more cavalier than is good for him"S'whenzz Mizz Walt'rssssshowin' up f'r th' innerview?"
(something wicked)
"Ah, yeeeeeeeeeeeeees..." the hiss as she slides around him, those nails still doing dastardly deeds across his flesh, sliding down along the sagging waistband of his jeans, teasing across the curve of hipbone and back up across the wounds again...."Far too dirty for Mizz Walt'rsssss, Jukebox... a bath, first...."
She steps away, and there's the sound of voices, then of water, then? The pressure of a hose suddenly, chillingly held on him. Top of head, down over him, front and back, water draining down somewhere near his feet, some of the rancid scents draining with it. But not enough.
Another voice. frightened, timid, cowering in the corner. "wash him. if he continues to stink like that you'll redo it with your tongue you sniveling get." a crack and tumble, and a body stumble falls rolls through the slick floor. "and use this." clatter, then a groan. And a slam of the door.
There's silence but for the sniffling breaths of the person left, who grabs the wire bristled brush, dips it into a bucket of soapy water, and starts to attack the hanging body vigoriously. Apparently, S/he's already learned the value of doing the job right... the first time.
(james)
first contact inspired a beastial grunt
second brought the levity of a street performer to light
third? does justice to whatever gutter James hails fromcold reaction growl waxes utterly unintelligable to the wire brush's attentions
some gibberish of urban jive seasoned with slurring defamation in Gaia's high-mother-tongue
just for kicks there's probably a few words in there that haven't found their way into a lexicon quite yetit leaves his chest heaving
(.....does that tickle or does it hurt?!)
shock jangling assaulted nerves as water rains to the floor
such a satisfying writhe of discomfort is wholly unintentional
tendons in his shoulders stretching with disconcerting creaks
blind cycling kick probably quite amusing - as it's clear he can't make it anywhere
might as well just forget about the glory of Garou super-healing"ssssshhhhhhhhiiiiiit" that laugh must be nervous - else the ghetto prince is in worse shape than anyone ever thought "Wha'...." punctuated by a dramatic parade of long sniiiiiiffs which play at inspection - likely serving to keep his flesh from turning inside-out "..... ain' rose scen'ed?" that ... can't... be a pout.... can it? "I'm crush'."
those have gotta be some damned. good. drugs.
(.... cause he has to be aware of how possible that observation could be....)(sw)
the... kin, one would suppose, stops. fingers halting in the assault of cold water and soap. There's a glance at the bucket, at the Garou, and maybe even a sniffling sniff to see. Nope. Something harshly industrial, for sure.There's a finger over the brush, and then whisper soft across pouted lip, curious. before a harsh word is heard rooms over. a whipcrack, a cry, and suddenly that brush is applied with renewed vigor, until satisfied.... and the hose is put to use again to rinse.
Only after the assault, does the small figure cleans the bucket and the brush, near the Garou's feet, and the drain there. Industrial, or rose scented, both the floor and Jukebox smell better, which affords some sort of relief, one would assume.
(james)
reactionit's an equivalent aspect to this little slice of Dinner Torture Theater
the Garou responds to provocation's assault on battered form
the.... kin? washer follows his lead by tiny acts of curiosity
it brings a shadowed wraith of showman's charm to split lipsif there's another smug expression making an appearance
it's presence is far too breif to register
a twisting rise of smirk hurrying away before the final rinse cycle
tasting whisper dropped on pouted lip
(.....purebred....)
whipcrack's cry pitched far too high for gender's ambiguity
(.....female)
there's a huffing breath filling splatter's pause when the figure cleans beneath his feet"Thank'."
grin quirking lopsided on downcast face
following the direction of sounds caused by wordless chores
honing in on the fluctuation of this mystery figure's scented flesh
except for that obvious blindfold problem - James pulled off a reasonably direct gratuity
warm earthen gaze potentially resting on the washer's features
guided by the tunnel walls formed in tangle of hanging dreads
genuine relief showing to a decline of filth's intensityjust because he's a tried and true Gnawer doesn't mean he has to smell like the Great Trash Heap
just because his hosts lacked five-star hospitality doesn't mean he has to be an ungrateful guest"I'd give y'a tip f'r th' firs'ra'e s'rvice... but uhhhh...... seems my walle'sssssss in my oth'r jack't....."
damned. good. drugs.
(sw)
thank'The words startle the young one into stillness, looking up at the Hanging Gnawer with something akin to awe, and perhaps surprise. Ok - definite surprise. There's a quick glance toward the door, and then back to the man, [monster], judging... weighing the possibilities.
And maybe it's the smile, or the kindness, or the... drug induced humor. But the skinny little form stands, and there's the touch again, feather light, lifting the blindfold just enough to allow him all important sight, though it still is limited, and looks as if his gaze is still completely covered.
The view is now an empty room, cement floor, big old drain, water, bucket brush, and a scrawny female kin of maybe 15 or 16 years old. She doesn't look to be in much better shape then he is, except that she has freedom of movement, and uses it to bend to scrubbing the floor again.
Voices in the distance, but not moving closer, yet.
((oooooooooooh about 8x12. door in front of him, blacked out window, midsized, on the wall to his right, nothing on the back, or the other side. ))
(james)
he offers a word of thanks
he follows with a twisted phrase of wry satire
the ensuing pause is enough to tickle his attention
just enough to anticipate yet one more, essential reactionsomewhere behind the fuzz, a Warrior's mind calculates
walls at least a body's length beyond periphreal in any direction
water's washing towards the drain just below him
so the closed door's probably straight ahead with themthar distant voices
slammed shut with solid oak finality almost rattling some window off to his right
he wouldn't even have noticed it if it weren't for chipped black paint letting light sneak in
mingling with the sickening yellow glow off that bulb buzzing just overhead
..... probably right next to the hook he's been strung up on like a side of beef
but at least the muted smell gives way no other bodies in the roomthere's no subsequent turn of phrase for the teenager's gift of peeling touch
no betrayal of what could easily get her killed if noticed
just a huffed grunt that stems from the sting of shifting weight
flickering smile easily mistaken for a hissing grimace
roaming attention delerious response to the numbing drugs and screaming painif..... one missed the split-second glance from far behind blindfold's shadow
revealing what isn't said swimming somewhere within earth-umber eyes
far too quickly floating back out of captured beast's lucid focus
it must have been a dream, a whim smoking away on afterthought
true monsters prisoned in chains aren't capable of such expressive emotion(....aren't they.....?)
(sw)
it wasn’t missed, though it was not acknowledged either as she bends to finish her work, quickly scrubbing the rest of the floor and giving it one more rinse with the hose to send the rest of the filth down the drain, though his pants are beyond any type of repair, at least he, and the room smells better.She gathers the bucket and brush, and with one last look toward him, she offers just the slightest hint of a smile before head ducks, and she's pulling open the door - with effort. It is certainly solid, and heavy - and disappearing around it before pulling it mostly closed again.
there's voices again, the kin's voice murmurs, another smack and whimpered cry, and then silence. Then footsteps. Heels, the strappy sort, of course, and heavier steps. One's he wouldn't recognize. Likely belonging to Krrraasssh.
His indulgent chuckle enters the room first, followed by an exhale of coying cigarette smoke, and finally his large, burly form. He's built like a shit brickhouse and he knows it. Confident, strong - and did we mention handsome enough to garner the adoration of many? Perhaps even, at some point in time, a pretty boi kin, should they ever meet.
"Much better. Now we'll have a little chat. Where's the one you call Blood Eagle." Cuts right to the chase, this one. The strappy heeled mis-aligned jaw steps to the side of the door, crosses her arms, and leans against the wall. Silent.
(james)
any acknowledgement is ignored
dark eyes sliding closed beneath lowered blind
sheilding themselves from the abrasive fabric
relaxing the strain on bruised and swollen skin.... or.... James has decided it's a good time to revel in what's left of those tranquilizers....
either way, there's little observable reaction to the incoming entourage
neither the coying smoke or handsome looks pull his attention from inner thoughts
though his head tilts at the question, half-covered ears angling to properly catch the phrase
it inspires a movement that continues from swaying dreads to dry, dry lipsthat laugh
not just nervous, tittering, high-pitched laughter - oooooh ho ho no
this is full throated, Ahroun's gonna regret it in a minute cause his ribs'll re-crack, kind of laughter
sort of like Krrraasssh just told an award-winning joke"Ssssorry pal.... y'r guess'iz good'iz mi'e." momentary pause pulling breath in around freshly washed and complaining clawmarks "Ain' seen'm f'r munthssss." head turning to aim a seriously amused grin rather lopsidedly at the probable location of one apparently handsome shithouse "Wha's my cons'lation pri'z?"
(sw)
"Oh they said you were a smart ass. Not smart, by any means, but a smart ass." Krrraasssh seems.. amused. And it's no mistake that the woman, as perfectly made up as she is, cringes at that amusement."Now then. How bout we cut the shit, and you use that little totemphone of yours, and call him... distance may be far, but for bonded folk, tis never too far, is it..." A pause, as a hand rests of aching shoulder and pushes.. down.... slightly - just enough to set off flares of agony through tortured muscles. As for your prize, perhaps we'll let Farranth there get even for the little bit of surgery you did on her jaw. Or maybe we'll let you watch us take care of that little squalling brat upstairs. Time will tell. Get the bloodeagle on the line, there's a good boy...."
All the while he presses harder on that left shoulder.
(james)
one handsome brick shithouse facing off with a more disheveled than not guttermutt
both wearing the same. disturbing. amusement.
lopsided as it may be, James matches that cringe-worthy state ounce for ounce
agony helping rip that smile wide open
bearing his teeth just as much as what laughter rolls drunkely thick from battered chestwhat was once his trademark easy grin is lost somewhere behind a hard expression that contorts a dark, hungry, hunter's smile - if only his captor's realized just who first brought it out in the raggedyman Ahroun.... poetic irony, there
"Dunna th' num'r."
blindfold hides mocking challenge dancing in those drug-hazed eyes
leaving translation of that smile to each individual imagination
sweat trickling down his jawline promises revelation through flaring pain
............. or the delighted masochism of a suicidal loon"Set'cher wile-cat un y'r source.... fucker's been rea'in' outa da'e news."
(sw)
"YOU LIE!"Crack(..ed), the armour of handsome devil shows weakness in the sudden swing and major backhand that sends the raggedy elderman swinging off his hook and bonds, as he turns and stalks toward his little woman lounging against the door. "Get it. Get it now."
She nods, and all but scurries out of the door. Her calm is twisted in the sudden wash of rage from the leader of this little pack. Krrraaashhh stops, and takes a breath, chin leading neck into a slow stretch of neck that pops the spine before he turns again.
"We know all about you. From Jersey, to Chicago. We know he's been roaming - been causing a bit of havok. We aim to put him to rest at last. You will lead us to him. Or you will lose anything and everything important to you."
He steps closer, he puts both meaty hands on James's shoulders, and presses. "Your pack. Your friends. Your challenge, of course...." and he leans closer and whispers in dangerous purr across Jukebox' ear... "And your oh so pretty brother..."
(james)
armor cracks and backhand sends the Full Moon a-saWAYin' in the breeze
(...wheee! lookit the pretty stars!.....)
grunted whelp mangled by that curiously returning laughter
jaw flexed in a series of rice-crispied pops that bid farewell to functional cartilege
(.... as if James didn't have a hard enough time speaking clearly before....)
blood splatters down his chin to mist on cement floor
it takes a few swipes of his tongue to clear enough away for speech
moments spent wishing he'd picked up a certain pain resisting Gift before this little adventure"Th'ell yeh ssssssmokin', pal?" pause to lick, smear, and swallow "Wha' ma'e you thing I dunn lose ev'thing the secon' wilecat, ther', gut me righ' inna these bon'age digzzzz?" his chuckle is thick and wet "If yeh know AWWWLLLL abou' me -"
another pause, here
likely for dramatic effect by the urban showman
as he's just given up on managing that little waterfall flowing from gashed tongue
instead flashing Mr. Brutality there a rather red and equally silly grin"- then yeh know how stup'd y'r soun'in' wi' these Jamez Bon' lines." fortunately, the dreadlocked captive decides against nuzzling into that purr with a witty remark concurring his brother's good looks, accepting instead a weak wiggle that shifts his dreads between ear and tickling croon cause there's few other available options under weight of meaty palms "Ain' gunna werk. Cuz I....
DON'T! KNOW! WHERE! HE! IS!"
head dropped back to holler a response as close to Krrraassh's ear as, well, a blind man can hypothetically aim
seems the brute had a hearing problem - should've been clear enough the first time
gotta make sure he gets the whole message in Round 2
must be that whole well-mannered, helpful, and gracious guest thang mothers impose on their sons
wouldn't Grisella be proud...... oooooh lordy this is gonna hurt.....
(sw)
Oh. this is going to hurt. Head down, he doesn't even wince from the yell, and maybe it is the Wyrmspawn that chooses to nuzzle now, murmuring softly as he inhales deeply of the raggedly mans scent. "Oh, how I'm going to enjoy this..."His messenger comes in, and Krrraaasssh spins again, and this time the force of his swing that connects solidly into the Gaian's ribs, sends his swing hard enough to pull the hook from the ceiling - flying gaian crashes into far corner, and Krrraaasssh takes a moment to straighten his shirt, smooth it across his belly.
Just as the little kin who had smiled at James, who had shown curiosity, and kindness, what little she could get away with, comes in holding the infant.
Nothing else matters but the child. Samson is his name. Nothing else matters.
The baby whimpers, and the kin calms him with a slow rock and soothing (...terror breeds under the murmur...) sounds.
"First I'll kill the child. Then you can watch the abuse and eventual death of the Kin, and then I shall pull you limb from limb. And then, I shall mail you back to your pack in pieces. One a week, perhaps. Until they've enough of a puzzle to end this silly cherade of innocence. I would not expect you to give up easily, of course. If you need to vomit, please aim toward the drain."
(james)
yup.
it hurt.
it really hurt.Krrraasssh is about halfway through his oration before James can once again breath
it takes absolutely no medical training to discern several ribs are greviously out of place
he doesn't recall ever having cruuuunched with each cycling breath
so a professional opinion is bypassed in the sudden, critical assessment of his current level of health
time spent trying to rewind the movie and pick up that rooster's crowing speech"Yeh?" chuffed laugh evolves into choked wince (... smart one, Jamey-boy), Ahroun worming his way between floor and wall to partially upright resting..... smear.... temple rubbed against an unbeLIEVably misangled shoulder to pull the blind halfway from his eyes "Where yeh thing that'a get'cha?"
neck rotates (...ow) to spit a mouthful of blood past his knee and onto the floor
squirming with tedious efficacy to find a remotely comfortable position"Kill th' kid, yeh lose y'r lev'rige a wha' th' Gai'ns 're af'r. Kill th' kin -" chin jerks up at the girl before he can think better of it "- 'n yeh lose y'r maid a clean'p th' mess y'r g'nna make a me. Kill me.... 'n all y'r gunna get's my pack comin' cav'lry inna wh'tev'r trap y'r gonna set a try'n ma'e th' sa'e mess've'm.... 'n yeh still ain' gettin' th' guy y'r af'r."
pause. breath. spit. again. and try that breathing thing one! more! time!
(.... it's... not really working, James)
the Ahroun's level look is sorely misplaced in the pool of blood, sweat, spit, and ever increasing pain marionetted against the wall
downright comical with that blindfold slipping earthward most inopportuntely
at least it's blacking out those spinning concrete slabs and pesky stargnats floating about"Nothin' more'n a temp'r tantr'm, in my book, pal. 'spect'd bed'r." a shrug translates through minimal smile and tilting jaw, sparing his shoulders any more immediate abuse "'lease giv'a guy a smo'e while y'r comin' up wi' s'mthin' that'll impress'm. Y'owe me tha' mush f'r th' le'down."
james roll persuasion: to ::Something Wicked::: 4D10 Dice Roll: 4; 8; 3; 8
diff 6
2 sux(sw)
Persuasive little git, isn't he... "A smoke, is it?" There's a chuckle, deep - dark. demented as he nods, and with a fling of his fingers toward the kin and infant, he makes some gesture. perhaps he's asking for a smoke, or perhaps it's something else. He crouches in front of Jukebox and smirks. "And I expected better than this. You are an Eagle, you are the Ahroun everyone has been talking about, and my young comrade there brought you down before you could blink."He sighs, dramatically and crouches in front of James. "I wanted this to be fun."
(what's that smell? )
"I hoped we could meet as equals. but you are really, really to low for me to bother."
(definitely smoke... and where they're smoke...)
The female with the preference for strappy heels clamps her hands on the slender kins shoulders, getting a whimper. The kin doesn't move. The smoke catches, starting to lick flames through the babies blanket. The baby cries. nothing else matters.
"But you're right. I'd lose the leverage with you. You're right. But that's ok - because you are not my only leverage."
And with that, he stands, and leaves the room. His packmate remains. The kin remains, squirming and trying to put out the growing flames without being caught, her eyes large, luminous, brilliant blue and filled with tears.
The baby cries.
nothing else matters
(james)
the attractive brick shithouse (......) crouches near
at least he's on this side of those swimming stars
much easier to focus on
and tempted as James is to flat out smooch the guy - just for kicks - while he's currently out of his mind
the tranqs and awkward position do little to assist such an Oscar-worthy performance
he settles for licking the blood off crusting smile as next best gesture"Yeeeeh." the word is more of a sigh than hiss, almost fondly breathed as he angles his head to look out from beneath faltering blindfold "Alway' did 'ave'a weakness f'r vicious wim'n." the only clearly visable eye slips shut in leering wink "Guess ya shou'n't a wai'd f'r sloppy secon's 'n letcher bitch ge' firs' dibs. Too ba', pal."
ooooh, and then the insult comes
sweeping up after the travesty of 007 villain lines dropped like lead
and beatings which will have him finding out if his bones can be crushed without breaking skin
icing on the Wyrm-riddled cake that was..... supposed?.... to get the Ahroun's ireit. got a laugh?
the sloppily wet sound rolls musically after the Alpha's theatric exit
brow lifted to wiggle the blindfold as glance tick-tocks to his apparent second date with the wildcat
time spent gathering his thoughts (... smelling that smoke rise....) in tandem with sitting up straighter against the wall"Makin' yeh do'iz dir'y w'rk, 'gain, eh Legs? Sum Alpha." since a collapsing blindfold just won't do when one wants an eye-rolling observed in good measure, so he's twisting to rub his head against the wall and lift it back up out of his eyes as if nothing more than errant dread - it takes a try or two (.... flames are visable, Jamey-boy, if you haven't noticed....) but soon enough wedges on the bulk of tangled ropey hair and stays acceptably put on high-forehead "Yer kickin' my ass lef'n righ' 'fore we ev'n get a kiss'n th' firs' da'e..... 'n yer follow-up's slow roas'in th' infan'?"
his chin drops as if to shake his head in abject shame
as if he, too, had built a pedestal for the enemy to perch upon
the reality of shattered expectations far more heavy to bear than any physical assault
chest heaves in mind-numbing nerve flairs for the gratuitous dejection of breathy sigh
(.... the look of a Warrior who finally accepts defeat....)then teeth grit - jaw joint cracks
abs flex - flesh pales and tears
weight shifts - boots snatch purchase on slippery cement
Jukebox stands - and his chin snaps up in a nod. Eagle style. before bone snaps as it grows....."Liked yeh bett'r pickin' a people y'r own si'e."
1. James shift chrinos, ST ok for breaking what binds his arms - drop 3 Rage for additional:
2. Staredown on Legs: to ::Something Wicked::: 5D10 Dice Roll: 6; 10; 6; 2; 7
diff 6
4 sux
3. James grabs infant from girl: to ::Something Wicked::: 6D10 Dice Roll: 7; 7; 8; 8; 7; 8
diff 5
6 sux
3. James bail out window: no roll needed, gravity will surely cooperate
(sw)
It happens like this, in battles hidden all over the world. Bantering, burning, frightening, scaring, scarring, tears and fears and perhaps a happy ending or two. It all starts the same too, always.Rage.
(shift fight rar!)James gives the nod up, Eagle style. Legs tightens her grip on the little Kin's shoulders and starts to say something - and then it's a mass of motion. James shifts, the bonds falling off his arms, that are achingly stiff and sore, but finally free of silver. Even with tranq's still in his system, he locks eyes with Legs, and she finds herself unable, unable to look away, to fight... to do anything but stand her ground, nails digging into the kins shoulders, drawing blood and a whimpered cry.
(the flames... the flames...)
Two steps across the room, and James snatches the baby in crinos paws and dives for the window. The Kin, the helpful kin reaches reflexively to protect the child and is left with the burning blanket, but the twist rips her from the stinging tearing grip of Legs and she turns toward the window - just in time to see it crash outwards, and her to raise the startled "DUCK!!!" cry as he and the baby, now crying in earnest, let gravity have it's wicked way with them...
thud.
(bam!blamblamBAM!)
Gunshots.That catch the Kin as she races toward the window (escape! help them escape!) and silver rips into one eye, shattering her skull upon exit, another through her jugular sprays Legs with crimson warmth, and a third straight into her gasping mouth as she collapses, mercifully killing her as she falls...
perhaps blocking the way out of the window for half a second more...
(...run, Jamey-boy, run...)
Sniper snarls. And takes careful aim again...
..only to be sliced down from behind in surprise attack. Behold, the Calvary cometh...
(We are near.)
The infant, Samson, is all that matters..
(james)
the beast so near escape since capture finally erupts to raggedyman's surface
useless blindfold dangling from one velvet ear as those eyes finally unleash his pent-up fury
[....Staredown....]
Legs is held off long enough for James to do two very important things:grab the child from trembling Kin's weakly grip
lunge for the blacked-out window and let gravity do her predictable thingbut before the snarling Crinos makes that fateful step and turn
deep umber eyes fall to the bright, tearful blue of that poor teenage girl
if she can see past the nightmare come to life, the silly man with a crooked smile watches out soul's window
(..... forgive me for what I am about to do..... I regret that I met you here but thank you for your kindness.... blame not yourself for being the one I wasn't sent to save .... your deeds will not be forgotten as I could not have escaped without your help or bravery....)
then pulls away to crash through black-lacquered glass towards the street below
she cannot see his hope her death is mercifully quick - he knows it will soon comebut one thing James of the Eagles is good at.... is falling
the landing needed work, but as glass and crimson mist rained amonst bullet hail from above
and the chaos reaped whirlwind (Maelstrom watching over me) from Cavalry's charge
there was yet one more important thing the shaggy Ahroun needed to doRun.
the infant, Samson, is all that matters.... now tucked securely in his arms, the Full Moon does not worry of witnessing the dear Kin's demise, he cares little for the tactics used by those that were near or what battle ensures his escape, nor does he think of the lingering tainted dreams that will haunt his nights to come or the crippling pain that may get no chance to heal.... not even what he let happen to his flesh and soul in those risks he took to get within arm's reach of the childthe infant, Samson, is all that matters.... and Eagle's son will not stop moving until bringing him home
[end]
Ok! Verdict.
He got his objective. But Rends-the-Earth will see it this way.
His hesitation at the first house cost him. Bad. Because it resulted in his capture, the almost loss of the child, and had the calvery not arrived, the snipers very well could have taken him down.
therefore. James 'jukebox, drums on skulls' Branson remains fostern, is charged to meditate, to reevaluate, and rechallenge the next full.
Posted by james at 12:00 AMMay 02, 2005.05.02.05. - bring him home [retro in albany] *fr[retro - albany, new york]
(something wicked)
Albany, New York. The streets of home, there's no place like it. They are on a random street, and across from a non-descript, normal, 1 story house that looks the same as any other house on the block. The Older Garou turns to face Jukebox."There is a child." Rends-the-earth does not offer any preamble, he does not offer any softening of the blow. He is Ahroun, He is Adren. He is too involved in the fight to do anything but give the required information for this challenge. The rest, as they say, will be up to Jukebox.
Who may, at this point, wonder - why is it always a child? Is it some failing they perceive in him still? Do they still count the sins of his past - as glorious to the nation as they had been - do they still consider his guilt a weakness...?
But there is little time for thought, for Rends-the-Earth continues. "Spirit-marked, true born. Parents are dead, and he was put for adoption by unschooled kin. He is there." Pause. "We sent a Kin to adopt." Pause. "They sent a strike team."
Pause. There is a long, steady look, gaze piercing and shockingly blue.
"Bring him home. Nothing else matters. No one else matters."
[Your mission should you choose to accept it...]There is no promise to come running if he has need, there is nothing else. Indeed, Rends-the-Earth steps off, steps back, steps away.
Bring him home.
(james)
Bring him home.the steady look - so expectant - gleams a shocking, piercing blue
Gaia's crystaline sky boring down on the center of the earth
holding the Ahroun's deep umber gaze without question nor quarter
summer's approaching breeze flickers ropey dreads hanging before those eyes
but the movement does nothing to distract either GarouJames' chin drops, slightly, in the entirety of an answer
acknowledging the given information for what it is
(what about it's meaning, Jamey-boy, will you think about it that much?)
strategy forming and evolving in the dark corners of his mind
"'s'iz name."the question is soft. and flat.
dropped like a stone in the calming night's proverbial pool
a momentary hitch in the pattern of cookie-cutter houses on just another suburban street
a singular challenge propositioning what should have remained as cut and dry instructionsNothing else matters. No one else matters
judgement need not fall with the force of a sledgehammer
mistakes convict beneath the slightest whim of hesitation.... doubt
there is no evidence of either in the guttermutt's warm, earthen eyesno lingering pause of wistful comaraderie drawn into sorrow's farewell
no final reflection which questions the competency of the older Garou's instructions
no skepticism born from expectations of a test's tricks and confusion
no wasted hope on begging the isolation to prove untrue with reinforcements just a mile away
all the raggedyman wants to know is the child's namea single word that could weild more damage than the strongest silver
..... why is it always a child?the Gnawer waits in respectful silence
parrotted expectation writ in only the shadowed crook of one brow
shoulders settled in the gentle slope of casual stance
one hand levers a steel pipe against his shoulder
t-shirt's sleeve wrinkling beneath it's lethal weight
the other is quietly tucked into the pocket of black BDUsRends-The-Earth can only hope he chose James wisely
he does not want to consider what could happen if the dreadlocked Gnawer wasn't as confident as he looked((Eagle's Strength already invoked))
(something wicked)
A pause in the steps of the elder. A glance, a lingering moment. Then, quietly."Samson."
Perhaps it is the fact that this is the single question asked that allows the parting words.
"We are near."
hope.
(james)
Samson
James repeats the name in his mind, alone
chin dropping as another piece of information files away
his lips don't smooth into formulating his version of the word
instead, they half-twist into the lopsided, cavalier grin so familiar to those back home
breath gathering to chuff out near-silent syllable of amusementit's those dark eyes that give away thought turned knowing phrase
Of course you'll be near. This is a test.
hard to discern if parting phrase brought hope or inferred mockery and insult
the Ahroun's disconnected levity betrays conclusion of neither
weight shifting to turn away before further observation could theorize
Corcoran's worn soles making little sound on the manicured sidewalk
several yards pass without even a hint of glancing back in parody of formal farewell to an Elderif he is unworthy of this challenge - there is no reason James should know the path of return, nor the familiar face that would have greeted his success
he's a blooded and cut Eagle
willingly accepting what few others would attempt alone
states away from the strength of his bonded pack
he does not look for others to compensate a loner's weakness
he does not wear the arrogance of constructed assumptions of instinct's ideal
he does not invite the shame of questioning his own strength for number's safetyhe knew his birthright long before learning to take the monstrous shape that embodies his Rage
never a day wasted by ignorance guaranteeing another would follow
accepting simply that should this night prove to be his last on earth
he will not stain it with doubts of why his heart beat so strong and true
(...... how deep is your faith, Jamey-boy)there is something dark about the nearing frame of 1562 Cherry Lane
a premonition of what waits in ambush behind that door
an impish trick played by the porchlight approaching it's final luminescent hourknuckles pale as fist flexes around four inch thick length of steel
animal's senses steeling against the information narrowed attention will bring
his heart thumps in powerful cadence
adrenaline electrifies telegraphing veinsthis is why Ahroun are born
(something wicked)
This is why they are born. He is alert, he is watching, adrenaline sparkles through him on telegraphed waves of rage, for all the world he's shoveling right up to that house. There is the flickering light.That clicks off.
Just like that.Inside, however, there is music playing - perhaps different then one would expect, but then again, there is no real hint of just what to expect. It is the sound of classical violin, softly crooned from expensive stereo system, music to sooth the savage beast.
And from the back, somewhere, a baby cries.
[is that the snap of a twig? or a cocking of a shotgun? To the left, low...]
(james)
in the absence of light, sound has nothing better to do than amplify
harmony and tone a language itself to a musician's ears
music to soothe the savage beast - mournful scales caressing the Rage away
baby's cry striking the predator like a cattle prod - wailing pitch turning fibre to steel
single snap echoing another's approach - shotgun's trademark cock, weight's clumsy shift in the darkscent follows sound
body odor faintly dancing in negligable breeze
carried from somewhere beyond the fresh aroma of tailored foliage
little more than a teasing presence closing in
five feet? ten? a stone's throw?does it really matter?
Nothing. Else. Matters.
darkness blinds without prejudicethe first step results in a specific shift in his features
certain lines drawn lean while others thicken ruggedly
the second step plants his shoulder right in a sweet spot on the door
shoving it open to duck for entry hallway's side before it rebounds closed
(something wicked)
One would expect things happen in quick succession then. But oddly enough they don't. He shoulder's the door, and it breaks free, spilling the Glabro into an empty living room
Half a beat later (timed well) The wood of the doorframe splinters in spray after bullet hits right where James' head would have been a moment before. It's the warning shot against the bow, boys!The baby cries louder. Hungry, perhaps, or wet. Or both. Gaia knows at that age it's a never ending cycle. There's other sounds from the back - the muffled voice of someone hushing the child, a harsher voice demanding the same.
And from across the way enters - A woman. talk, elegant, perfect. Dark hair, crimson slash of smirking grin, and cigarette in her hand, and apparently, a fondness for strappy heels. "About fucking time."
The violin music swells [sweet sounds of home], the cigarette is flicked with a smirk [darkly beautiful, expensive, scent of smoke in the air].
Shift.
It begins.(james)
the door shatters and the baby cries
volume crescendoing in hunger. discomfort. fear.
two hushing voices and then She entersdarkly beautiful and smirking around profanity drifting away on lazily coiling smoke
how crushing the savage irony has become
if... James had stopped to think about it
if... he had stopped at allclickclack of strappy heels supplied a devastatingly fashionable key to her approach
waste not the darkness nor momentum's beneficial force
she's on his way towards the child, anyway
Eagles strength driving a swing of that pipe to make El Bambino proud
gleaming point of the railroad spike primed to splinter skin and bone
that she's all the more teeth to smile at him with only makes it more beautiful
backhand recoil occupying the time she chooses to spend in shiftdrop 1 rage for extra swing
james attack 1 9D10 Dice Roll: 8; 7; 10; 5; 1; 3; 5; 1; 7
reroll 10: 1D10: 5
2 sux
james damage 1: 12D10 Dice Roll: 5; 3; 9; 3; 10; 8; 7; 6; 1; 5; 10; 4 (diff 6)5 sux
biotch soak: 9D10 Dice Roll: 2; 10; 7; 8; 8; 6; 3; 2; 5
5 sux, no damage
james attack 2 9D10 Dice Roll: 4; 5; 1; 7; 9; 9; 3; 1; 92 sux
james damage 2 12D10 Dice Roll: 8; 5; 8; 9; 1; 3; 3; 6; 2; 10; 9; 8
6 sux
biotch soak 2 9D10 Dice Roll: 10; 7; 7; 8; 5; 3; 3; 5; 2
4 sux, 1 damage(something wicked)
He wastes no time. He had his orders - and thus, before she fully shifts, he steps [eeeeeeeey batter batter batter] and [sawing] the bar of his go swinging. It catches her square the first time, as she continues to shift, and square the second time.He managed to split her lip, unhinge her jaw until it's actually pulled off. And she? ends up spitting her broken teeth at him, quite inadvertently. No one will want to kiss that mouth for a while., that's for sure.
So he wants to play it that way? So much for cat and mouse. She steps forward and it is a blur of rage as claws strike once, twice, three, count them - four times in rapid succession.
And from the doorway - BLAM. another gunshot.
(james)
(... oh you did not just spit your teeth at me, biotch.)all that with little more to show than a necklace of broken teeth
were there time for comedic pause to study his expression
it would be one of .... no bueno.
luckily James is a seasoned enough Ahroun to not waste moments on such things
decisions snapping like fireworks behind those deep, dark eyes.... let's dance
thunder growls earthquake shockwave through the small, non-descript house
1 gnosis, clap of thunder
biotch WP resist: 6D10 Dice Roll: 1; 7; 9; 3; 2; 8
1 sux
masterblaster WP resist: 4D10 Dice Roll: 10; 4; 4; 10
biotch attack 1: 7D10 Dice Roll: 5; 9; 9; 5; 5; 6; 9
4 sux
biotch damage 1: 11D10 Dice Roll: 1; 8; 9; 1; 9; 4; 3; 3; 3; 7; 2
2 dam
james soak: 7D10 Dice Roll: 4; 1; 1; 5; 7; 6; 1
0 sux
biotch attack 2: 7D10 Dice Roll: 8; 8; 7; 8; 1; 8; 9
5 sux
biotch damage 2: 12D10 Dice Roll: 10; 10; 4; 7; 1; 9; 6; 5; 9; 2; 8; 6
james soak: 7D10 Dice Roll: 1; 1; 3; 7; 1; 8; 7(something wicked)
He should feel lucky. He should bow down and PRAISE gaia that she has her orders. He should bow down and kiss the feet of the Wyrm that she is well versed in her place in this little scenerio, because she?Pulls that last swipe.
Not much, but just enough. It is, after all, why she was chosen to be at the front of the house. Her control.
She spits again, blood and saliva spilling in a mess to land square in Jukebox's face as he collapses and lays there, bleeding on her rug. Her brand new fuckin rug. She grabs her jaw and shoves it back into place, holding it there with a hand. A jerk of her head toward shotgun boy and he comes in gingerly, shotgun aimed at the incapacitated Garou. As if the shotgun really was a worry - the one with the silver bullets is in the back - with the baby.The baby who's still crying. still hungry. still scared.
The kin with the shotgun grabs the chains from where they waited - silver, of course - and binds Jukebox's legs and wrists tight. Krasssssh makes his first appearance from the back room, and unceremoniously slings the unconscious gaian over his shoulder. A quick, silent glance coordinates the strike team, and they - Shotgun boy, Jawless, Krasssssh, Babysitter and Baby - make their quick, and silent exit out of the back of the house. Into the waiting van that SCREECHES away...
....and in the house, the Violin music swells to a rousing creshendo... just before the click of a button.BOOM!
What now, oh mighty Ahroun..... what now?
((fade.... as Wolf panics and grovels before mighty Kahseeno..... realizing those that stray from the Church of Die for many months WILL. BE. PUNISHED.))
Posted by james at 12:00 AM