Wide spaces, rolling grass and dirty water hot dogs, trash cans and park benches.
It was a little piece of Paradise smack bang in the middle of Civilization.
…if you discounted that Eden wasn’t noted on having parking meters, modern fountains, food vendors or concrete walk ways.
Still, a person could do a hell of lot worse, right?
Two baths and she no longer smelled like she’d been crawling around in a dumpster this afternoon. Three more after that and she no longer carried the aroma of the sewers along with her like a lingering social faux pas. Bright and pink — squeaky clean even — and rubbed raw, the offending odors long dissipated under the application of much in the way of (really) cheap soapy goodness.
She’d sprung for a hot dog at the nearest vendor, having consumed it at a rate that would have anyone with any form of etiquette (and respect for their stomach) gawking. Sure, she’d found more than enough ‘extras’ while dumpster diving the last few days (expiry dates? what is this strange thing you babble on about?). Some of it was likely going to be sort of a What’s For Dinner? Surprise! deal, the labels missing from dented cans (as if a dent made the food inedible, hah!) but that almost made it all the more worthwhile. Something to wonder about, pique the curiosity over and (tragically, to some) get excited about.
All in all — a day well spent, a day of much collection, a day now coming to an end with no hole in her middle where he stomach was, a fresh-clean smell and feel and now she was stretched out on a park bench (bad dog!) with her carry-all satchel under her head as one hell of a hard and lumpy pillow. Her clothes, like everything about her, was not co-ordinated and by the looks of it, she was making do with what could be scavenged from op shops, charity bins, churches and not being too particular about the fit. But hell, at least she was clothes and, as such, warm.
Warm. Fed. Clean. Comfy.
Life was, in many ways, better than it had been for awhile.
[Henry Allard]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Henry Allard] (Oops, sorry, that was the ‘Avoid the Temptation to Smoke’ roll! ::boots it to PMs::)
[Henry Allard] Life seems to be easier when one is able to find some comfort in the smaller aspects of carrying on, rather than abstracts and material gain. Pursuing happiness is one thing; finding it is another.
Henry, for all the crap that has been tossed his way in the last six months, has never had any trouble finding happiness. Blame it on his outlook, blame it on the people he surrounds himself with, blame it on the fact that he is easily pleased… but the man is a happy son of a bitch, despite the fact that he is no longer able to drink with the same fervor his significant other and roommates possess, despite the fact that he is on orders to quit smoking that he complies with with varying degrees of success, depending upon the day.
Right now, he appears to be quite content with his place in the universe. He’s got his right hand pushed into the hip pocket of his worn jeans, he’s scuffing along in a pair of loafers that look like something he inherited from his grandfather, and his hair, now five months gone from the last time they saw a pair of scissors, is being blown back from his face as it pushes past from the general direction of the lake.
He has been out of the house all afternoon on a mission to give Tristan something resembling Alone Time and to give himself something similar, and right now his stomach is protesting the fact that it has been virtually ignored. Coffee contains no nutrients, contains nothing but stimulants, and the stimulant is long gone from his system. It’s been replaced with need to attend to his physical needs, and one of those physical needs is hunger. It drives him into line at a hot dog vendor, one of the few ones still open this late in the season, this late at night. The park will be closed in an hour. He’d be better off going through the drive-thru or stopping at a diner someplace, but that would defeat the purpose of the exercise.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Sometimes, you simply have to get out. Do something different. Anything different. It’s a rare occasion for one so duty bound as the Modi, but since the confrontation with Decker, and the following.. conversation… with Evan, she has been bristling, growing restless, needing something. A change of scenery will have to do.
As such, she is more dressed down then anyone other then her pack has seen her. Tennis shoes (who knew she owned such?!) on her feet, aged sweatpants, black and plain, and a white tank top over black sports bra complete the look. She is without makeup, and from the looks of the damp (read: soaked) tanktop, she’s been running for quite some time.
And still is, as she rounds the corner for another lap.
[Sasha Andrews] She should have been at home, with family.
She should have been in bed, all warm and snug.
She should have been in front of a TV or computer or reading a book.
She should have been hanging out wasting time with friends somewhere.
Something, anything, other than lying on a bench in a park.
Or, at least, that is what her age was saying.
She lifted a hand and rubbed the back of her hand at her eyes, not bothering to stifle a yawn as she rolled from her back onto her side, one arm creeping under towards the satchel to soften the cradling of her head.
She watched as AnneMarie did lapped around the park.
Again.
[Sasha Andrews] (All Hail the Persistent Typos!)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Henry Allard
[Henry Allard] It is hard for Henry to simply focus on standing in line, and as he does so he finds himself looking about the open, desperately-lit space at what is going on around him. There are not many people out this late, not when it’s a school night and a weekday and people have Things To Do in the morning. Those who don’t have Things To Do are packing it in anyway; it’s too damn dark to find any smidgeon of enjoyment out of being at the park, and those who are out seem to have alternate agendas. There are lovers seeking refuge from the outside world, there are teenagers breaking curfew…
… there’s one in particular reclined on a park bench, drawing Henry’s gaze for longer than it ought to, some twinge of concern playing across his brow in the dark…
… and there’s the silent blonde he had met three months ago at a barbecue at the Eagles’ kinhouse, the one who Tristan had introduced as AnneMarie. He had introduced her as such long before Henry had ever met her: he’d asked, after being accosted by Decker, if there were any more Eagles he had to worry about running into in Grant Park in the middle of the night.
Funny, that.
The odds of the Modi being able to tell Henry from Adam are decidedly slim. After all, who gave a shit about the guy Tristan had dragged with him? He was of absolutely no importance to anyone in that pack, wasn’t bound by duty or oath, wasn’t even part of the pack. He cannot even be considered an in-law, unless one is talking in terms of the most liberal of Garou law interpretations. He was just there, and Henry doesn’t delude himself into thinking that she’s going to recognize him after having seen him for thirty minutes three months ago.
Stranger things have happened, though.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Stranger things have happened, indeed. Perhaps Henry would be shocked to note that not only was he recognized, but he was from farther away then one would normally think. She recognizes him by the way he walks, but the way he stands, by the way he smells. She slows to a walk, before she reaches him, her gaze straying to watch the girl on the bench a long moment.
She does not exactly stop, though she runs her fingers through short, short hair, and then lifts her chin in Henry’s direction.
Eagle nod. Up, of course.
[Sasha Andrews] AnneMarie had been running for some time and Sasha had been watching for much of that time.
Finally, it was too much.
{…can’t… fight… it…}
When the Modi was within a distance that wasn’t too far off, she elbowed herself upwards into a sitting position, rubbing her hands off on well-worn, three sizes too big (and suspiciously looking like they were made for an adult male) and makes several (not rude) gestures in AnneMarie’s direction when the Modi looked in her general direction.
[Henry Allard] It cannot be coincidence that as she draws nearer to where the kinsman is standing, AnneMarie begins to decelerate out of a full tilt run, slows and slows until she hits a walk. She had been going at a decent clip before rounding the corner, before catching sight of him standing in line behind a couple who cannot stop touching each other even though they’re out in public. There is a good five feet of space between himself and the backsides of those two, and that distance only increases as it dawns on him that AnneMarie is not slowing because she is tired.
Henry blinks, once, before he steps out of line, pulls his right hand out of his pocket, and begins to walk towards her.
There’s that nod. He recognizes that nod. He hasn’t seen anyone other than current and former Eagles perform than monosyllabic, upward motion of the head in lieu of verbal greeting. Granted, in AnneMarie’s case, she hasn’t got the option of a verbal greeting, but he’s never seen any of them raise a hand or smile. It’s just that nod.
Henry is not an Eagle.
Henry raises his right hand. The left stays flush against his abdomen.
Out of the corner of his eye he catches the girl pulling herself up from the supine position, sees her arms and hands moving about as if attempting to communicate. His eyes lilt sideways to see what it is she’s doing before they return to the Modi woman.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Her gaze flickers back toward Sasha for a long moment as several gestures are made in her direction. It may seem as if she’s ignoring them, for a moment, as she returns her attention to Henry. He starts to pull from line, and she shakes her head, slightly, insinuating that he should get himself something to eat like he planned. She can wait. For a Modi, she has the patience of a saint.
Again, a gesture – short, sweet, uncomplicated. A tilt of her head toward the Gnawer, a lift of her brow in question. [Does he know her? Headed that way, join if you like.] Sometimes it’s easy to figure her out. Othertimes, not so much. Henry is a perceptive fellow, however.
She moves again, this time closing the distance between herself and the gesturing woman.
[Sasha Andrews] (crap — I have to bail, guys, the monkey child is up and cranky-fied)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Henry Allard
[AnneMarie Hoch] (No worries chica. I’d send my kids to babysit if it’d help, but I think they wouldn’t get there in time. *L*)
to Henry Allard, Sasha Andrews
[Henry Allard] (That’s okay! Sorry you couldn’t hang out longer!)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Sasha Andrews
[Silence] (locations and activities? *too lazy to read and not ashamed of it!*)
[Sasha Andrews] (Nother time! Thanks for the short play though *s* Don’t have time to write an out, so… just assume that Sasha wandered off or something, heh. She is easily distracted, anyway *g*)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Henry Allard
[Henry Allard] (in ur base, killin ur d00dz)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (*L* Sasha has to bail – Henry and AM near a vendor of some sort.)
[AnneMarie Hoch] The girl stops gesturing, runs off, and AnneMArie studies the place where she had been a long moment. Then simply turns back to wait for Henry to grab his snack.
[Henry Allard] Henry is not terribly insistent when it comes to food. Truth be told, the Rage of his cousins makes him a bit nervous. Okay, it makes him a lot nervous. It isn’t written anywhere in his eyes or on his face, isn’t spoken of with body language–his eyes are relaxed, his face open, his posture tall and unassuming–but his stomach, which has always been the first thing to throw in the towel when anxiety strikes… that is no longer at ease. Henry gives a facial shrug, a casually dismissive response to her head shake, and he continues forward after a moment’s pause.
The girl gets up and tears off like a shot, and Henry looks after her for as long as it takes for him to complete one respiratory cycle before turning his attention back to the silent Modi and crossing the distance between them.
“How are ya, AnneMarie?” he asks, his tone friendly, genuinely interested in her response where most ask out of obligation or adherence to social script.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Henry forgoes food, for her company, and she is not so prideful to expect that it is because of her charming personality, but rather quite the opposite. Though she is drenched with sweat, quickly drying on her naturally warm form, she does not seem overly winded, especially for one who has been running as long as she has tonight. It is not for exercise, per se, but a release, a way to pour her emotions into something more tangible, something other then how she normally spends her time.
In reply to the question, however, there is a lift of her left shoulder, a negligent reply where there are no words to explain it – should she even have the ability to spill them from her lips. It is a definitive… ‘eh.’
Slender lifts the edge of her tank top and folds over in order to use it to wipe off her face, her lips, before standing upright again. Henry can now count himself as one of the few who have seen her without makeup, without the standard she usually holds herself too. Lucky guy.
[Silence] The Modi had a certain cageyness to his walk that made him recognizable even from afar, even as little more than a silhouette against a path lamp’s cold white glow.
His hood is up, and he cups a match to his joint as he comes down the winding path. This particular sweatshirt isn’t his only one, but it may be his favorite — the thick cotton worn thin, and a little shrunk with the washes until the fit was tight across the shoulders, and the hem doesn’t quite fall to the bottom of the hip. A zip-up hoodie, contemporary culture would call it, but he preferred the older name, maybe because keeping up with the jargon implied keeping up with the fashion. And he, surely, wasn’t interested in that.
The joint is lit and he tosses the match down in front of him. The phosphorus scatters in a bounce of sparks, trod underfoot in the next step — not even a hitch in the walk. Which brings us back full circle: the walk, cagey, loose-jointed, relaxed, power in the stride.
He drops down on an empty bench not far from AM and Henry. It’s the good old hotdog vendor again. A young couple, customers with their food, are coming toward the bench in hopes of sharing some space. Decker deliberately spreads his arms along the back of it. The couple decides they have other places to be. Decker watches them until they turn away, and then he looks elsewhere, idly curious.
[Henry Allard] If ever there was a time that Henry could have stood to light up a cigarette, this would be it. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, his heart rate is elevated, his stomach upset, his hands shaking. It takes him a moment to realize why on earth this is, what with him having only lost his appetite in AnneMarie’s presence a moment earlier–that’s when he catches sight of the other Modi out of the corner of his eye, catches the loping walk and the sweatshirt and the smell of marijuana.
He had appeared to be fine the last time the two crossed each others’ paths, when there had only been Tristan between them. He appears to be fine now, all but for the fact that the fingers on his left hand, the one that is laid across his midsection, are jittering slightly. In an attempt to curtail that, he extends them, hooks them around his sixth rib. The other, the right, remains stuffed in his jeans pocket.
There are tricks the Kin learn to carry on in the presence of Rage. Some of them fare better than others; there are those among them who become completely cowed, are incapable of forming complete sentences. Henry had gone twelve years without having even felt the hairs on the back of his neck creep skyward; the last six months have been a crash course for him, and he’s learned to keep his nerves to himself.
Granted, up until a month ago he could smoke, but we’re not going to think about that right now.
There’s a shrug, a wordless display of ambivalence, and Henry gives the woman a tight yet nonetheless genuine smile.
He almost asks if she wants to talk about it.
He catches himself at the last second.
[Henry Allard] (Speaking of smoking… brb.)
[AnneMarie Hoch] She did not even need to turn her head to know that Silence has entered the park. It is not the scent of marijuana in the air, it is not the sudden acceleration of Henry’s heart, or the tightness of his smile, or the couple that hurries past instead of sitting on the bench Decker now occupies. It is far more animalistic then that. Feral. Primal.
It is pack.
She turns her head, and watches Decker a moment, before simply lifting her chin.
And turning back to Henry. His genuine smile, does not pull one of her own. She rarely smiles. She rarely shows anything. She calls it control. A packmate something else. It doesn’t matter who is correct, it simply is.
A few steps then, lead her and Harry toward Decker to say hello. Or something. Birds of a feather, and all that.
[Silence] Two approach. Decker stays where he is, sitting on his bench, lifting one ankle over the opposite knee. There’s something masterful about his posture, his presence. He owns the bench he sits on by sitting on it, and he owns the space in his immediate vicinity by being him.
These days we value traits like persuasiveness, eloquence, compassion, vision. But brute intimidation sometimes trumps them all. Even Machiavelli, oft-quoted by those who fancied themselves intelligent, sly and cunning, recognized that it’s better to be feared than loved. Love is inconstant. Fear is a lot harder to overcome.
“Tristan ain’t wit’cha?” This is, of course, addressed to Henry. The Modi’s eyes are the grey of a storm. In this lighting, however, they are colorless, and they glitter coldly as they sweep over the kin before moving on to Annemarie. “Didn’t know y’all knew each other.”
[Evan McCollach] Fall was always a tempermental time of year, one night it might be hotter than some summer days you just experienced others were colder than they should be for this time of year. Tonight seemed to be one of those in the middle days, the classic fall nights. There was a slight chill in the air when the wind caught you just right. And even though Evan was rather used to and seiously enjoyed the chill that the upcoming winter would bring, he still dressed to adress the weather.
A light jacket, dark blue, something that you would probably see a pitcher wear while sitting on the bench while waiting to return to the mound, zipped lightly up, enough to keep it closed but not even a 1/4 of the way up.
Maya had taken over patrolling for the time being, but she gave him a small task to discover before he was able to go back home. He had to pick up an acorn or something like that. Who knew what for besides her? And of course Evan was not able to just drive out to the woods, not without some form of transportation.
That left Grant park and that was were he would be heading.
[James Wagner] ( got room for another? )
[Silence] (yep)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (what he said. *g*)
[Evan McCollach] (Sure)
[Henry Allard] (I guess… *L*)
[James Wagner] ( Horray! Locations? )
[Henry Allard] (in ur base… I mean, a bench by a hot dog vendor.)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (Silence on a bench, Henry/AM approaching, Evan entering the park)
[James Wagner] ( All your base are belong to us. )
[Silence] (MAKE YOUR TIME!)
[Henry Allard] Without words to communicate intent, only the presence of two bound by something stronger by blood serves in their place, and Henry wordlessly accompanies AnneMarie across the walkway over to where Decker reclines on the bench that had previously been occupied by a youth in oversized clothing. The hand attached to his broken arm continues to hold onto the spokes of his ribs, but his right removes itself from its cave to hang by his side. His strides are kept short so as not to leave the female Modi behind, so as to arrive after she does.
She is not the one who is addressed first, and when Decker asks after the Coggie’s boyfriend, the pack’s oft-absent kin, his brow knits itself together for a moment.
“He’s at home,” he answers.
A movement of eyes across a form barely concealing its anxiety, an observation, and Henry clears his throat before speaking again.
“We met at the barbecue.”
Doesn’t exactly make them even acquaintances, but it’s an explanation.
[Henry Allard] (SOMEBODY SET US UP THE BOMB)
[James Wagner] Grant Park wasn’t typically the place James Wagner found himself at these days, but sometimes you needed to get away from the spotlight. Away from the strobe lights and writhing bodies of groupies and drunk women seeking your bed. Without travelling out of city limits (which James couldn’t be arsed to do tonight) the park seemed a safe destination, if anything could be considered safe these days.
The Autumn chill had come at last, no longer in the eighties and ninties of summer. More towards the fifties and sixties, and with night having fallen? Colder still with the constant breeze that wafted through the windy city. Booted feet with warm socks, jeans, a t-shirt and a loose jacket was worn by the Galliard as he wandered through the park, until he came to see those gathered.
Decker, sitting on a bench with Henry (a man he hadn’t met) near with AnneMarie. An arch of an eyebrow beneath the brim of his favorite fedora. “Wonderin’ if’n we’ll get ourselfs attacked,” he remarked when he came close enough to the surly Adren for words. “Seemin’ e’erytime we’re fer meetin’, somethin’s tryin’ tae kill us.” A bit of a chuckle.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Henry could not leave the Modi behind. Many do not realize how tall she is – even without the heels she normally wears. It can hardly escape notice that she is 5’11”, in tennis shoes, or that her strides are easily as long as his. She spends many hours a day walking (stalking) patrol. None of this cross her face, of course, as her expression is carefully devoid of any internal dialog.
Even though there’s a lack of such, as she stops near the bench, and after a moment, settles – no, flows – that would better describe the concentration of muscles that work as she sinks to sit along the ground near the bench. Her legs fold under her, her back remains straight, and she stretches her arms overhead for a moment before the fall, hands folding into her lap. There is no indication why she chose the ground instead of the bench, she simply did.
I was out for a run, recognized him, said hello. There was another – a Gnawer, from the looks of it, but she disappeared before we spoke. Casual, conversational. Sort of. Her uneasiness, her turmoil, everything is held down deep. Hidden. She is as she always is.
[Silence] “Hnh,” a grunt answers Henry’s assertions. “Must’a been while I was gittin’ beer.” Either that or Henry was forgettable — at least Decker spares him that blunt assessment. The joint wobbles up and down between his lips as he speaks. He eyes the cast a moment, “When’s that comin’ off?”
Somehow, the tone isn’t neighborly concern. It’s closer to impatience — impatience for modern medicine, impatience for a kin’s slow healing.
James approaches. Henry’s spared the Modi’s regard. The Fianna may have been making a joke, but Decker seems to take it seriously enough, casting a lazy glance around at the darkened park. “Not tanight, I think.” He removes the joint from his mouth and ashes it, then passes it to James like some sort of peace-pipe.
[Evan McCollach] As he started to search around the trees that dotted around the park he could feel it, then hear AnneMarie through the link. He stops his search for a little while he starts to feel out the other packmates that are around.
And as he started through the trees and back onto the pathways that everyone else uses, he continues to meander until he comes into sight of Decker, his bench and AnneMarie planted on the ground. But it seemed there were not alone tonight, two others around them, one familar, one not so much. When he comes closer he pauses and gives his packmates a nod.
[Henry Allard] Just as Henry had not given himself the benefit of a doubt when it came to whether AnneMarie would recognize him, being as he, too, had thought himself forgettable–and why wouldn’t he? He means absolutely nothing to these people, and it does not break his heart to think so–he does not think for a second that Decker is asking about his arm out of concern. What the impetus for asking if it were not out of concern would be he hasn’t the faintest idea. Morbid interest? Annoyance at the display of weakness?
He can’t tell, and he doesn’t ask. Henry simply draws a breath and says, “Eighth of October.”
A man he has never met before comes to the huddle, joining Henry in the Standing Club. He is not one of those kin who can claim to be able to recognize Garou by their tribal features, but he is able to put together contextual clues quickly enough, and given that a) he jokes about getting attacked, b) only further serves to put Henry on edge and c) doesn’t appear unnerved by the Modis’ presence, he is going to go ahead and assume that the fedora’d man is Trueborn.
Henry, whose left arm is in a white cast that stretches from mid-forearm to mid-palm and is covered in signatures and off-color drawings (that left arm, it’s also worth noting, is covered in scars, the most prominent of which being ropy brown burn scars in the crook of his elbow but also flat white wrapping about the circumference of his distal upper arm that can only be described as looking as if a rip had occurred there at one point), reaches up a fist to muffle a rattling smoker’s cough before falling silent again.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She looks up at James, lifts her chin slightly, and then looks away once more. By virtue of her position, she has a different view of the park, and the little group, then that of her Alpha. Most likely by design. Evan now joins, and there is something that passes through her gaze – unrecognizable, and quickly buried away.
She watches, silent, as always.
[James Wagner] A finger reached up to push the brim of his fedora up some as he accepts the rolled joint from Decker. It had been many years since he indulged in such, but with an ease he raised it to his lips and took two drags from it. Holding in the smoke, he passed it back to the man and nodded a bit. “Mm. Aye, true ‘nough, but ye’re ne’er knowin’, innae it now?”
Decker and James had an odd sort of relationship. The two of them had shed blood together in a few occasions. “I’d nae be surprised o’ nothin’ since th’ Thunderwyrm,” he said idly through a haze of smoke that he exhaled with his words. Since that night, nothing really surprised him any more. Hands found their way into his jacket pockets.
AnneMarie and Henry were given an amicable nod and smile. The woman, he knew. The man, he didn’t. “James Wagner, lad, o’ th’ Irish.” The way he said the word “Irish” gave meaning to it that said more than just the simple truth. He was an Irishman, yes, but it also meant he was Fianna. Evan eventually joined them, and he gave the man a bit of a nod.
[Silence] “Guess not,” he replies, taking back the joint.
Conversations have a habit of falling to silence around him. People seem to expect him to lead. It’s ironic — typically, no one is less inclined to have a conversation than Decker. At the same time, it was perhaps a little understandable. Something to do with dominance, rank, and the simple fact that a whole lot of rage restricts the vocal cords some. James seems the only one inclined to speaking for himself, and it’s probably not an accident that he’s the next in line in terms of seniority.
But abruptly, Decker’s had enough of the standing around in silence. He gets to his feet without a word of excuse or pardon and walks off — to stand in line for a hot dog. Behind him, he hears James introduce himself.
[Silence] (btw — y’all remember we have a scene tomorrow, right? *grin* 5pm chat time, though ken might be late so it might be more like 5:30, 5:45ish)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Evan McCollach, James Wagner
[Evan McCollach] He examines the gathered for a moment, 3 warriors, full of rage each and them himself. He turned to look at the his fellow tribesmate, to see how he was handling the air about them all. He was always told that sometimes it was hard for kin to be around them, it was hard for to know, but he tried his best to understand.
“So how is the arm feeling?”
He nodded to the cast that Henry was wearing, taking note of some of the more visible names. A little bit of him wondered if Tristan signed it… among others.
[Evan McCollach] (Yeah Damon remembered without Mei reminding him)
to AnneMarie Hoch, James Wagner, Silence
[Henry Allard] Henry turns towards the Irelander, an open enough expression on his face where the rest of him is beginning to seem uneasy, and he gives a full-bodied, closed-lipped smile before holding out his right hand to shake.
“Henry Allard.”
There’s a moment where it seems he isn’t going to give any sort of tribal affiliation, as if he’s going to let the other man remain in the dark concerning who it is he belongs to, if he belongs to anyone. He gets it in right before Evan arrives, and it is spoken with a conservation of words that puts James as the most vocal person currently in attendance.
“Children.”
How’s the arm feeling, Evan wants to know, and Henry turns towards the Half Moon with a bemused expression on his face.
“It’s feeling alright, man. Don’t wish I could have it amputated anymore.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] She lifts the edge of her shirt, folding over a little in order to use it to wipe the grime off her face again, before she pulls her knees up and wraps her arms loosely around them, hands clasped. She watches the men as they speak, but offers no reply of her own. Possibly for the lack of her whiteboard. More likely for lack of anything constructive to offer at all.
[James Wagner] Henry outstretches his hand to shake, which James accepts. It would be noticed that his finger tips and palm is heavily calloused. In fact, both of his hands were very calloused. It came from his profession as well as his axe, a great waraxe etched with celtic and Fianna glyphs.
Decker went to get himself a hot dog, and James could only smile and laugh a little bit. For ever long as he had known the surly Fenrir, he had always been a striking and presence-drawing sort of man. That he’d abruptly get off in search of a bite to eat brought no nevermind to the Fianna, but James looked first from Evan and Henry to AnneMarie and back again. Of course she would be the least talkative of the bunch, being mute, but.. A shrug, to himself.
“Known a few o’yer people,” he said to Henry. “One was a big black lad, but ‘e’s been gone now fer what seems tae be an age an a day.”
[Silence] The line for the hotdog stand is surprisingly long for the hour, and it takes the vendor twice as long to assemble each one for the shaking of his hands. Decker stands in line this time instead of cutting to the front, impatiently patient, consummately bored.
(go on around me!)
[Evan McCollach] “You know, if you want to amputate it next time that isn’t so hard. One swipe and its done. But I can’t promise that I won’t miss. Might be kinda messy too.”
He, of course, was joking about that. Would Evan ever think about doing such a thing with the type of abilities he had? He was a coggie, that was not in his best interest. And as James continued to speak about who he knows from his tribe, Evan just looks over to AnneMarie. Just seemingly watching her. Speaking to her through the link they share.
I hope we can start our training soon.
“Yes I remember him. He was an interesting man.”
[James Wagner] ( Brb folks. Continue without!)
[Henry Allard] At the mention of a next time, Henry grimaces, as if the thought of going through another compound fracture is something he doesn’t want to dwell on or even pass by.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, ultimately, as the expression slowly leeches itself out of his face.
Even with Decker gone to pick himself up a hot dog, Henry has not relaxed any. He still appears to be only slightly uneasy, what with the number of bodies currently about, the amount of Rage humming in the air like so many stereos with feedback. His blood pressure has got to be through the roof right about now, and his hands continue to outright shake. The one in his pocket is not noticeable; the one attached to his broken arm quakes so badly that he curls the fingers in on themselves, making a loose fist as he brings the arm back to its resting position against his abdomen.
“What was his name?”
[AnneMarie Hoch] She doesn’t turn to meet Evan’s gaze as he watches her. Her eyes, instead, are on some distant point in the park, something there having caught her interest. A movement, a shadow, nothing at all – it is hard to tell, and she is not one to share much of anything unless necessary. Pale gaze, shadowed by long lashes, is watchful, not so much lost in thought as simply thinking.
Only when a question is answered, unheard to the others, do her eyes flick in his direction, pause a beat, then move back. Whenever you’re ready. the reply. The same as had been said when he’d asked, and she’d agreed.
She has never turned away a packmate or kin who wished to know more. Moira and Nora once complained of bruises and brutality, yet both gained more survival skills for the time spent face planted on the mat. Evan will be no different. Except for the fact he’s decided to pick apart her psyche, of course. If anything, it hasn’t been a good start. If anything, tonight she’s wound up more tightly then before.
[Silence] Eventually — finally — Decker makes it to the front of the line. Henry’s not the only one with a sudden attack of jitters. Decker’s hot dog is so messily dribbled with relish, onions, and mustard (but never ketchup — this is Chicago, after all) that it seems to have exploded. The tomatoes and the pickle spear aren’t even in the bun. Decker looks at it a moment, unimpressed, and then grudgingly pays up.
Then he returns to the bench. The modi reclaims his seat, a wad of napkins in his free hand.
“We called ‘im Bread’n’Butta.” Twenty-some-odd feet away, and he’d caught the conversation nonetheless. Decker was blessed with extraordinary hearing. “Cain’t remember his name though. Weird fucker.” He eyes the cast again; no, he eyes the shaking fingers. “There are reason yer so scaired?”
[Silence] (man, now i want a hot dog…)
[AnneMarie Hoch] Leroy Brown. She supplies, off hand and without real thought. She remembers, that’s all.
[Evan McCollach] He thougth he knew who James was talking about, the guy had dreadlocks if he remembered correctly, but when Decker throws out another name, he is left confused. He did not know about anyone named Bread~n~Butter, but that was probably one of those that raised the caern along side Silence and the Eagles. He listens to AM when she chimes in and he is left still not knowing. He is left unsure and out of this conversation.
I am ready.
That was all, he was ready to go whenever she was. She was the mentor and she had all rights to determine when the training would start and where.
[James Wagner] “Aye,” he said nodding to Decker. “Owned a greasy spoon ’round th’downtown area, ‘r was it near Cabrini-Green? Cannae be rememberin’.” James shrugged. “T’was long ‘go, ‘m ‘fraid. ‘Imself an’ th’rest o’ th’ Knights ‘re gone.” Stroking his beard idly, James eyed Decker’s hot dog as if to steal the thing. A rumbling in his belly alerted the Galliard to the fact that he hadn’t eaten yet, and James went over to get himself a hotdog as well.
In the wake of the Modi, most of the mortals had promptly gotten their food and left. The vendor, a bit shaken still, was only more so with the presence of the handsome singer. Ordering a hot dog with all the works, he came back more promptly than Decker had.
Half of it was already gone, and James spoke again with a mouthful in his cheek looking much like a squirrel. A hairy squirrel. “Nutty bunch, suren s’th’moon rise.”
[Henry Allard] It takes a moment for Henry to figure out what had caused this change in physiology, why his heart was racing so fast and his hands could not stop shaking: he had his back to Decker. That is what had caused the sudden increase in his blood pressure, the slight jittering to turn to full-out rattling. He had had his back to the Modi, and it was about as comforting as being in a lion’s den and having his back to the largest one.
He does not realize this until Decker returns, until the question is answered and that gaze goes to his cast; no, to his fingers, now pushed into his ribs. There comes a question of the Modi’s own, and even in the aftermath of his own realization Henry looks vaguely confused. His brow pushes itself together towards midline, his eyes show pause more than they show fear–there truly is no fear anywhere on him, regardless of what it is he’s feeling–and for a moment the only thing to tell the gathered that Henry is still alive is the rising and falling of his chest, the movement of air through battered lungs.
“I’m not scared,” he finally brings himself to say.
When his phone rings a second later, he nearly jumps out of his skin. It is a nondescript ring tone, and it bids Henry answer it right that moment; so he does, holding up a finger to indicate he’ll be a moment as he takes several steps backwards before bringing himself to once again show not just Decker but all four of them his backside.
“Hey,” he tells whoever it is that’s calling. “… no, I’m fine…”
[AnneMarie Hoch] Tomorrow, then.
Simple enough, anything else remains unsaid. Her gaze pulls back to the group with Silence’s question of Henry, and she arches a brow slightly as he declares his lack of fright. But in the end, as always, she says nothing.
[Silence] Henry isn’t scared. This raises Decker’s eyebrows, but the Modi doesn’t say anything about it. Probably because the phone rings, and Decker’s attention moves on, irritated by the loud thing.
“Who you runnin’ with these days, James.” It’s a question, but only by syntax and grammar; by tone, it was a statement. He might’ve asked this before. If he did, he’s forgotten.
[Henry Allard] Whatever Henry is saying is lost by virtue of the fact that he drops his voice so as to only have it be heard by whoever is on the other end; there is no true farewell to be had, here, nothing more than his fiberglass-wrapped left hand elevating itself to wave as he starts up the walkway and away from the congregation.
(I gotta go, I’ve got to get up to go to work in six hours. Thanks for the scene, all!)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (night Jamie!)
[James Wagner] “Was runnin’ wit’ Vientos del Cambio fer a bit, but like th’Twister we followed? Blew ourselfs out an’ we drifted ‘part.” Leaning his hip on the bench they had gathered around, his one hand stuffed loosely into his jacket pocket again while he’s using his other to hold the hot dog that was rapidly disappearing beneath the onslaught of James’ terrible devouring jaws of hunger.
“Now? Doin’ th’lonewolf thing ‘ntil some good blokes come ’round an’ I pack wit’ ’em.” A slight shake of his head and the hotdog finally disappeared. Wiping the grease from his fingers onto his jeans, he looked to Decker again. “Seemin’ like th’younglings ‘r all wrapped up wit’ bitchin’ an’ moanin’ ‘nstead o’doin’ what’s needin’ doin’, ye know? Cannae say as I’ve met some I’d be packin’ wit’ ‘nytime soon.”
[Evan McCollach] Mentally he seemed to acknowledge AnneMarie about the training tomorrow. He was knew it was going to be a gruesome practice, but whatever didn’t kill him, hopefully, would make him stronger.
And then taht was it. And he went back to listening to Decker and James talk about who he was running with and what was happening.
(I have to get going soon too)
[Silence] “Younglin’s,” Decker repeats, maybe a little amused. “Yer almost Adren, ain’tcha? Oughta gitcherself a pack.” There’s a wryness to his tone. “Git respons’ble ‘n shit.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] She glances at Evan, and then away again, finding the shadows once more that seem to have held her attention more often then not. That’s not to say she isn’t listening, because she is.
After a moment, though, she stands, her spine popping as she stretches, before she lifts her chin toward Decker, Evan and Sandman, and starts to move away. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason as to why, and mostly likely isn’t. She’s simply tired of sitting. Sometimes, you just have to move.
And so she does.
((not leaving, she’s just moving. *L*))
[James Wagner] ( Sorry all browser took a dive. ::Sets to typing!::)
[Evan McCollach] In one moment it seemed to re-register with him why he was in the park in the first place. He had to find that acorn for Maya, for whatever reason she needed it for. He started to look badck towards the shadows off in the night near the trees. There had to be at least one of them somewhere out there. And he was going to find it.
“I am sorry, but I have to get back to searching for soemthing for Maya. She wanted me to find it before she finished with her patrols for the night. Have a good night.”
He turned towards where AnneMarie was moving to and waved to her, it may not have been sign language, but at least it was something. And after that, he headed back to his investigation, moving off the path and into the darkness of the trees and what not.
[James Wagner] “Aye. Closer’n I’ve been ‘n a while tae it,” he said. “Adren’d be somethin’ long ‘n comin’, but I’m nae one tae rush it. It’ll come, ‘n time.” Decker mentions getting a pack, and James falls silent and thoughtful for a full minute before opening his mouth. Perhaps it was something that was destined to happen, or maybe it was because the Fianna were quick ones to jump to and fro without a care. James was a more rational, if a bit excitable, than his fellow tribemates. All things considered, the Galliard didn’t make (very many) rash actions.
“Get m’self a pack,” he said as if tasting the phrase. His eyes were on the ground, brows furrowed a bit as he thought. “Well. As ye know, we’ve fought t’gether a time ‘r two where it didnae call fer a direct threat t’th’caern,” James said bluntly. “Cannae say s’I’ve been seein’ many I’d could pack wit’ wit’out wantin’ tae smash ’em upside th’ead.”
His eyes flicked up and deadlocked onto Decker’s, then shifted to Evan and AnneMarie. “If ye’d nae be mindin’ much, would ye mind if’n I joined ye?”
[Silence] Could be Decker’s fault, this sudden overture. He brought pack up in the first place. Hell, maybe he’d had it in mind from the start — though if he did, then he was faking his surprise well. And there was that. Surprise. It’s there in the quick flicker of his eyelids, and there in the totemlink, a faint tingle along Eagle’s bond.
Decker says nothing. His eyes are steady, after that first flick of a blink. He merely observes the other, as though weighing him.
The totemlink has come alive, short, simple, to the point. ‘pinions?
[Evan McCollach] He stopped for a second when he heard what James was saying, the idea of him joining the Eagles and leaving the Sept and Malestrom. He furrowed his eyes for a second and moved a bit deeper, away from the light of the pathways.
He was going to answer, but he knew to wait, wait until after AM spoke up first. He might have outranked her in the eyes of other spirits and the garou nation, but within this pack, she was his better. And he would wait. When AM finally states her own opinion he offers his own.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She stops, and turns around again, and James has the eyes of two Modi’s on him, both waited with thought, with a measure of surprise. She has often held her opinions of the eagles that join them in check, pulling back, refusing to delve too deeply into their reasoning. At one point she too wagered everything in order to be an Eagle. Unlike others, she had to go through an extensive trial period. For that reason alone, perhaps, she always felt a little outside of the circle, the group. Or perhaps she’s just bug nuts, and holds a grudge. No one knows. No one really cares.
Either way, she gives Sandman a bit of respect for this request. He would up and leave the sept to fight with and join us? Rather sudden, and leaves them with even less leadership then it currently stands. Without a galliard of his rank, who will tell the tales to the young who spend so much time fighting themselves? That said, few-if any have fought as hard by our side as he has, despite the lines drawn by sept and pack. It comes to intent. Does he intend to nudge us back from within, or fight with us no matter where we stand. If the latter, so be it. I’ve no objection.
She is somewhat startled when Evan waits, especially in light of her current standings within the pack. Maybe she won’t hit him too hard tomorrow. Maybe.
[Silence] Ten seconds go by, fifteen. Maybe by now James knows the pack is communicating with itself, silently.
Evan?
[James Wagner] He had the silent sets of three eyes weighing and measuring him, and indeed he knew they were communicating with each other. How could one not? Were they to question him, he would answer truthfully. Evan would more than likely know if he lied.
[Evan McCollach] Evan listened to AnneMarie’s reasoning as he continued to search, half-heartedly while he listened more intently. He took weight of it and then spoke up, kinda strange considering he was probably the most talkative of the Eagles.
I am sure that he has thought this through very carefully. But before he finalizes his decision, it might be better to ensure that he understands what consequences are left to him by abandonng the Sept. His dream of becoming Adren will take a severe detour, he will also be shunned by the Sept. He must understand what will be asked of him. Let him know and think it through very carefully, maybe another night to sleep on it. If he still wishes to join with the Eagles, I would support it fully.
[Silence] He’ll git more’n a night. No one joins without runnin’ with us fer a while first.
Opinions solicited, Decker at last replies — quiet, even casual, as if the pause had never been. “You sure ya know whatcher askin’, James? We don’t run with tha Maelstrom no more, ‘n Storm Hammer won’t have us when we’re this far off. Tha Nation don’t like almost-Adrens runnin’ off on they own. Yer like ta lose honor in tha eyes’a yer tribe. Maybe wisdom too. You’ll be farther from Adren than before.”
[James Wagner] James’ eyes shifted slowly first to Decker, then to AnneMarie, and then lastly to Evan. The Irishman cleared his throat and removed his hands from the inside of his jacket pockets. They all knew him, knew his worth. For all his lack of Pure Breeding, his pale skin and dark features named him a Celt, and thusly Fianna. Most of his tribe never did anything consequential without good reasoning behind it, as excitable as they tended to be. Yet, there was honor in him if not much Honor. He spoke slowly, forcing his brogue to dwindle enough so that they could understand him clearly.
“Aye, I know what I’m askin’ ye. Ye may not run with Maelstrom, but by my own figurin’, Maelstrom doesn’t much run with anyone who does not bend beneath tyranny. Galliard, I am. I sing my songs and tell my tales and they fall on deaf ears, here.
The Nation doesn’t like many that have a will of their own, that like to think of their own. The Silver Fangs and others sit high on their thrones and look down from above to see the ants scurrying at their feet, and when one bites they are surprised. The insolence I have seen, the back-biting and bickering that leads to nothing but in-fighting; through that I know why ye have departed this sept. I have witnessed it in my own tribe at the last moot. It sickens me thoroughly.
Should I lose Renown, which undoubtably I will, will not be that much of a blow to my ego. I have been Fostern since I was twenty-four years old. Another year or more will not be that much time to me.
If ye’ll all have me, I’d be honored. We’ve fought together before; why not make it official?” The Galliard’s eyes had been shifting between the three of them as he spoke, and they all would know that he had a compelling argument. A warrior, a poet, a singer, a talespinner. James was all of these rolled into one. Galliards had to be, and life would go on with or without Maelstrom.
[Evan McCollach] (Have a good night everyone, time to get some sleep)
[James Wagner] ( night dude!)
[AnneMarie Hoch] Decker asks, and James speaks, and she watches. Silent, as always, though she does move closer this time, and take a seat on the opposite end of the bench that Silence occupies. Even dressed down as she is tonight, she still crosses her legs, one leg folding over the other at the knee, her fingers sliding over her thigh to smooth the sweats against lean muscle. It’s habit, no matter her normal attire, or lack thereof.
She has nothing to add, she has said her piece. This decision, ultimately, is Decker’s alone.
[Silence] “This ain’t a decision ta make on a dime’s drop.” Decker polishes off the last of his hotdog and wipes his fingers on the napkins, one by one, taking his time. “Not fer you, ‘n not fer us.
“We got a packhouse in tha west side’a town, where our kin sometimes crash ‘n where we have our meals if we don’t got nothin’ better ta eat. Annemarie here kin show ya where it is. Move yer shit in, ‘n you’ll run with us fer a time. Might be a week, might be a year. If you turn out an Eagle, we’ll make it permanent in tha presence’a the Totem.”
Decker wads the napkin up, tosses it at a trash can at the end of the bench — misses — and then gets to his feet.
“Might wanna leave us a number ta call ya at too, since y’ain’t gon’ have no totemlink.”
[James Wagner] The Sandman nods, fully understanding what is expected of him. That he’d move in there for a time makes no nevermind to him, but he did speak of one thing. “As ye know, I’ve a nightclub tae run. While I’m not at yer packhouse, I’ll likely be there o’erseein’ thin’s, but it kin more’r’less run itself ‘n th’meantime. S’what managers’re for.”
Move his shit in? James has quite a bit of shit in his possession. He’d only bring the necessaries: his clothes, guitar, vehicle, etc. Reaching into an inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a little notepad with a pen and scribbled down the number at his 4th floor apartment of the E-Sixx as well as his cell phone number. “Call th’cell, first. I tol’ ye once, Silence, that when ye’d be needin’ m’self that all ye’d ‘ave tae do s’call. ‘N th’past ‘n now.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] A lift of her chin agrees to show James where the house was. Other then that, she simply listens.
[Silence] Decker looks at the numbers for a moment, then puts the card away in his pocket. No — better idea, he gives it to Annemarie. He wasn’t the type to always check his pockets before throwing his laundry in a pile. For Tristan, that is. Unless he was really desperate, and then he might scrub ’em himself.
“Guess we’ll be seein’ you ’round,” he says. It’s an understatement. Without much more in the way of goodbye, the Modi heads off, in the direction of the Cabrini-Green housing project.
(it’s 1am and i gotta crash! night!)
[AnneMarie Hoch] She takes the paper, and tucks it under the strap of her sportsbra, since she currently is wearing nothing that has pockets. That he gives the number to the one who can’t speak, well – it amuses her to some degree, even if she is simply to hold it so it doesn’t get lost.
There is no goodbye, though she watches him walk off for half a second, before her attention returns to James.
[James Wagner] It seemed to him that AnneMarie may have some things to say, and maybe not. Decker moves off, and the Galliard is left with the female Modi. Where would this lead from here, his abdicating the sept and joining up with the “outcasts,” as they were? While he was not a permenant fixture amongst them he was certainly on a trial basis. Handing the woman the notepad and pen so she may communicate with him if she needed to, he arched a brow.
“Where tae now, lass?”
[Silence] (aight, night for real. see ya tomorrow!)
[AnneMarie Hoch] Lips twist into something of a smirk as he hands her paper and a pen – and calls her lass. Fianna. The smirk fades quickly enough though, as she writes on the pad, her printing fast, compact, neat.
~I’ll show you the kinhouse, and where the spare key is hidden, though it is rarely locked. You can move in at your convenience.~
A pause, and she glances at him, before she continues. ~Only real rule you need to worry about there. Don’t touch Sniper. He bites.~
[James Wagner] Eyes flicked over the paper and he nodded, then looked at her quizzically. “Sniper? Dinnae tell me ye’ve actually been on a snipe ‘unt an’ caught one, now,” he said with a smile as he fell into place beside her awaiting for the mute woman to lead him to the Kinhouse.
Perhaps the morbid, tension-filled atmosphere that surrounded the Eagles would lighten somewhat with the presence of the roguish Fianna. That’s yet to be seen, however, but either way it would make for an interesting experience to be sure.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She looks at him blankly. Then writes, as if it were obvious. ~Sniper is my turtle. He prefers fingertips to meat.~
Yes, the big bad modi has a pet. A snapping turtle, to be exact, who she pampers like many would a cut fuzzy animal. It’s odd, yet somehow fitting all at the same time. It’s grown huge in the habitat built for it in the corner of her workout space, and she’s lost many a fingertip when she wasn’t paying attention. Fortunately, she’s metis.
She stands though, and gestures in the correct direction, before leading him that way. Her strides are long, for she is – as we’ve mentioned – on the tall side, even in flats. She walks with purpose, where others amble along. She always seems to have an objective at the end of her direction, but for earlier today while running laps in the park. But that is all unknown to the Galliard at her side. Likely, it’ll remain so.
[James Wagner] “Snappin’ turtle, eh? Why am I nae surprised?” he said with a grin as he stepped along beside her. She was tall indeed for a woman, barely four inches shorter than he. Her long-legged strides at met with his own, but while she steps with a purpose he saunters along as if at his ease no matter the speed of his gait. That is, when he’s not all out running.
Hands found their way back into his jacket pockets, after straightening the fedora on his brow. “I’ll thank ye not tae put th’critter’n m’bed while I sleep. Might be losin’ more’n a fingertip, ye know.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] She simply looks at him, again, at that. She has no intention of punishing her turtle that way, after all. That and walking and writing doesn’t exactly match. It saves her from telling the story of just why she has such a pet, and the meaning behind it. It saves her a lot of things, really, as does the simply fact that she cannot speak, and is not expected too.
Instead, she continues to head them toward the kinhouse, silently.
…
What conversation along the way happens is on James. She is not the most open of persons to begin with, and even her pack knows little to nothing about her. After two years it is a pinprick stickling point that bothers her, there, but with someone new? It is all together expected. Encouraged even. Soon enough, however, they arrive at the hole in the wall office building. Many would be surprised to know it is her name on the lease, that she effectively owns the space their kin and many of the garou use to sleep, shit, shave, shower and find substenance. She never mentions it. It is simply unimportant.
Opening the door, she shows him into the office space – where there are beat up couches, chairs, and a beanbag chair that Decker has claimed for his own. Through an opening dead ahead is the kitchen, to the left is the workout room – one whole corner of which is dedicated to sniper’s terrain. There’s a heavy bag hanging in the opposite corner, and various items of workout gear scattered around.
A hallway to the right ends in a staircase that leads upstairs. Now she pauses to write. ~Make yourself at home. Bedrooms upstairs. I am the only who sleeps here consistantly. Decker prefers the front room when he does, and the beanbag chair. Any empty room upstairs is yours. Bathroom is up there as well. Evan’s mate cooks for us regularly, meals to be reheated, or soups on the back of the stove. She’s a good cook. There is often a plate of items on the bottom shelf of the fridge. That’s Snipers. Tristan does Decker’s laundry, will do other’s if respectfully asked. Messages for all can be left on the fridge.~
A pause, and she points to her pet. ~That, of course, is Sniper.~
[AnneMarie Hoch] (ack – I forgot. Add Maya in there as sleeping there too. Heh. My bad.)
[James Wagner] James eyes took in his surroundings, nodding a bit. Spartan furnishings and lodgings; what he’d expect to find in a packhouse largely occupied by Get of Fenris. This suited him well enough, for while he had been away in Ireland for that time his home had been a cave when he wasn’t in Wicklow proper or carousing in Dublin.
“Dinnae think I’d be wantin’ ‘nyone washin’ m’unmentionables, ye know. I’ll be doin’ m’own laundry,” he said with a bit of a laugh and smile. Then he noticed something: the lack of a bar. The smile slipped somewhat, but James figured that would be a little project for himself during his stay here. Build them a bar, stock it and put a kegerator in. Yes, this turning to be quite the little endeavor for our dear James.
His eyes fell on the beast itself, a nasty looking creature. With a small smile and innocent look to AnneMarie James stepped over to it (and not within it’s strike range), to squat down and eye it. “S’nae yer usual cat ‘r dog, fer sure.” James would have to carry around a steel pole in case the thing tries to come after him. Or a baseball bat. His war-axe would be blunted by that thing’s shell.
[AnneMarie Hoch] There is no bar, but there is beer in the fridge. No one would begrudge him building one, however, that much is certain. They move toward Snapper’s pen, and AnneMarie checks the state of his water [changed every day, of course] and food, before stepping to the kitchen, and getting his food from the fridge.
She returns, and settles down to sit by the pen, well within snapping range, as if to prove it can be done. She peels off some of the meat, rare and bloody and holds it out for the Turtle, who’s by now at least a foot in length. And surprisingly fast, as he charges the edge of the pen, his food, and snatches it from her hand. A smug little grin slides over her face, and as he chews she runs her fingers over his shell, before offering another piece. Only then does she write on the pad set on the floor between them.
~He was a gift. Something strong and fierce. Something many underestimate. A cat or dog would shit themselves around here. Snapper holds his own. Decker won’t even mess with him any longer.~
[James Wagner] While the creature is preoccupied with food, James reaches out to run calloused fingertips along it’s ridged shell with one hand. Eyes skimming her written words, he nodded a little and offered her a smile. The Sandman could tell she took pride over the beast, and loved it as much as any could love a pet. For that, she earned a bit more of his respect. However if Decker wouldn’t even fool with it, James likely wouldn’t either.
“Any critter that’s nae unnerved ’round us’d make a good pet, if ye ken what I’m sayin’. Ne’er ‘ad a pet, m’self, ‘nless ye count m’cousin Rory.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] Talking of Sniper is the one time she lets her guard down, just a little. Most don’t notice. She rarely gets a chance to show him off, however, and it is nice to have that chance. Especially after the week she’s had.
On the paper. ~Hyde had a tank of little sharks before he was expelled. Something about his rank challenge. He fed them cheese. I fed them to Sniper.~
She places the rest of the plate in the tank, so that Sniper can eat the rest as he likes. She smooths her hand over his shell, then along the ridge of his head, pulling back QUICKLY when he goes for her finger. It brings a very rare, almost smile to her lips before it is gone again.
~The doors here are rarely locked. The key to the kitchen door, however, rests above the doorframe if needed. Any thing else you need to know?~
[James Wagner] Her little story of Hyde brought a deep belly laugh from his lips, and just as AnneMarie did he ran his fingertips over the thing’s head. Except, of course, his arm blurred when it went for his own fingers. There some Gifts you just couldn’t shut off. His just happened to be a lovely use of super-speed.
“Ornery critter,” he muttered off-handedly as he raised said hand to check to see if it had all five digits intact. Looking back to AnneMarie, he merely shook his head. “All I’ve tae know, lass. ‘Course this place’ll need some sprucin’ up. Cannae believe ye’ve no bar,” he said. “I’ll be buildin’ ye one, rest ‘ssured.”
Tallying the list of materials he’d need in his head. Two by fours, plywood, some brass footrails. “I’ll take m’leave, now. I’ve got shyte tae pack, ye know.” Rising, James tipped the brim of his fedora to her. “Be seein’ ye, AnneMarie.” With that, he left.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She reaches out and stops him, for a moment. ~Don’t forget. Our borders are marked, and closed to EVERYONE. Period. The only exception is in an emergency, otherwise any not of Eagle must go around.~
She hands the pad and pen back to him, and then stands. With a lift of her chin, she simply heads upstairs. He’s to run with them, he can find his own way out.
[James Wagner] A nod, and nothing more. James’ back vanished through the door and to his home.
[James Wagner] ( Thanks for the play! ::poof::)