[Jakob Schmidt] The whole thing is off. He’s Garou, but still. She’s Kinfolk, but has a backbone. That bag has blood in it. He doesn’t growl, but his stomach does, out of the blue.
When her eyes linger elsewhere for longer than a moment, he turns his head and follows her gaze to the man walking through the park now. Onions and grease and blood, all at once. Maybe that’s why his stomach made such a vocal declaration just now. He twists his head back around to look at her. “You suppose right.”
He looks at Kemp again, noting the mild greeting given to the redhead, and then says: “The Eagles. Sort of.” The words are quieter than any others he’s said so far, low and softened with something that could easily be interpreted as hesitation. He just seems miles away, for a second there.
[Kemp Oates] He could leave. He could just keep going and avoid the entire thing. He’d told Decker he wouldn’t mess with his Kin, that he’d leave ’em alone. He looked at the stranger again, then back at Imogen as his thoughts raced.
“Fuckme.”
Grumbled under his onion laced breath. If he left her and something happened, well that would suck in so many ways. Decker hated him. If he found out Kemp had been around Imogen, that could suck in so many other ways, none of which were the pleasing sort of sucking. For a split second a look crossed his face that was akin to sucking on a rotten lemon as he sucked in and drew closer.
“Evening.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Kemp’s nod is returned with an even gaze – as the fostern rotagar takes his space, Imogen does not bother to bridge it, turning her head instead to Jakob. There is a pause after he speaks.
“There was a dead bloke,” she says, “wi’ a … second face in his back.” She lifts the bag in illustration, its contents trembling within the near opaque. “Th’police couldn’t very well see tha’.”
It perhaps does not make anything less ludicrious before – but at least, for his answer, she gave him his.
Kemp bridges the gap himself and approaches. The redhead regards the boy for a moment before tilting her chin toward the stranger, “Perhaps you two should introduce yerselves. I think yeh both ha’ something in common.”
[Kemp Oates] “Onion breath?”
He glanced from Imogen to the bag then focused his full attention on Jakob with a lift of one dark brow.
[Imogen Slaughter] “Garou.” There is something like a long suffering patience, here, from a woman who clearly does not have much to spare.
[Jakob Schmidt] He’s shorter than Kemp, by a little, but looks older. Closer to Decker’s age, maybe, somewhere in his twenties. His hair is longish and uneven, his forehead is broad, and his eyes – though blue – are too vague to be described as ‘piercing’ or ‘chilling’. His jeans are worn, as are his shoes, and the sleeves of his dingy white henley were torn off some time ago. The edges of the armholes fray slightly. His hands are in his pockets, and there are some uniform ‘black marks’ on his left upper arm, indistinct in the dim light.
He’s still watching Kemp approach while Imogen answers. Hearing the rustle of the bag, he turns back to her and – wonders – he smiles a little. It’s just a flicker, the corners of his mouth turning up momentarily, but he doesn’t answer. His attention goes back to Kemp, and the smile isn’t there anymore. It’s not replaced with a frown, just the same blank, inscrutable expression as before. His head tilts a bit to the side. Kemp and Imogen talk; he doesn’t have to ask questions or offer rejoinders, but he still gets the basic information.
Good enough. He gives a nod to Kemp.
[Kemp Oates] “No shit?”
His attention did not shift from Jakob as he spoke.
“Ain’t seen ya before. Who you?”
Bad English and all as he slid the bag from beneath his arm and fished out another foil wrapped burger.
[Nessa Malikoff] Illicit actions in the night. Sneaking around. Things she shouldn’t be doing, is driven hard by her inner wild thing. And she has an inner wild thing; it’s in there, someplace, if one bothers to look. Mostly, people don’t, and make assumptions of the supposedly plain -faced woman.
Such as her clothing, that a woman dressed in that delicate shade of pink is gentle and kind and perhaps a librarian. Or maybe that in that dress, she is not athletically inclined, prefers sedate activities. Even a soft, feminine lipstick shade today, all colors which make her pale skin seem delicate. She Could be delicate.
Then again, she is eyeing that tree like she wants very much to climb it, as she munches on a rather trucker-style chili-cheese-onion-bacon burger. But her faintly audible belch is definately feminine in nature, so perhaps its not an act after all.
Several more steps into the park, into the shadows and she feels every hair in her arms stand on end, probably due to the assorted company she recognizes before her. Today, no one will be accusing her of alertness. The moon fades and danger grows. Garou are near and her current state is not to be desired. Hopefully the coke in the cup she carries will wake her up sometime in the next few seconds.
[Jakob Schmidt] “Jakob,” he says, simply. He’s so still. It’s not as though there’s no Rage to him; it’s there. His eyes aren’t wandering or unfocused. There’s just something about him that makes him seem like he’s likely to just…not be there anymore, if you blink, or if the wind blows, or if he sighs too heavily. It’s a weird sense, and with him standing there – real and solid and speaking – it’s hard to hold onto the idea.
Then, less simple, he says, “Snowsblood.” For a moment, when he says that name, he is vivid. His hands slide out of his pockets and his arms hang at his sides, but for just a split second, he is as strong as that name and as old as the heritage he wears on his face.
[Sandra Davenport] (OOC: Places please?)
[Nessa Malikoff] (uhhh in a park?? Maybe, I hope?))
to Sandra Davenport
[Evan McCollach] Evan had spent little time visting the rest of those that called Chicago their home. He had not spoken to Kendra or Thaney since he left for Minnesota. And when he got back. Well he was pleasantly surprised with Randi coming to live in Chicago. And he hadn’t returned to the packhouse since he met her once again.
However he wanted Randi to met the pair that he once called packmates, the two that took him into their pack when he was a fresh face. They were probably the only one who would willingly take him in at the time.
And on the bus he just joked with Randi, telling her about Thaney, Kendra and Marissa. Abotu his fallen packmate Baaku and his time with the Hounds. However he wasn’t that good of a storyteller, he he had to keep going back over details here and there. And when the bus comes to their stop, he lets her head off first. Because there was no way he was getting on the back of her motorcycle.
[Kemp Oates] “Heh. Kemp.”
Amusement raced through him, touching his eyes as the devil in him started to dance a merry dance of mischief in the making and he tried to force it down before it got hold of his tongue.
“Truth in Frenzy. Fenrir. New Moon. Fostern in Rank. Now give me the rest cause I ain’t a dentist and didn’t bring my pliers.”
[Kemp Oates] ((Well Kemp and Imogen and Jakob and I believe Nessa are in a park. Others, not sure.))
[Decker Rohl] When Decker comes to stand beside Imogen the air around him seems thinner, the way air thins around a flame. They might’ve subconsciously felt his rage a long ways off. But he was here now, right there, an arm’s reach away, like a nuclear reactor: solid, dense, with a core of white-hot plasma.
He’s quiet. He doesn’t say anything. He glances briefly at Imogen in greeting, and at Jakob. Then his eyes settle flatly on Kemp. He lets them get through with their introductions.
[Randi Bartlett] *the entire bus ride, she listened, holding his hand and leaning on him. She giggled softly at some of his stories, or at him having to back track. But it was all good. When the bus stopped, she climbed out and took his hand once more* So will you be going back to them when this thing is over with the Eagles?
[Sandra Davenport] A late night walk, and for once she’s seen without her beloved laptop, in favor of the book she has been reading under a lamppost in the park. Eventually, however, she is tired of sitting, and places a marker in the thick book, closes it and stands. She takes a moment to zip up her hoodie sweatshirt, before she wraps her arms around the book, holding it against her chest, and starting down a path that will eventually take her home.
She is not a pretty girl, Sandra, and is easily forgotten. She naturally blends into the background, doing what she can to avoid calling attention to herself. But there are some things – like the blood in her veins – that she cannot hide. As much as some days, she may want too.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen watches the Garou perform their dance absently, something remote to the way she takes it in. Her eyes dark, they sometimes watch Kemp as he speaks, and sometimes watches Jakob when he does. Just as often, she looks out over the park, toward the sky. She wipes hair from her eyes with the back of her hand, eschewing her fingers with their dirty fingernails.
When the Fenrir Modi comes to stand beside her, Imogen turns to look at him, over the angle of her shoulder, her eyes meeting his briefly. The rage is something she stands, though at this moment she is the one closest to it.
Her gaze goes from Silence to Kemp – but if there is trepidation or concern, it does not actually display, her features set in inscrutability.
[Nessa Malikoff] Today the Russian-born kin brings a mixture of scents to an increasingly crowded ‘outdoors’ spot. Supposedly a touch of nature in a cement jungle, as if the precise number of grassy feet were anything but completely planned and accounted for in man-hours in a city landscape maintenance journal some place, and as if nature just dropped benches and lamplights and sculpture around randomly. With electricity. And twinkle lights at Christmas. It’s as natural as fuzzy Elmo slippers on a Fenrir ahroun.
She smiles at the thought, sort of, through the bite of hamburger complexity. And keeps going, her path cutting her through the park, near the others, who might or might not notice the sense of lengthening shadows, the scent of enigmas in her Shadowlord heritage, more subtle than much of the other breeding in the park tonight. The perfect plainness in her face has subtle depth for garou to see, a quiet request for attention.
Unlike the onions in her burger which scream a warning.
Busy park tonight.
Nessa’s hair is loose, blows stark and raven-dark against her pale dress, paler skin. The steps of her heels offer a quiet rhythm to her approach, on Imogen’s side of the gathering.
[Jakob Schmidt] “Skald and Cliath.” He doesn’t spell out his tribe. The word he uses for his auspice and the measure of his breeding is probably – should be – enough. It’s one more thing they have in common. He inclines his head once to Kemp, which is as close to a -rhya as the other young Fenrir gets for now.
And then Decker’s there.
The mud and blood after the revel had hidden the tattoos on his arm, the first time he’d met the Adren. They were probably harder for Imogen to make out in the dark than they were for Kemp or Decker, but Jakob really didn’t know. Whether there was light enough to see them by or not, the simple black block letters etched into his left shoulder said:
M I C A H
L I L L I A N
He looks away from Kemp and over to Silence. The nod he gives isn’t the same inclination of his head, and it’s not a ghetto nod of greeting, either. There are nuances to body language, and Jakob seems better versed in them than in spouting poetry every time he opens his mouth. Which, apparently, he doesn’t do that often.
[Kemp Oates] Maybe he was so accustomed to the feel of Decker that after four years together, he didn’t think twice about the feel until Decker stepped up next to Imogen.
“Heh, cool. But it’s him.”
Canting his head towards Decker as he spoke to Jakob.
“That you’ll want to make yourself known to. He’s Elder here.”
Lifting his chin to Decker then Imogen as he turned to step away.
[Evan McCollach] He took her hand as they started away from the bus stop, smiling to her. But he really didn’t know the answer to that question. At first he thought he did, he figured that his time as an Eagle would be spent in learning something, or teaching someone. But he didn’t think it would have come to what he had learned. He had found himself accepted now, he had learned a bit of what it was like to be an Eagle. It was difficult, but Evan never swayed from a challenge, he was not one to take the easy route.
“Honestly, I really don’t know right now. I still have to think about it.”
He smiled again.
“And what about your work?”
[Sandra Davenport] There seems to be a gathering ahead, a gathering of people she does not know – but for one. The one who can eat his weight in fried chicken when he’s of a mind. Good thing she always makes too much when she cooks.
She doesn’t call out, or make her presence known. It would not be her if she did. She just looks at Kemp, and then away again, and continues on the path that will bring her too, then past them, if not stopped.
[Jakob Schmidt] Jakob tilts his head to one side, briefly, then straightens it. He shakes his head slightly to Kemp, his hands moving back into his jean pockets. “He’s the one that brought me down from Minnesota,” which is more words all at once than anyone but Decker has heard from him so far.
[Kemp Oates] “Then the point is moot.”
His back was ramrod straight as he stepped away. The burger forgotten, fingers curled around the foil wrapped, cooling lump as he replied as he headed off.
[Randi Bartlett] Oh man, I love it. I get a look or a comment once in awhile since I’m the only girl there, but I just blow it off. You know me. *she nudged him* That reminds me! *she pulled a piece of paper from her pocket to give to him* New guy in town. Name’s Drift. That’s his number.
[Decker Rohl] Decker might see the tattoos if he were to look. He might even, one day, think to ask. But from the moment he’d looked to Kemp, he hasn’t looked away. There’s nothing friendly in his eyes. He watches the kid walk away, only he doesn’t think of him as the kid anymore. He was just Kemp, and all that that entailed.
A memory of a thousand bitter confrontations across two states and half a continent. A memory of one last confrontation against one another, in a filthy alleyway, not so long ago.
And maybe Decker should be big about it. Should bury the hatchet and make it a loving cup. Should at least put on a show for Jakob’s sake, or Imogen’s. But he doesn’t. Truth be told, even if Kemp hadn’t turned away of his own volition then, Decker would’ve — let’s just say — suggested it.
When the Rotagar is well away, he finally drops his gaze from his back. Glances at Imogen. “He still come around ta talk to ya, does he.”
[Kemp Oates] His long stride took him into step next to Sandra as she made her way along the path. Falling in silently with a double take towards Nessa there in the dark before he lifted his chin towards Nessa and looked away with a long exhale.
[Sandra Davenport] Kemp pulls away from the group, and still she watches, her gaze sliding along the others, briefly, before returning to Kemp as he falls into step with her. She looks up at him with a slight smile, then down again. At least she didn’t blush right away. But give it a minute. “Hey.” and after his exhale, her voice soft enough any normal person would have to strain to hear her. “Everything ok?”
[Kemp Oates] “Naw, but don’t matter no more.”
Shrugging sightly as he stuffed the burger back in the bag, wadding it up.
“So, whatcha doing out here?”
Glancing down at Sandra a moment. Accutely aware of Decker back there. A completely different feeling from having him at his back use to be.
[Jakob Schmidt] Earlier, it had just been about Imogen encountering an unknown whose nature made her shoulders and her spine straighten, made the air between the two of them lash-sharp with tension. What Jakob felt now, saw in Kemp and sensed coming off of Decker, was a cousin to Rage. In as many letters, but god help you if you sounded them out loud, he’d call it Pain. At its core, without the more specific and naggingly accurate embellishments (betrayal, bitterness, what have you), Jakob would call it pain. Right or wrong.
There are more people drifting through the park now. Jakob turns his head around and looks at Imogen and Decker. He doesn’t need to ask the redhead’s name, now, even though no one has appended it to her tonight. Decker said her name once, Decker stands next to her like that, and he doesn’t need to ask.
God, it sucks to be the ringer.
[Nessa Malikoff] A lot of people she knows. Her brow furrows, as her path adjusts just enough, to angle away from the Fenrir gathering, to slip back towards new shadows, her expression caught between shuttered and unhappy.
Kemp joins Sandra, and after a momentary acknowledgement, turns away from Nessa. She is caught in her minor sin, the evidence of fatty cheating in her hands, spicy and perfectly normal foods. Her eyes close, while inside her, something churns and grows and demands escape. The pushing begins and she reaches with one hand to place the nibbled-on burger into a waiting trash bin.
Little wild, and gettting desperate.
[Imogen Slaughter] Kemp walks away, and Decker’s question draws Imogen’s regard. Her own gaze is considerably cooler, more reserved than the Modi’s. But then again, she did not have the weight of rage to bear and finding control is a shade easier, without it.
“No,” she answers the Adren evenly, “He doesn’t.”
Agnessa has approached, and the kin’s gaze turns that way, the seam of her mouth firming. The park was having it’s share of visitor’s tonight. “Agnessa.” And perhaps now, the Shadow Lord kin was leaving, or staying, but the redhead offers that by way of … something.
“It’s the first time I’ve seen him in months,” she finishes, turning her attention back to the two Fenrir.
[Princess] She was on a bus. She was doing something she very, very rarely did – namely, check her voice messages. Why, and would you look at that (okay, listen to that). There’s Evan’s voice, all suppressed excitement; after the initial furrowing of her brow (what’s wrong?) and the usual conflicted “hnh” there’s a replay button. Which she hits. Something about a place to meet? And she tries to hit the replay button again, because she was suddenly tuning in to another conversation, and this time the replay button becomes DELETE. “Aw, fuckin’. Hey, Mister. Mister! Let me off here. Wait, no. Not here. The next stop.”
[Sandra Davenport] “That’s not true,” She starts, and then flushes as she lifts a hand to push her glasses up, and to slide her hair behind her ear. She folds her arms around the book held to her chest again, and at least finishes the sentense. “It matters.”
Then, on to the second question, as shoulders hunch, then roll into a slight shrug. “Reading. Lost track of time.”
[Evan McCollach] He took the piece of paper with the number on it and looked at it for a second. And then he looked back at her. “Kin or true?”
He had been thinking about hat the sept was like to, but he couldn’t go bakc there. He had to just accept it for now. However he mention of being ribbed did make him smirk a little bit. He did his own share of ribbing when they were much, much younger. Childhood crushes meant teasing and he was good at that.
“You know I could come to the shop. I am sure people wouldn’t think to mock you anymore. I won’t even raise a finger I promise.”
[Kemp Oates] “No. It don’t. World is fucked and so are we all.”
Inhaling deeply through his nostrils as he visibly fought to change his mood. Forcing a smile for Sandra.
“So……always read in the dark?”
[Decker Rohl] Agnessa, Imogen says, and Decker appends — with an almost automatic sort of laziness, and barely a glance, “Git lost.”
The Fenrir gathering, which more a pack-ish gathering now, is apparently private.
“Miss him, huh.” — that, to Imogen, flatly enough that it’s unreadable. The moon is small. It could be a joke, only, it couldn’t possibly. Not after what had happened; not so soon after, maybe not ever. And whatever had passed between Kemp and Decker, Jakob would just have to stay in the dark about it a little longer. Decker’s attention had fallen squarely on Imogen, and stays there.
[Randi Bartlett] Um, true I think. He wanted to know where .. you know.. the special place is. *she giggled and leaned in to kis his cheek* Aw, my wonderful Prince Charming protecting me. *she hugged on his arm as they walked where he was leading them* You forget, baby, I took martial arts classes since I was little. Though I think by now, you could kick my butt. *she smiled and just held on to him* So, have you dated since leaving me all alone in Vermont?
[Sandra Davenport] That blush still creeps around her face, even as she almost retorts to his statement with an almost joke. It’s only take three meetings and a dinner to get her to that point, and it still doesn’t quite make it past her lips. She shakes her head though. “Wasn’t dark when I started, and I was sitting under a lamp that had enough light to read by.”
She lets the book fall, and shows the title if he’s interested. Art History. School work. She lost track of time doing schoolwork.
[Jakob Schmidt] Jakob watches Imogen and Decker for a moment longer, but their attention is on one another and – though they may not be looking at him – on Kemp. Imogen gives a greeting to someone with what sounds (to Jakob) like a pretty weird name. He takes a step back, turns, and then he’s walking away, too. This isn’t a pack gathering. He’s not pack…not yet. And he’s certainly not interested in watching the Elder (Adrens are Elders here?) and his mate have a chat that seems to hinge on some mysterious problem with the Fostern Rotagar he just met.
Some Garou of his auspice want all stories, every story, all the time, and they never shut up with the questions if there be questions to ask. He – at least in this case – walks away. His stomach is growling, anyway, and people keep walking by with food.
[Jakob Schmidt] (Jakob’s stomach and my stomach both. Might be back later. Thanks, folks. *G*)
[Nessa Malikoff] The voice nearly missed her. She was busy brooding like only a Russian-born Shadowlord can, her pessimistic side warring with the wild thing trapped inside of her, the inner turmoil making it at least partway to her pale, plain face.
Nessa looks at Imogen, might or might not really see the woman, but her hand comes up in a wave of goodbye before she stops, drops the coke in the trash too, and walks deeper into the darkness.
And faster, a fraction more with each step.
[Princess] The hey, Mister bus driver is less than pleased to have the red-haired teenager suddenly standing right next to him, toes over the white line that her toes aren’t supposed to ever go over, even when she offers him the gleam of a smile. He stops the bus at the bus stop she really wanted, the one vaguely near her old pack house, the one she and Marissa haven’t lived in since a couple weeks after Evan split, and she shoves her hands deep, deep into her pockets in order to scuffle along in this vague I’m pretty sure this was the address (christ, what could be wrong? Did he make Fostern? Maybe, like, maybe Decker’s coming back to the sept – or – ) way. And, lo. Another tiny city park. No sign of Evan, yet (or his little friend).
[Imogen Slaughter] Her attention shifts as Jakob walks away, watching him go for several steps before she turns her attention back.
His question had no lilt. It was perhaps not even a question, but a comment. It was a lead in to another argument, a path she could see as clear as day.
“I need t’go take care o’ this,” she says, indicating the plastic bag and its grisley contents by lifting it a few inches, “Yeh comin’?”
[Alaric Reiter] ( Room for another? Locations? )
[Kemp Oates] He managed to hold in his grimace when he squinted down at the book. He still pretty much hated reading, even with tutoring. Reading was more chore than pleasure. More necessity than want.
“Heh, think I rather pluck the hairs from my balls one at a time than read that.”
[Imogen Slaughter] (Imogen and Decker are in a park – and I think most people are near or around there.)
[Evan McCollach] He doubted very much that he could actually take her. Even with the kill of that centipede and what not, he still thought of himself as less of a warrior. His father had taught him some skills in fighting, some tactics known to full moons. But he did not have that gut instinct of a fighter. He was a mediator, assigned by birth.
“Me? Date? I was having a hard enough time getting my footing outside of Vermont.”
He laughed a little, playful. It was kind of odd to see the stern-faced Philodox act this way. And as he rounded the corner near the former packhouse of of Hounds, he came into view of Thaney. But it might seem odd to her, the young coggie wannabe silverfang was laughing and smiling with a woman on his arm.
[Kemp Oates] ((yep, Kemp and Sandra are walking off through the park. ))
[Nessa Malikoff] (Nessa is vaguely near Kemp and Sandra and she is kinda leaving quickly)
[Sandra Davenport] “What a lovely mental picture…” there it is. More then three words, and a tease at that – even if it makes her duck her face and hide behind her hair. She peeks up at him with a slight smile.
[Decker Rohl] The path, clear as day. Miss him, do you? Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. And her diversion: the grisly bag full of… whatever it was. Something greasy, something bloody, something half-human, sub-human, fucked up.
For a second his eyes fall from her, to the bag. He seems to accept the offered alternative. For a second.
Then he reaches out, grabs the bag from her — grabs it, full-on, not by the handles but by the body, his fingers digging into the squishing something inside. He turns and shoves it into the garbage can Nessa had just visited. How’s that for half-eaten burger?
“‘s taken care’a.”
[Nessa Malikoff] ((*Is so not hungry now*))
to Alaric Reiter, cricket, Decker Rohl, Evan McCollach, fly, Imogen Slaughter, Kemp Oates, Princess, Randi Bartlett, Roxanne Whitaker, Sandra Davenport
[Imogen Slaughter] The plastic bag stretches as he grabs it, and for a second her grip does not release. Then, suddenly it does, and he chucks it away. The kinfolk regards Decker’s idea of ‘taking care’ of the veil breach, the muscles in her jaw working.
Her gaze turns back, then up to the Modi, an eyebrow arching. “The moon isn’t full,” she remarks, “what’s yer excuse?”
[Alaric Reiter] Tonight was another night much like one could expect to find. It was a bit balmy considering the city, and it was a bit stifling for the Dane. Yet even tonight, he still wore his leather jacket. Beneath it, a wifebeater. Two leather straps could be seen crossing his chest as his jacket was left unzipped. Worn jeans, and scuffed boots mingled with a decidedly… gruff demeanor.
His bootfalls clomped silently; he wasn’t headed in any predetermined direction. But yet soon he found himself a block or two away from the park everyone seemed to be congregating at. A hand rubbed at the bit of fuzz on his bald-shaven head that he had yet to shave with a razor again, giving him the sort of appearance of having platinum blond down on his head. Many of the mudane that neared him made damn sure to find an alternate route, lest they suffer his gaze and presence.
( Merit: Bruiser, Intim 4: Heavy Stare )
[Randi Bartlett] *she giggled* Aw, you missed me that much? *she looked around the area he was leading them to. She was in a short sleeve burgundy tee with the word “My boyfriend can kick your boyfriend’s ass” in white. Her blonde hair was up under a worn baseball cap. She wore little makeup, relying on natural beauty. She had a pair of jeans and converse on as well.* You know, I could make a comment, but I’m not sure how I would feel about the answer.
[Princess] Alas, this next reaction is cruel – because, after all, Princess usually understands people based on their body language before their appearance, and a laughing Evan with a woman on his arm doesn’t fit the mould. So, Evan comes around the corner, and there’s a laughing girl; she flicks a glance at them, interested, but then the glance flicks back. Wait for it. A second, and then her gaze flicks back, this time with attention. Hey, but the girl’s pretty, and there doesn’t seem to be a family resemblance –
Enough of that. She lifts a hand, waves – magnifies her voice, yells – “EVAN.”
[Princess] ooc: Er, but then the glance flicks back away to wander the streets. I swear I wrote that.
[Roxanne Whitaker] Activity in a small city park, it is enough to draw the eyes of a bystander from the sidewalk that borders along the edge of it. A group that had been as large as the one now breaking up had caught the interest of one stranger. Several steps closer to inspect the separation of the gathering of people, a few minor notes play across her mind.
The woman breaks from the sidewalk, moving towards the remains of Decker and Imogen, two signature figures that held recognition to the tall woman. Her hands buried in the pockets of a short denim jacket, head angling to the side as the thick strands of pale blond pseudo-like dreads slither across her shoulders and back.
“A’think there’s some law that prohibits th’ abuse o’ processed cow meat, Rohl, ‘less ya turned into a fuckin’ herbivore since th’ last time a’saw yar ass.”
[Kemp Oates] “Heh, well maybe one of these times while ya read that, I’ll demonstrate and you’ll have more than a mental image to go on.”
His jaw ticked as he forced a gritted smile with a glance in the direction of Nessa and away, refusing to look back towards Decker. Somethings never healed.
“So, heading for home, right?”
[Decker Rohl] An alternate route: that’s where Imogen and Decker are. Not on the main paths frequented by most joggers, moms with strollers, mom-joggers-with-joggable-strollers, and what have you. Not there. Off — on the side branches, nearer the lake than most, in the shadow of trees, in the pale light of dim park lights, off where picnickers picnicked during the day, but only the insane lingered alone at night.
It’s full dark now. Decker “takes care” of the veil breach. Imogen watches in silence, and then not in silence. Decker turns back to her on a sharp inhale, and stops. Yeah, what is his excuse?
“I ain’t got one,” he fires back, low and fierce, like it were an excuse after all.
[Decker Rohl] (aw shit. i didn’t see! wait.)
[Decker Rohl] An alternate route: that’s where Imogen and Decker are. Not on the main paths frequented by most joggers, moms with strollers, mom-joggers-with-joggable-strollers, and what have you. Not there. Off — on the side branches, nearer the lake than most, in the shadow of trees, in the pale light of dim park lights, off where picnickers picnicked during the day, but only the insane lingered alone at night.
It’s full dark now. Decker “takes care” of the veil breach. Imogen watches in silence, and then not in silence. Decker turns back to her on a sharp inhale, and stops. Yeah, what is his excuse?
“I ain’t got one,” he fires back, low and fierce, like it were an excuse after all. Then Roxy speaks up — his head turns around, sharp but precise. He glares in the Walker kin’s direction for a long time. Hell of a welcome-back, this. Then, a snort. He straightens. He’d been leaning over Imogen; he hadn’t even noticed it. His jaw flexes visibly.
“It ain’t meat,” he says, and, “fuck is you doin’ here?”
That sounded familiar. Imogen got something of a similar greeting, years ago, after following him all the way to Chicago. At his request. He just wasn’t very good at this welcome-to-Chicago shit.
[Sandra Davenport] She watches him and follows his look at Nessa, then back again. “Yeah.” The simple answer, and then taking the plunge with a shy grin. “Want to come over?”
But she doesn’t say it while looking up, she can’t quite do that. At least not yet. And maybe never. Shy, and barely able to speak most times it’s amazing that she managed to offer at all.
[Evan McCollach] He looked at her and smirked.
“You can’t make comments like that and not have me try and dig it out of ya. So its would be easier on ya if you just say it. Because the alternative is…”
He paused a second and then just went to tirckle her side, laughing for the moment he had her. And then came that sudden scream of his name. And he eyes went up, looking around, ctaching Thaney. Turning back to smile at Randi.
“There’s the girl I was telling you about, that’s Thaney.”
[Imogen Slaughter] He’s leaning over her, his voice low, fierce. Maybe his teeth bare when he speaks. And she draws a breath to answer – but her retort is way-laid by Roxanne’s appearance. Decker’s unfriendly greeting is enough – to offer anything more polite would be ludicrous in comparison. To be as rude or worse; not her style.. Imogen’s head turns to look at the peroxide blonde mechanic, her expression smoothing as she takes a step back from the Modi.
[Randi Bartlett] *she yelped at the tickle, trying to squirm away without letting him go. Now that she had him back, every moment together she was going to stay as close as possible. She leaned in and whispered in his ear what she was going to ask. Then she yell of his name and she looked where he was mentioning* She kinda cute.
[Kemp Oates] “Sure, I’ll see ya home. But do something daring for me?”
He glanced down at Sandra in the dark with a near pleading look in his green eyes.
“Look at me when I speak, when you speak to me? Don’t hide your eyes or face. Don’t cowl before me? So me the steel in you. I know it’s gotta be there with your blood. Don’t care what you were taught growing up. This is between us. I can’t deal with ya seeming like you’re afraid I’m gonna smack ya or something if ya look at me.”
[Alaric Reiter] It was indeed full dark, and in this part of town there was always the scum of society that came out in droves once the sun went down. Lakeview, despite it’s rich exterior, was no different. Many that lived here were sheltered, walked with tunnel-vision and were otherwise oblivious to the underlying current of the city.
Tonight, one was brave enough to try and confront the Danish terror. A young man, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, bumped into Alaric. “Watch it,” came Alaric’s bark. Then, in a lower voice: “Fucking Americans.” His accent was thick with spices of Denmark.
“Sorry, buddy,” came the response. Alaric would of left it at that. That is, until he felt a light brush against his left asscheek. Felt a light touch graze him. Eyes like blue ice hardened, if such was possible for them to grow any more like bright burning sapphires. Belying his size, he whirled. A quick-step and his fist collided with the back of the kid’s head.
Stars, bright pretty stars, and his pick-pocket collapsed. There was no restraint for Alaric, only swiftness. Mercy was for those with compassion, and of late Alaric held none. Picking up the beaten wallet that skidded out of the young man’s grasp, it was slipped back into his rear pocket and the Dane continued on his way towards the faint sounds of… voices?
[Roxanne Whitaker] “Standin’ here.” She says in a small retort to his greeting, her hands pull from her pockets to perch on the curve of narrow hips as one they tilt more slightly to the left, bent elbows positioned away from her body. Her tongue clucks against the roof of her mouth, head cocked back to look up and meet the storm-grey of the Modi’s eyes.
“Felt like interruptin’ one o’ yar lover’s spats.” A curl of her lips flashes a wry grin at the pair; the lack of warmth of their greetings did nothing to diminish the Glass Walker’s good mood. “Visitin’ Chicago, shugah.”
[Sandra Davenport] Do something daring, he says, and she almost starts to protest – but doesn’t. Not as he continues, not as he speaks and near pleads with her. By the time he gets to ‘between us’, she’s already started to lift her face, by the time he says afraid, she can read the look in those green eyes, and she doesn’t look away, she doesn’t look down.
Not this time.
She can’t stop the blush though, as she drops a hand from around the books, and slips her small fingers into his larger hand. Her voice soft, still, and it takes an effort to touch him, to speak AND look up at him, but she somehow manages to do all three. “I’ll try my best to..”
[Kemp Oates] ((Oh hell, can tell it is past my bedtime. That was suppose to be SHOW not SO me. Sorry))
[Sandra Davenport] ((OOC: I didn’t notice. (grin) ))
[Princess] Yes, the girl has a set of lungs on her; it’s always been about the voice. But after that brief exclamation – hello – nothing else, really, for a moment. They’re talking, Evan and Randi, about something. She isn’t going to interrupt, and, anyway, pretty soon they’ll be within easy talking distance. Princess runs her fingers through her red, red hair, jumps to her feet, and toys with a key she’s wearing around her neck today, while sort of trying to figure out in advance what this whole thing is about. “Hey, you two,” is what she says, when that close enough thing finally happens, leaving off toying with the key to give a little wave of her fingers.
[Kemp Oates] “That’s all I can ask, isn’t it?”
Dark hair fluttering across his eyes when he looked down at her with a faint nod of acceptance.
“Besides, before too long, you’ll be running screaming. Or throwing things at me. I can tell ya that already.”
Curling his fingers around Sandra’s while walking through the dark. Feeling a bit weird holding hands.
[Evan McCollach] He looked at her for a second and leaned over to listen to Randi’s whispers. And after half a heart beat, he leaned over and whispered right back to her. He smiled once more and then headed towards his former packmate, but responds to Randi’s comment.
“Thaney cute?”
Yeah maybe in that sisterly, if anyone lays a hand on her they loose a finger way. Especially after several of their conversation at the packhouse which left Evan a bit… off. And when Thaney is close enough to talk more comfortable, he nods.
“Randi this is Thaney, Thaney, Randi. She is from my home sept. Came all the way here because she just couldn’t live without me. She’s my….mate.” He used the last word as if it was delicate, fresh from the cosmos that birthed it.
[Decker Rohl] Good isn’t exactly the word for the Modi’s mood. Roxanne’s appearance is sudden enough, random enough, to throw him off his kilter for a moment. Doesn’t improve his mood any. Just makes it harder for him to find a target. He turns a little away from Imogen, a little toward the peroxide blonde. “Visitin’,” he repeats, with a snort. And a cast around: the darkened park, the little clusters of people here and there, some of them mundane, some of them not.
“Lotta shit changed while you was gone, Roxy. Lotta shit went down.” A nod through the thin trees to an adjacent pack, where Alaric was. “Why don’tcha axe Alaric there. ‘s good ta see ya ‘gain, but fuck tha hell off.”
Decker Rohl: polite southern gentleman, as always.
[Sandra Davenport] “Why would I do that?”
She would have pulled her hand away again, but for the fact he curls his fingers around hers. The darkness hides her blushing now, and she is grateful for it as she walks beside him. She is still surprised he sees her at all, but to take the time to talk to her, to notice her…well. It’s already more then she would ever have hoped for. Right now, with his friendship bloomin, it’s more then she’s had from anyone since arriving. She is content with that. It’s simply not in her to pressure anyone – except herself.
“You don’t seem so bad as all that.”
[Randi Bartlett] *She listened to to Evan’s whisper and suddenly she was beat bright red. She was all giggly when they finally met up with THaney. She smiled to Evan when he actually was able to call her his mate. Then she looked to Thaney and offered a hand* Nice to meet you. Evan’s been telling me about you all evening.
[Kemp Oates] “Heh, believe me, I am. Before long, everyone reacts that way. Believe me. I could make the Pope flip his top. A saint curse like a sailor on leave and the God’s themselves weep in frustration. Give me time.”
Smiling crookedly as he walked with her.
[Princess] “You guys were whispering an awful lot,” she says, easily, although there’s something about the cant of her head that reads perplexed. “Nice to meet you, Randi,” she says, even shakes her hand, all friendly, even while one of her eyebrows hitches up, and she sort of laughs at Evan when he says the word mate until — give her some credit — she realizes it isn’t a joke. And looks absolutely horrified that she’d laughed. The hand’s taken back and she covers her mouth. “Really? I mean, seriously?”
[Imogen Slaughter] It has been noted before that sometimes Imogen and Decker take turns speaking. One speaks, the other is silent. If Roxanne had noticed this before, she will find that nothing has changed now – Decker is speaking and Imogen is silent, as she reaches up and pulls her coat sleeves down, unravelling them from her elbows and pulling them past the fine bones of her wrists. The weather is warm – but the kin still wears the coat, light as it is. The edges of her fingernails are lined with dirt, barely visible by the ambient light of one of the nearby path lights.
Her attention is there, but diffused. From Decker to Roxanne to where Alaric was pointed out – to another cluster of normals some distance away. Her hand pushes hair from her eyes, as her gaze ends at Roxanne, her expression even.
[Sandra Davenport] She lowers her head so that the hand she still cradles the book with can lift enough to push up her glasses, before she just shakes her head. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, perhaps weighing the words, testing them before she dares let them leave her lips. If she is to look up at him to speak – the words should matter. Or at least amuse him.
“But you already said you’d never met anyone like me. Perhaps I’ll be different there too.”
[Randi Bartlett] *Randi smiled loving and proud* For the last 24 hours now, yes. *she hugged onto Evan’s arm* We grew up together. And, apparently, found out last night how we both felt for some time.
[Kemp Oates] “Oh believe me, you”ll see soon enough. I promise.”
Reaching over for her book to heft it before handing it back.
“Hold on to that, might want to hit me with it before the night is over.”
Snickering as he lead her off towards her home.
[Alaric Reiter] Alaric was still nearing, leaving behind him a dark shape that was the unconcious form of his “assailant” lying on the sidewalk. A disgruntled look upon his face, perhaps Decker and Alaric could of been twin thunderheads at that particular moment. Between Alaric’s level of RAR and Decker’s sheer Rage, it’s a wonder anyone could even function around them. But let it be said here and now he was nowhere near the level of Decker’s RAR.
He approached, and heard. “Ask Alaric what?” came his Danish rumble. There was a nod of greeting to Imogen and Decker. Not with the chin-lift so coined by the Eagles, but a dipping of his head. Then his glare was shifted to Roxanne. He did not know her, has never even seen her. The look was as if to say and you are…?
[Evan McCollach] He watched Thaney reaction and her laugh and his face goes stone. He didn’t laugh along with her, but then again he could also understand where Thaney came from. No one saw Evan before his…. departure from the Sept of the Guided Hand. They only knew of the Evan that was purely business, pure duty. The stern-faced philodox who was determined to fulfill a purpose. But Randi knew his past, knew him when he actually had more than just his duty. Nodding when Randi responded.
[Kemp Oates] ((I’m sorry, I am so asleep. Work in four and half hours, must go to bed. Thank you.))
[Sandra Davenport] She lets him have the book, using the moments reprieve to push her hair back. “Maybe, maybe not.” And that’s all she says on the matter as she takes the book back, and walks with him toward home.
((OOC: No problem! Thank you!))