[Max] Crazy wolves with neck wounds were supposed to stay in bed. They were not supposed to wandering around outside in the middle of the night during winter. Naturally, of course, Max was doing exactly that. But then, he was Fenrir, and it was unseasonably warm for January, and the rage in his body had him restless to the point of nearly wanting to chew his own arm off. So there he was, all six feet, two inches of solid, athletic male, walking down the sidewalk and nursing a cup of bad coffee he’d gotten at a nearby convenience store. Tonight he had on a pair of jeans and a couple of layers worth of shirts: the upper-most of which was a black zippered hoodie. He also had a bandage on his throat.
The shadow of a few day’s worth of sandy stubble marked his jaw, and from the slightly haggard, worn look to his face, he hadn’t been sleeping all that well lately. Nonetheless, he was glad to be outside. Glad to be in his birth form, even if only for a short while. It felt good to stretch his legs, and to have something hot to drink.
[Marni] Crazy wolves are known to do crazy things – and some days they don’t get crazier than a streetrat raggie with a childlike delight for shiny things and books. Not necessarily in that order. Currently, said streetrat is perched atop a closed dumpster, looking for all the world like she’s chosen it for a throne. The reason for being here, instead of in her nice warm box for the night is simple: she’s leaning back carefully, so that the lamplight above is shining down on the pages of the tattered (beloved) book in her hands.
She’s lost in Wonderland with Alice.
Now, Marni’s cute. There’s no denying it, so she doesn’t even bother to try. She’s all curly hair, little knowing smiled, shortish, but stacked curvy in all the right places. Even a couple days from her last shower, with fingertips dirty, and a smudge of dirt across her right cheek, and with the thrum of rage that’s lighter than some, and heavier than others – she still garners attention.
And it’s not often that someone’s perched on a dumpster reading a book at almost 4am in Chicago.
[Max] [Oh right, I gotta do this thing again – Per+PU]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 8 (Failure at target 8)
[Max] There was a certain span of time, somewhere between 3 and 5 am, after most sane people were in bed, and before the sunrise, when it could be said that the distinctions separating people became… less. As if anyone who was left conscious and moving around at that time automatically became simply human, and no more. (Or, in the case of Max and Marni… something a little more primal than human.) No matter the vastly different backgrounds and outlooks that these two may have had. At the moment, they had one important thing in common: they were both awake and outside in the same place at the same ungodly time of night.
Marni would likely hear the Modi’s footsteps coming down the sidewalk before he actually rounded the corner and saw her. When he did, he paused briefly, because it wasn’t a terribly common thing to see someone sitting on top of a dumpster at 4 am, reading. Of these two garou, one of them was significantly easier to identify than the other, and unfortunately for Max… that someone was him. So likely, the Ragabash would know precisely what she was looking at the moment she glanced up from her book. Max, on the other hand… wasn’t entirely sure.
He eyed the girl curiously for a moment, the expression rather lupine as his head tilted to one side and hazel eyes gleamed with a yellowish tint. Then he returned to an easy walking speed (the pace of someone who had nowhere to be and didn’t want to get home very quickly) and took a drink from his coffee cup as he approached the dumpster. Maybe he had designs simply to walk right past. Maybe he meant to talk to her. Frankly, he hadn’t quite decided yet.
[Marni] She hears the footsteps, but doesn’t look up yet. Oh no, because the White Rabbit is terribly late and Alice is eating and drinking in a frenzy to get through the teeny tiny door. But then the steps pause, and start up once more, and that brings her attention out of the book, and to the young man heading her way.
He’s vibrant he is, in a way that most are not. He has the purity of blood that sings the song of heroes and warriors, that pegs him immediately as One Of Them, and the simmering burn of rage that swells like a tide before him that tips recognition right on over into One Like Her.
Well, except for being better by so many standards. Not hers, of course, as she’s simply Marni and a streetrat who’s very comfortable being exactly that – gutter trash and proud of it.
“Well hello there.” She dimples into that knowing little grin, her dark eyes sparkling with a delight in simply being awake at this hour, and she tips her head, curls bouncing across her shoulder as she does so. “Slumming, are we?” She’s teasing, it’s clear, but there’s also the sense that slumming is likely the best most exciting thing he’d EVER find to do at 4am on a Monday morning. Because, quite simply? It is.
[Max] Funny that she would ask a question like that. The average person would look at Max right now and probably think that this sort of neighborhood was precisely where he belonged. Granted, the just-rolled-out-of-bed look kind of suited him, but he was neither clean-cut nor dressed in fancy clothes. He also looked and felt like the sort of person who might quite happily beat someone to a pulp for looking at him the wrong way.
But Marni hadn’t meant it that way. And the fact that she was perfectly at ease around him was telling enough in its own right. As he drew up to the place where the odd girl was perched, Max stopped again and met her gaze. Marni’s eyes were bright and sparkling. Max’s were bold and intense. They held the slow-burn of sleeping rage, and of a wolf who was always at least partially hunting. Despite that, he didn’t glower when Marni asked him if he was slumming. Instead, he arched an eyebrow and snorted in amusement. “Depends on your definition. Was that an offer to entertain me?”
[Marni] He wanders up to her dumpster [throne] and she’s clearly not made uncomfortable by the close association, unsurprised as the rage rolls over her own and tramples it firmly into the background. She doesn’t answer his question right away, though her grin widens slightly, warms even. She takes the time to carefully mark her page in the tattered old book, and tuck it into the pack she had been leaning back against. Then, she leans forward, closing the distance between them just that much farther, and rests her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands.
“That’ depends.” She quips. “What type of entertainment to you enjoy?” Her grin somehow speaks of innocence and experience at the same time, but underlaid with a genuine curiosity through the tone of her voice.
[Max] “I think my preferences are a bit rough for you, doll-face” That much was probably evident by the wound on his neck. (Hell, that was evident by his tribe and the amount of rage he carried around.) “But you’re welcome to try an alternate method. Could use a good joke right about now.” And wasn’t he just asking exactly the right auspice?
Max’s voice was a little softer than usual tonight, and it sounded hoarse, as if he was just getting over a cold. Of course, garou didn’t get colds, with the exception of a few very unlucky ones, so more than likely it held some connection to the bandage on his neck. This was nothing new or exciting. Modi had a habit of garnering injuries on a fairly regular basis.
“Unless you know any good places to get laid at 4 am on Monday morning? I wouldn’t mind that either.”
[Marni] Her brows arch and she grins. “I find myself intrigued, because you’d be surprised at how rough I often like things. Unless you’re one of the very few people in this podunk town that don’t quake in fear when someones suggests Surfing atop the ‘el…”
She might be kidding.
(She’s not.)
A joke, he says. She rolls her eyes skywards, and ponders that a moment, before she drops her gaze to evenly meet his once again. Then, she dimples into a grin.
“How many men does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
She waits for his answer though she answers his last question too. “Well, if you were REALLY slumming, I might offer my very own box, but somehow I think we’re a little too closely related for such things to be exactly kosher.” A beat, a playful pout. “but that doesn’t mean we can’t cuddle…”
[Max] “Are you kidding? Surfing on the el sounds fucking awesome. I have to try that.” She might have been kidding. Max might also be kidding, but he wasn’t. This was a man who liked to climb cliffs without rope, and was currently teaching himself Parkour. Maybe these two wolves had a few things in common after all.
Marni asked a joke, but then she continued on to point out something that he himself had missed. Something that ought to have been obvious from the start.
Ahah. So there it was then. Max laughed, and it was a rough sound. Deep and gravelly. “Don’t worry, you ain’t quite my type anyway. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.”
He took a long drink from his mostly-empty coffee cup, then resigned himself to play along in the game that he himself requested. “Alright, how many men does it take to screw in a light bulb?”
[Marni] She snorts and sits up – in mock offense. “I’m TOTALLY not kidding – dude, I surfed the subway in NYC with my crew back home! The ‘El here isn’t quite as fun, but it does alright when ya need that adrinilin kick. Just watch out for the fat security guy on the third stop in Lakeview – he’s REALLY pissed I keep outrunning him.” Oh, that grin is positively devilish, there. It’s often surprising the things Wolves have in common when they take the time to chat.
He laughs, and says she’s not his type, and that pout returns. “So… no cuddling?” a deeply disappointed (…and mirth filled…) sigh. “Just my luck. No one likes the short, stacked, curly haired raggie type.” Then she shamelessly winks at him. Incorrigible, Marni.
Then – the punchline. “Four! Well, only one to actually change the bulb. The others are just there to listen to him brag bout screwing!” Pleased as punch she is as she lifts her chin and grins.
[Max] It was just late enough for a joke that simple to actually make him laugh, and so he did. Because Max liked to laugh almost as much as he liked to fight. Or fuck. (Almost.) He was young yet, but he’d learned a long time ago that taking life too seriously was a good way to be very unhappy, especially with the kind of brutality of existence that the garou had (and most especially, that the Get had.)
“True. And fitting.” Given the rest of their topic of conversation. “I’m not into cuddling. But if you cop a feel while we’re wrestling some day, I won’t tell.” He grinned rather wolfishly at that. “Gaia knows I’ve done the same plenty of times.”
The last few drops of his coffee was drained, and he reached over to lift up the cover on the far side of the dumpster and toss his cup inside. “So are you gonna introduce yourself, or do I have to guess?”
[Marni] “Aw, that’s too bad. You’d be surprised at all the manners of ill a good raggie cuddle can mend. Well, as long as I’m the raggie in question.” And there’s no doubt at all that she’s the type who WOULD cop a feel while wrestling, and expect the same in return. But to that, she just wiggles her brows and adds, “Deal.”
Time for introductions – ah, the boring part. She sits up straight and tips an imaginary top hat at him as she makes it official.
“Marni Geller, oft called Sticky Fingers – but ya proooooooobably don’t wanna know why – Cliath ragabash, just a Gnawin that proverbial Bone.” There’s a very real feeling that were she standing, she’d actually finish that off with a sweeping bow, for Marni is a showman at heart. Instead, she finishes it off simply. “At your service, sir.”
[Max] Marni was a New Moon (naturally) and a Bone Gnawer (unsurprisingly.) Max lifted a brow when she mentioned her name. Or, rather, when she mentioned that he didn’t want to know the details behind it. Of course his mind went in a certain direction, but given what Marni was, the likelihood seemed to be that she’d earned her name through a pattern of theft. (And not, well…. other methods of getting one’s fingers sticky.)
She was a smart girl, too. Living on the streets tended to give one a certain well-honed instinct for self-preservation. (Well, daredevil hobbies aside.) For instance, she probably knew that pure-bred Modi liked to be called sir. They tended to have alpha-male personalities, and Max was, sadly, no exception. He listened to Marni’s introduction, then gave a little smile (because her antics were a welcome amusement.)
“Max Brenner. Stands in Defiance. Cliath Modi. You got a pack?”
My, he really jumped right into things, didn’t he? Full Moons weren’t usually known for their patience, or their subterfuge.
[Marni] Ahhhhh, that’s the thing. There are all manner of ways to getting one’s fingers sticky, and telling people they don’t want to know is a surefire way to get them thinking of all kinds of ways. Some of them might even be true. Of course, asking a ragabash to tell the truth is a surefire way to get a tale spun round a tiny glimmer of it, so as to make it seem completely impossible.
Of course, she calls everyone sir. Facetiously, mostly, but she seems to do so easily enough it’s impossible to take offence even if she meant it that way. Being cute allows her to get away with a whole passel full of things that other’s wouldn’t dare try. Most of the time.
Max, though. He jumps right to the heart of things, and she chuckles, leaning back against her backpack again, without taking her eyes off him. “Not at the moment, no. Only been in town a week or so – meeting the locals, getting into trouble, exploring the gutters – you know how it goes. You?”
[Max] “Pretty much the same. I got into town last week. Been exploring. Met some of the locals. Challenged for tribal eldership.” Here he gestured briefly to the bandage on his neck. “Lost. But, hey, I was challenging an Adren, so that was expected. Regardless, it was a good time had by all.” Even if he had been breathing in his own blood for the past few days.
Max relished a good fight done properly. He lived for it. Especially if his opponent was more skilled than he was. How better to learn, after all? Maybe he had a bit of the New Moon hiding in him somewhere, because he grinned at Marni impishly, his teeth gleaming, as if he was exceedingly proud of his own ridiculous audacity.
“Been looking to start a pack of my own. Maybe I’ll have more luck with that endeavor.”
[Marni] She grins and chuckles. “Fancy that – I just put the one who stood up wanting to be the voice of the streetrats through the wringer a couple nights ago. He’s been around a bit longer, so I didn’t directly challenge, but certainly made it known that if those questions aren’t answered by the time I get back to him on them, I’m taking that seat for myself.”
Ambitious, she is.
“Sounds interesting. Maybe I’ll try out for this pack of your own. Will there be wrestling involved?” Ah, there’s that grin again.
[Max] “Oh fuck yeah.” Marni grinned, and Max’s own widened. Somehow he managed to look handsome and frightening at the same time.
“Anyone who packs with me has to be fearless. That’s the only thing I ask. Take life by the damn horns and never look back. Since you like to surf on subways, maybe that’s your thing. If it is… maybe I’ll see you again sometime. Marni Geller. You can tell me how in the hell you got a name like Sticky Fingers. I’m sure it’ll make for a good laugh.”
It was late, and there was something to be said for ending a conversation on a note of intrigue, so Max left it at that, and turned to continue walking back to his cheap motel room, where he’d likely shift back to glabro and crash for awhile, so his infernal neck wound might heal itself a bit more.
[Marni] (and le fade! thanks for playing, lovely!)