(Missed the first couple post)
[Fabienne Bartelle] *He nearly drops the barbell, sits up and comes close. Too close. Her back rachets straighter, blonde’s slender form suddenly tense as piano wire. Rage, sweat, and proximity overpowering. She can feel herself losing control, feel her grasp of the situation slipping from her fingertips as her mind recoils in horror from the Fianna’s lewd suggestion. Grey eyes shut and her jaw pulses as she stands absolutely stock still in response to the bawdy thug. Several long moments of tense silence before she opens her eyes and raises them to meet his in a moment of open challenge.*
No. Though should you think you have the merit to request a mating to me, you may inquire of my warder. Sir.
*Polite. Conscise. Icy.*
[Aaron Yates] Unlike his brother, who still retained much of his natural accent, Aaron Yates’ voice was rather more melodic and was, in truth, almost entirely devoid of anything but a pleasant, almost soothing [when he desired it to be] transatlantic timbre. His voice was the tool of his trade and he had spent many years refining it.
“It’s alright,” he rejoins at once to the young girl [Garou] who bumps back into him; a lop-sided, entirely charismatic [and aware of it being so] smile breaks over Aaron Yates’ face and he puts a hand out and slides it down to Marni’s elbow without invitation as if he did need the stabilizing at his height, with his build. “I think I’ll survive the collision.”
If Marni had met Aaron’s twin, she might be experiencing a moment of Deja Vu right now, well, until she got beneath the surface and made a study of the man she’s standing before. Whereas his brother tended toward the clean-shaven look; Aaron had a definite five-o’clock-shadow darkening his jaw and his hair tended toward a longer length than Ethan’s — all these were superficial however, it was in the way Aaron held himself; straight-backed and unapologetic; in the way he walked, spoke and regarded the world in general that told of the differences between brothers.
Ethan held the world his equal; Aaron held himself its superior.
[Marni] Marni hasn’t met either of the Yates brothers, and is unaware that there is a lookalike running around that holds the world equal, while Aaron holds himself superior. Instead she simply sees a nice enough looking guy, who runs his hand down her arm to her elbow, and pretends he needs the stabilizing from her little oops.
“Oh good!” she says, wen he thinks he’ll survive. “I’d hate to have toppled someone to death…” a beat. “At least, with my clothes on.”
Shameless, Marni. And those dark eyes positively sparkle with merriment and fun.
[Smiles] He frowns. His face becomes flush. That didn’t work out the way it was supposed to. He takes a breath and goes back to the bike he lays under it and his head disappears below it. His words can still be heard underneath the machine.
“Warden, right.” There is a tone of annoyance in his voice. He begins to tinker on the half taken apart bike. He pauses. His body tenses. The song ends. There is a brief moment of silence. He pulls himself out from under the bike and looks at her. His eyebrows narrow. He stands up. The music begins again. Loud, menacing, as the body of the fianna, fully muscled, and bulky walks toward her. He stands only 5′ 6″ but it looks as if there is no fat on his body, minus the little bit sprouting from his stomach. With each step, each muscle in his body seems as if it could break through the skin. He gets inches from her face and stares at her. Eyes still narrow. It seems that he could at any moment reach out and break her in half. Easily like a toothpick between a thumb and pointer. He looks into her eyes. There is a moment of pause. The tension is palpable. He speaks over the music. “Take W Cehmak to S. Racine, make a right…follow it to W 18th. Take a right. About 3 blocks you’ll find the Mahket.” He smiles, his eyes lighten. He walks over to the radio and turns it off. As he’s kneeling, and after the music has been muted. He says with his back to her. His back is covered with tattoos as well. Central is a mural of the Virgin Mary. “Yah pretty impressive for a kin.” He stands and turns to face her. “Apologies for the feckin’ comment. No hahd feelins?”
[Smiles] ((Cehmak should be Cermak, but his accent ya know))
[Aaron Yates] One of the Gnawer’s hands traces back to the pocket of the black trench-coat he wears and the other remains where it was; a warm suggestion at the Garou’s elbow; an unvoiced invitation. At a little over 6’1, he was most always looking down on those around him — with women, it was a boon.
She’d hate to think she’d toppled someone to death with her clothes on.
The dark-haired man with her smirks, and then softens that a touch to a smile. “I’d have to agree and say that would have been,” his midnight blue eyes track over her face, concentrate a moment on the curls; return to her lips. “An absolute crime.”
[Marni] Ooooooooooh he’s cute, and she grins a little knowing grin up at him. “Absolutely. And you know what they say… crime doesn’t pay.” Except, you know when it does.
She tips her head slightly, curls bouncing along her jaw, her teeth running over her lower lip briefly as she considers… something. She wrinkles her nose (she really is adorable) and then nods. “Well, I could make up for the almost crime by buying you a cup of coffee.” A beat, and then… “…if I can borrow a couple bucks.”
And there’s that grin again. She has the distinct look of a streetrat, homeless yet perfectly content being so.
[Fabienne Bartelle] *Smiley moves away and she allows herself half a moment to breath again. A risk taken in open defiance, but politeness was simply not working with this one. Fabienne turns to leave when as suddenly as he’d left her he was returning. She was going to get hit. She was going to get hit, and she was going to be wholly and completely deaf. She gives ground with an athletes grace, not allowing him to simply crawl up on her until the garage itself prevents further retreat. He speaks close, and its a moment before she thinks to turn her head to better hear.
“…to S. Racine, make a right…”
Directions. The Fianna was giving her directions. She wets pale lips and watches the roll and jerk of muscles beneath inked skin as he walks away to work on the bike, his voice easier to hear with the radio off. She was impressive. Well given that he’d just rather crudely propositioned her, she should think so. Further, She was a Silverfang. Of course he was impressed. The blonde raises her chin and addresses him, voice thin.*
Of course not. Thank you for the directions, I’ll leave you to your evening.
*That said, she turns to go.*
[Aaron Yates] Now, you ask most women that Aaron Yates has been acquainted with — one who will speak to you about him, that being said — and they’ll spin the usual tales of seduction and deceit, of whispered promises in the night against sated skin and the complete and utter lack of follow through the morning after. Great with words, great in bed but lousy with anything close to commitment.
Confront him about it, and he either gets mean, or he gets gone.
The seduction phase, though, its typically quite enjoyable; when he fixed that devilish grin on you, and began to speak about his world, his life, his desires — well, it was hard to resist that level of absolute intensity. Well, unless you were true born and then it more became a game of cat and mouse.
“I could spare the change for a pretty face, I’m sure,” he murmurs, and winks roguishly at her before crooking his elbow. “Where to?”
[Smiles] He let her take a few steps and then grinning placed one hand into his kilt and made inappropriate gestures with it while her back was turned. He removed the hand and called out to her. “Aftah all we’ve been through tonight? Is this the end of our date? Why not let me come home…fah a walk with ya. I know this neighbah-hood pretty good. And it’s gettin’ late.” That surly grin appeared on his face.
[man + sub]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP] Re-rolls: 1
[Fabienne Bartelle] [per sub – I trust you like I trust discount caviar]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Smiles] ((frown))
[Marni] “Well!” She says with a grin, and slides her fingers along the crook of that offered elbow, “It’s a good thing I possess a pretty face then, isn’t it?” Ever so confident, this little gnawer. She points to a little cafe on the corner. “They’ve got good coffee there, if that suits… and blueberry muffins as big as my head.”
She grins up at him, and well, shes friendly like a puppy, she is. “I’m Marni, by the way.”
[Fabienne Bartelle] *She half turns, leveling a cool gaze across her shoulder. Taking in the Fianna with no small suspicion. Her initial instinct to go for mace had perhaps been spot on with this one. Lowborn. Unpredictable. Dangerous. All the more reason not to cause them undo anger. She might be superior in birth and bloodline, but that – the yellow toothed thug with the tattoos and the poor manners – was still a trueborn. Her voice remains carefully civil. Precise and appropriate, if strained.*
I think it would be inappropriate were I to trouble you further. You have already been most kind. I’m no gilded lily, I’ll be fine.
[Smiles] [rage…and now you did it…humiliation…]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Aaron Yates] The little Cafe on the corner is crammed in between two restaurant chains, a constant stream of chatter, steam and yells issuing from the kitchen staff can be heard as the pair of Gnawers pass by, and Aaron directs Marni in before him so that he can take the chair closer to the counter.
The elder Yates twin shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over the back of his chair; then pulls Marni’s chair out for her in some show of chivalry that is at once laughable and appealing; appealing because Aaron himself smiles as he does it as if aware that he’s been caught doing something out-dated and hokey. “Old habits die hard,” is all he says aloud however, well, that and his name once they’re comfortable.
“Marni, I’m Aaron, Yates. Don’t be surprised,” he comments, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up his forearms. “If you catch sight of my Doppelganger around Chicago, he is, in fact, precisely that. My twin.” A menu is plucked out from between the salt and pepper shakers, and offered to her with negligent care. “What would you like?”
[Smiles] ((whew))
He feels the rage swell inside of him. That feeling halfway between vomiting and a war howl. He allows it to build in his stomach and it raises into his chest. Yet, somehow he’s able to squash it. He holds his breath for a second. Count to ten….one…two…three….ah better… He takes a few deep breaths and frowns.
“Fine Fine, I understand. But the nicest people don’t hang out in this ahea after hou-ahs. I might not be the nicest pahson, but I know how these thieves and scumbags work….but I mean, you seem like you can handle ya self. Right?” Pause.
[Fabienne Bartelle] [perception + empathy – uhoh. did I upset you?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Marni] He holds out her chair for her. If she were a teensy bit more dramatic, she might actually fan herself and say something like ‘i do declare’ and swoon or some shit – but she isn’t, so she doesn’t. (All bets are off when her moon hangs dark in the sky, though..) She DOES however, smile up at him, delighted at the little show of goofy chivalry. “Thank ya…”
She slips her pack off her shoulders, and tuck it under the counter, wrapping the strap around her foot automatically, so that she doesn’t lose track of it. She shimmys from her coat, and lets it fall behind her, pushing up the sleeves of her thermal shirt, which she wears under a red t-shirt that declares her “sexy” in sparkly gold sequins.
“There’s TWO of you? Oh lord have mercy, the Gods smile on Chicago…” Slender fingers – a little grubby, but washed at least sometime in the last week – take the menu, and glance through it quickly – and then, with a grin. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”
[Aaron Yates] He watches her as she slides her pack off; her coat. His eyes suggesting everything warm and inviting; the crook of his mouth suggestive of a smile entirely too intimate for their surroundings. He glances down at the menu, chuckles quietly at her comment and looks up, and gets up to put an order in for two coffees and one of the blueberry muffins.
Heated, if they’d be so kind.
When he returns, he leans back in his chair, and his arms slide loosely over his chest. “Yes, there are two of us.” She doesn’t mention the healing cut on his brow, neither does he. “My brother, Ethan, is actually pretty well the only reason I’m here.
Well,” Aaron Yates’ eyes are full of unrepentant mirth. “That and I wasn’t welcome at my old job any longer.”
Go on, ask him why.
[Fabienne Bartelle] *There was some truth in his statements, both of them. She liked to think she could take care of herself in most situations, but then, it was growing dark, in an unfamiliar neighborhood… and she’d missed some of the directions he’d offered her. Furthermore, he had grown rather upset when she’d last denied him, and as unpleasant as the creatures company was, it was better to bear it and vow never t come down this street again, than upset him further and never leave it. *
If you insist sir. I would be honored that a warrior of Stag should take the time. Thank you.
*Ah, politeness. The art of saying what you must instead of what you think. Hypocrisy with a smile.*
[Marni] Oooooooh he orders the muffin heated, and its as if he knows the direct route to Marni’s heart right there. She doesn’t mention the cut on his brow, she figures if he doesn’t mention that she’s not exactly the picture of cleanliness or godliness at the moment – then they’re even.
And he dares the ragabash to ask the question. Silly, silly boy. “What job was that? Why weren’t you welcome anymore?” Curious creature, she is. “And what’s Ethan do?”
[Smiles] He smiled. “I need to shower.” He ran out a side door and you could hear the slamming of steps above the garage. The sound of a knock and the sound of a door opening. Two muffled voices exchanged words. One Rory, the other — another male. The door slammed and more pounding of footsteps. Then the sound of water running through the pipes that ran through the garage. Time passed slowly. Five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. The hissing of the water ended. More pounding above the garage could be heard, this time in a different corner of the ceiling. Pause. five minutes. More pounding. The sound of a door slamming and the opening of the door back into the garage. Rory was clean — body and hair — never clean in spirit — …Forgive me father for I have sinned…, and dressed appropriately. Or rather as appropriately as he could allow himself to dress.
His constant 6 o’clock shadow was clean, but still did not hide any of his scars. His shaggy hair was also clean and shampooed, but covered in a white Boston Red Socks hat, underneath which was a blue bandanna — wrapping his head. His eyes were covered by a pair of Oakley motorcycle glasses that fit his character perfectly. Around his neck always sits his mothers rosary. A leather jacket covered a brown hooded sweatshirt. The black leather jacket read “Smiley” on a patch on his right side, and a “1 %-er” patch over his heart. The back of the jacket carried the insignia of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club. Above the insignia was the words *HAMC*, below it *Boston*. The brown hooded sweatshirt bulged at the pockets, concealing two twin Colt .45s — missing their serial numbers. The waist of his frayed jeans were hidden under the bottom of the two coats. The frayed jeans covered the tops of his strapped riding boots.
“Ready when you ah, dahling.” There was an air of superiority to him. He had the bad boy image down.
[Aaron Yates] A corner of Aaron’s mouth hooks, he glances aside as a couple pass by the Cafe and linger a step — indecisive — and then returns his gaze to Marni’s face, his expression unshaded by guilt. He seems, if anything, a touch amused by the memory of it. “I’m trained as a Vocal and Accent Coach, ‘ah ken spin a foine dialect, no ma’er t’origin.'” He lilts at seeming random, and then his voice softens to a caress. “Or I can teach a handful of basic languages, too. I’m trained in Spanish, Irish Gaelic, German and French.”
A beat, Aaron’s smile becomes a touch challenging.
“I was working with a television studio in Manchester and I had an affair with the lead actress.” There’s more, you know there is, he rolls his shoulder, rotating the muscle. “While she was married to the Producer. Suffice to say when the truth came out, I wasn’t that popular.”
She asks after Ethan as their coffees arrive, and a minute later, Marni’s warm muffin, smelling faintly of the sweet berries within.
“My brother works with the Chicago PD, he’s a Liaison to the Media.” The Kinsman smirks. “Basically, the poor schmuck who has to spin the stories the way they want them to sound.”
[Smiles] He looks at the bike and shakes his head. He puts on his working gloves and makes quick work of it. It looks better than brand new. The bike shines as if it was just out of the show room ((I rolled 5 suxx, but PMed it to Fabienne on accident)). It’s beautiful, no one could argue with that. A masterpiece. He smiles and looks at Fabienne. “Should we take my wheels?”
[Fabienne Bartelle] *She waits. And Waits. And around the 12 minute mark she’s begun marking time. He has another 8 minutes before she assumes he’s left her, and goes on her way, damn the consequences. When he does arrive she’s rising from a crouch, dusting her palms on one another with a slight frown. His attire taken in. It takes everything in her not to wince and pinch the bridge of her nose in distress. This was exactly who she wanted to be seen walking down the road with. He takes a few more minutes in silence, leaving her waiting as he sets about fixing his motorcycle. Still, at least the hooligan was making an effort. Small victories Fabienne. *
Is it quite that far?
*The uptight blonde looks at the motorcycle like its some ominous beast, clearly not relishing the idea of straddling it. But then perhaps she could simply pretend it was a thoroughbred.*
[Marni] Her eyes widen as he shifts his vocal tone into a lilt, and a caress, and a challenge all in one. She sets an elbow on the table and cups her chin in her hand as she listens to him, watching the way he speaks, what his eyes say that his lips don’t. Enthralled, perhaps. At the very least – entertained.
“Ohho! A bad boy, are ya…” and then her muffin arrives and she smiles her thanks for the waitress as she takes a knife and cuts it in half, slathers butter over her side, and then nudges the plate toward him as she picks up her half and takes a bite her eyes closing as she moans a soft sound of delight as it melts in her mouth. “Mmmmmm good.”
Then, Ethan “And clearly he’s the good twin.” a beat and then her grin slides knowing and wicked all at once. “I’m ever so glad I bumped into you first then…”
Completely shameless.
[Smiles] “No, not really. But it’s pouring. I figah a pahson like you is cahrying a few diff-rent things in that bag of yah’s. Including a parasol, which wouldn’t even keep us dry, and a big black dildo, I’m guessing a fifteen to twenty inchah, all veiny and shit. I know how you pah-rissy types like to ride. But I’m sah-rry, dahling. All I have is this beasty to ride on, but it should be up ya alley. It’s dark and when it’s running its like a sybian.” He climbs on, and starts the machine up. It roars to life, two straight pipes run along the sides of it, down by his feet. Full tank of gas, and a giant engine like new. He waves her over.
[Aaron Yates] Aaron stirs his coffee and his lips threaten briefly with a carnal smile at the sounds the young girl across from him is making, elicited only from the food she’s devouring. Whatever his thoughts at the moment, there can be little doubt they’re just as carnal as that expression that touches the corners of his mouth; darkens his eye.
“Do you know much about Chinese philosophy, Marni?” He asks idly, and nods toward the Yin Yang symbol painted on the Cafe wall. “It’s said that the concept relates to how seemingly disjunct or opposing forces are actually interconnected and interdependent in the natural world, and so give rise to each other.” He looks across at her, settling back against the uncomfortable chair-back.
“Many natural dualities like say dark and light, female and male, low and high, cold and hot, they’re all viewed in Chinese thought as manifestations of yin and yang. Of course,” Aaron sips from his coffee and then holds up his fingers to punctuate his explanation. “The common misconception in Western culture is that Yin and Yang actually represent good and evil when in fact, most Taoist philosophy generally discounts the good/bad distinctions as superficial labels, preferring to focus on the idea of balance.”
After all that, Aaron gestures at himself.
“So where the world might view me as the bad twin, I prefer to think of myself as the balance to Ethan.”
[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fabienne stares. She stares. Its not polite to stare, and yet she doesn’t catch herself doing so for a full 15 seconds as she tries to formulate a response and finds nothing polite to say to accusations of her smuggling obscenely large sex toys in her tiny handbag. Funny, they don’t teach you how to respond to that in charm school. Or maybe they did and she’d simply been at a fencing competition. A gloved hand comes to push a renegade curl back from her face as she blinks outright. And what the hell was a symbian?! The silverfang kin decides she’s better off not knowing. Her gait is stiff when she finally realizes she’s being waved over and approaches. A purse of her lips in worry.*
I sit behind you I take it?
[Smiles] He speaks above the roar of the bike. “Well, you could sit on top of my and we could talk about the fah-rst thing that pops up, but then we’d be back to picking yah panties outa my teeth again. Yeah, sit on the back.” He revs the engine of the bike and fidgets with the foot shifter. “Let me show you how a real man does things. If yah nice I’ll even get behind ya and you can drive with my hands on ya *handles*” He smiles. I accuse myself of the following sins…
[Marni] She doesn’t miss that little lift of his lips, or the carnal nature of that smile, the darkness of his eye. Marni is a perceptive beast, and while her own expressions are open and easy and parade across her features like an easily read script, she often looks for the small little minute expressions in others. Not everyone can be as she is, naturally. Which leads right into what he’s talking about.
She listens, too, as he waxes poetic about Chinese philosophy, and how he is the balnce to Ethan. Then she grins at him and arches a brow, teasing “My, don’t you talk purty…”
She laughs the and lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I haven’t studied it or anything, but it makes sense. All things have a balance – I was taught the same, though not quite so fancily. For every prince eating a steak, there is a streetrat gnawing that bone, after all.”
[Fabienne Bartelle] Would you perhaps be so kind as to – *Shut the hell up? Choke on your tongue? Commit honorable suicide? -* mind your – *Don’t say tongue to this cretin.*- manners sir?
*She waits a moment beside the bike, an thin blonde eyebrow crawling up her forehead. Patience finally wearing thin. Irritation beginning to show through the pleasant veneer in the tense line of a noble jaw, the glassiness of grey eyes. Regal bearing suddenly stiff, less graceful as she weathers the Fianna with a smile of strained politeness.*
[Aaron Yates] She tells him he speaks pretty, and a chuckle rumbles from his chest, he rocks on the hind legs of the chair. “Don’t blame me, blame the up-tight pricks that educated me abroad.” He drops forward then, and leans closer to her, the twenty-nine year old has a handsome face, it can’t be denied, though tonight it’s a little rougher around the edges than normal.
Then again, that was Aaron to a T.
“Tell you the truth, I think the street-rats have the right of things, you sit up there on a throne, eating caviar and steak long enough you forget to look down and see how the rest of civilization is doing. You get disconnected. Whereas, when you’re on the street, when you’re down and dirty,” his injured eyebrow rises suggestively, “you see everything and you don’t feel the need to sugar coat shit. You lay it out on table as it is.”
He steals a piece of her muffin, and leans back, smiling.
“So says this street-rat.”
[Smiles] [stength, get on the bike]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Marni] He leans closer, and she doesn’t move away – if anything, she shifts her weight to close the distance as well. He’s older than her, sure, but that doesn’t really mean anything in the world Marni’s grown up in. He declares that the street rats have the right of things and her smile grows, warms, and she doesn’t even slap at his hand for stealing a piece of her muffin. Though there is a flash of amusement in her eyes that says she thought about it.
“You have the right of it, indeed. I’ve met quite a few of the uppity ones, and they forget that but for us? There’d be no them. Streetrats unite!” She lifts her coffee in a little toast and then takes a sip, before she resumes her elbows on the table munching her treat posture. “I much prefer tings down and dirty…” Her smile tilts into a knowing smirk, her brow arches over dark, sparkling eyes.
“And you, sir, tempt me to invite you to my box and show you just how much…”
[Smiles] “and weh off” He says over the roar of the engine. She’s close enough to the bike that he can grab her and throw on. He reaches out and misses as the garage door begins to close slowly and Rory and the bike whip under it. He ducks and takes off leaving her in the garage with the light on. There is a pause for a moment. One of the side doors open up and he walks back into the garage. “Yah missed yah ride.” He walks back outside and gets on the bike and sits there idling. Waiting for her. “Fecking princess.” He says it just under the roar of the engine. He sits in the rain and pulls the hood of the sweatshirt over his head. “Get on the fecking bike.”
[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fabienne hears nothing but the roar of the engine. The sour look of expectancy as Rory looks back at her is self explanatory however. A sigh muffled, there were saints that would have dived on this man with a blade in their teeth already. She moves to the bike, and after a moment of trying to figure out how one rides a damn Harley in a pencil skirt, she decides it will be done rather like Huntseat Equitation. She’ll simply be in an extended post position. Uncomfortable. But not scandalous. Once on the bike she sets her hands on lightly Rory’s shoulders and nods. He’d stopped saying rude things afterall, or so she thought.*
Thank you.
[Aaron Yates] He smiles as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking and not only agrees with it; but thinks it’s a marvelous idea. “I have an even better idea,” he enthuses and tips back his coffee cup, gulping down the hot liquid in a single swallow. “Why don’t you come back to my place,” a finger uncurls itself and strokes very lightly across her knuckles.
The tiny zap of heat and Rage sets the hairs on his arm on end.
“My brother and his kid are out, we can get as down and dirty as we like and nobody will be the wiser.”
[Smiles] “Welcome!” He was getting tired of the Silver Fang, she was close to him again and he could smell he inbreeding. To some it would smell like roses, to him it smells like the swill that the pigs bathed in. He flipped the bike into first with his first and let off the hand clutch and hand brake and torqued the gas. The bike sped up with a roar and he was making the turn on to the next street before they knew it. He shifted, second, third, fourth, fifth. The engine screamed in his ears. The speedometer read 75, on slender streets. He turned again. Low pipe, he pushed her head down and made the final stretch. As they went he smiled. Wind in his hair, or the little that was actually shown, and the wind was blowing her pedigree away from him. He slowly started to downshift as they pulled into the market. Finally, somewhere that Fabienne wanted to be.
[Fabienne Bartelle] {and fade to Fabienne finally getting the hell away from Smiles! thank you an’ G’night!!!}
[Marni] Oh and it is a marvelous idea. Her dark eyes drop to where his finger strokes lightly along her knuckles, and she looks up at him through the haze of dusty lashes. Her smile lingers, as he invites her to his place and there is no hesitation at all. “That, Aaron, sounds like a plan I can really get behind…” She wink at him, brazen and alive, confident and sure.
She looks down at the rest of the muffin, and grabs her napkin to wrap it up, and it disappears into her backpack. Oddly enough, so does the little metal sugar holder, and all the little packets of sugar within – a little bit of slight of hand, a little bit of Sticky Fingers in action.
At least it’s not his wallet…
(Yet.)
[dex+stealth – pretty shiny metal sugar holder!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Aaron Yates] [Per + Alert, do we notice stinky fingers being …erm, sticky?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Aaron Yates] [Stinky? LMAO. TYPOOOOO. Sticky. Ah ken type.]
[Marni] (*LMAO*)
[Aaron Yates] It’s a good thing that it isn’t his wallet, as he’s the one footing the bill.
As Aaron rises, smiling, reaching around to snag his wallet out of his coat he notices the subtle way that Marni pockets not only her leftovers, but a few mementos from the joint as well. His expression remains neutral — it’s not as if he really cares if she steals or not, it’s not his business — as he rises, but he’s wary now, and makes a mental note to check on his belongings after Marni leaves.
There was some shit he just didn’t want in the hands of a thief — no matter how cute she might be.
“Shall we?” He asks when they’re paid up and offers her his arm again.
—
Apartment 14-H, in the Twin Towers was several floors up. Fourteen to be exact. The complex was located in an area of Chicago that was neither terribly rich nor poor, and the apartment that Aaron eventually lets Marni into once they’ve left Chinatown behind and located Aaron’s car, is a fairly standard unit. It’s cluttered with furniture, but neatly kept. The entrance hall was small, and comprised on one side of linen cupboards, to the left was the living/dining room and to the right led off toward the bathroom and the three bedrooms.
Aaron’s room, he noted as he switched on lamps, was the first on the left.
“Get you something to drink?” He asks, pocketing his keys and tossing his jacket over a sofa with the sort of casual negligence that was born to him. “I think there’s some leftover pizza in the fridge, or whatever Ethan made for dinner last night.”
[Marni] He doesn’t call her out – and maybe it’s due to the fact that he doesn’t care, aside from the fact he’ll be checking his stuff later on. For Marni’s part, she just zips her pack, slides back into her jacket, and shoulders the pack while he pays for their coffee. She grins up at him, and slides her arm through his when he offers it, and follows his lead.
In Apartment 14-H, Marni is careful to wipe her feet on the mat in the lobby, and then once inside the door, kicks off her boots so as not to track anything inside. She looks around the apartment as they move into the area – he tosses his things, and she more carefully sets her’s aside on the floor in the entryway, her pack first, her coat dropped over it, before she tucks her [sticky] fingers into the pockets of her jeans.
“Nice place…” She glances down the hall, to where his room are, and then shrugs when he offers her something to drink, or eat. “Ate a little before I bumped into ya. Won’t be hungry again for a LEAST an hour…”
And there, that little grin slides into a knowing little smirk. “Assuming someone helps me work up an appetite…”
[Aaron Yates] He doesn’t get a real answer about the drink, so he takes it upon himself to snag a pair of beer bottles from the door of the fridge and elbow it shut with a rattling of jars. He emerges from the kitchen, holding both together in one hand, as he frees out via her taking it, he glances around as if only just noticing how nice the apartment really was.
“Yeah, it’s Ethan’s, actually. I’m just crashing here for a while, not sure how long I’ll stick in town for yet.” He slugs back a taste of beer and then she coyly notes that she needs help to work up an appetite. Well, he was nothing if not helpful toward females in need, now was he? Aaron smiles down at her like an indulgent parent might a willful child and reaches out as he’s wanted to since she bumped into him — and tugs gently on a curl.
“You’re something of a flirt, aren’t you, Marni?” He says her name like a caress, and that finger moves to tap her nose once. “I like that, I am too.” He moves to sink onto the sofa, flinging one arm along the back of it, and kicking his shoes off with less care than she had.
[Marni] She takes the beer bottle when it’s offered, and a swallow, and then as he reaches out to tug a curl, she dimples into another smile as she takes a step closer to him. “Who me? Whatever gave you that idea…”
She lifts her free hand and trails her fingers along his belly, before he admits his own flirtatious nature and flops on the couch. She moves to join him, still looking around [shinyshinyshiny] and settles to sit next to him, her thigh pressing light against his as she sinks into the comfortable couch, his arm now stretched out behind her, where her curls tickle across skin.
“Gets me into trouble sometimes. Other times – I meet a kindred soul.” The flirting, she means. “Though there was this ONE time, that it was sorta both… gotta be careful who ya cuddle with when the Royals are watching…” But oh, that devilish little smile says it was oh so very worth it…
[Aaron Yates] He directs her a very lazy [read: sexual] smile at that, and leans over to set his beer bottle on the coffee-table; the motion draws him impossibly close to her and she can smell the aftershave he uses; the faint hint of the beer on his breath mingled with the aftermath of the coffee earlier. This close, mere inches, she can see in detail the tiny crows-feet that appear around his eyes and lips when he smiles; she can see the scar high on his brow where he was injured as a child and never sought stitches like he did last night.
She can certainly feel the warmth of his skin and deduce the strength of him beneath his clothes where she touches him.
Aaron Yates had worked for many years as a brick-layer to pay for his studies and subsidize his living over-seas, and his fitness stemmed directly from it. “Well, there’s absolutely nobody watching now,” he murmurs, and leans in to hitch her chin upright and draw her in to meet his lips.
[Marni] He moves, and places his beer bottle on the coffee table, and that smile lingers, as she lets her eyes close sightly, and inhales of his scent, of beer and coffee and aftershave used hours earlier. She can see the details of his face, and her eyes drift over them, from the crows feet, to the little scar, to the one still healing – and while his skin is warm, hers fairly burns. She doesn’t have the rage of many, but she has enough to let him know what exactly she is, that tells the tale of the monster that resides under her skin.
He tips her chin, and draws her in, and she flows with him, her breath a softy delighted sigh just bare moments before lips are claimed by his kiss. One hand still holding the beer he’d given her, the other lifts to trail along his jaw, nails dancing lightly along the skin of his neck, his collarbone before fingers twist into his shirt lightly and hold him there.
She’s younger than he is – that much is obvious, but what becomes quickly clear is that she’s no novice either. This is not the first man she’s followed home and it won’t be the last. There’s a soft sound at the back of her throat, encouraging, welcoming, as the kiss deepens, her tongue tasting of his lips, tangling with his own in languid exploration.
[Aaron Yates] Let’s be honest.
Aaron was built for just this; seduction. His very vocation was built around the ability to transcend what you were born with and evolve into whatever you needed to be to achieve your goals — be they a juicy lead in a film, a voice untouched by a birth’s country accent or simply better control over language in general. The fact of the matter also was; she was a lot younger than he was — but she wasn’t a novice.
That was alright, the age, the level of skill; all of it because another honest truth was — Aaron was a deceptively good teacher. He was patient, with an edge of calculation that served him well, kept him upfront and honest, kept his weakness for women at a level where he could manage his carnal desires for pleasures of the flesh.
It never got in the way of his work.
But Aaron’s best talent, though it could perhaps be argued that the skill he was presently using was his best, was his unerring sense of self preservation. He knew when to quit, when to draw the line, when to back down, when to push on — he didn’t always follow it, but he recognized it. It was how he’d survived so long around the Garou that for the most part, he despised. He doesn’t despise the one he’s kissing right now, of course. But it’s different with the females — he’s different with them.
He doesn’t want to challenge them so much as he wants to master them.
So: Marni kisses him, deepens the kiss and finds that Aaron’s hand has moved around to the back of her neck to hold her against him; he doesn’t so much kiss her as he devours her mouth with rough, demanding little kisses and longer, considerably gentler embraces. He touches her thigh, skims his fingers over it before urging her to straddle him outright, and breaking off from her mouth with a harsh gasp.
His eyes are very warm.
“Tell me,” he breathes in a whisper, his fingers sliding around from the base of her neck to rub over swollen lips. “What do you want, Marni?”
[Marni] Aaron is built for seduction, he’s built to help you transcend and evolve. Marni – Marni is a simple creature as well, one built for comfort, thrilling in sensations, drowning herself in the chase, in touch, in taste, in every sense.
And he doesn’t want to challenge her – he wants to master her… from the moment she deepens the kiss, he takes control, and she allows him that. Truth be told, she’s likely stronger than he is, tougher than he is, capable of so many atrocities that he would never think of the cute girl that lets him pillage her mouth, devouring her taste and laying claim to her in a purely carnal sense.
Her fingers on her thigh pull her into motion again, straddling his lap and somehow, blindly, adding her beer to the coffee table in the transition. Her fingertips are chilled when they find his jaw again, then slide down along his sides to pull his shirt up, and give hungry fingertips a taste of his skin. He pull his lips from hers with a gasp and she chases them for another quick touch, her teeth capturing his lower lip, pulling back slowly to let it scrape free, as she searches the dark warmth of his eyes. His thumb teases over her lips, as her fingers slide under his shirt, smoothing over over his belly, higher to spread over his chest…
He wants to know what she wants, wants her to voice it, as if he can’t tell in the slow eager curl of her hips against his. Her smile returns as she kisses his thumb, then captures it between her lips, only to let it slide free again. “Simple, Aaron… I want you to fuck me… in a way that…” A breath, as she leans forward and nips at his jaw, then murmurs across his ear. “…I still feel you tomorrow.”
[Aaron Yates] A lesser man might be shocked at her words.
A lesser man might have gasped once again or groaned aloud or given some indication of response to what she says, painting a visceral picture of exactly what she wants from him. Aaron does none of these things, Marni can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath exploring fingertips; can feel the pulse of his heart and certainly feel the strength of his arousal when she rocks her hips against him — but she doesn’t get a verbal reaction from this man.
He, quite simply, wraps his arms around her and rises with her attached to him, urging her legs to wrap around his waist as he does. She can feel the strain in his muscles as he bears her upright with him and the gradual settling into the motion as he walks; desirous female attached, toward his bedroom. He kicks the door open, and carries Marni inside, clinging to him as faithfully as a second skin.
The door to his room slams shut behind them.
[Aaron Yates] [annnnd fade to black! Hee, TY for RP, girl!]
[Marni] [Thank you! :)]