[Imogen] The gun range is the kind where no questions are asked, where anonymity is easy, if you want it.
There are groups of overweight men who go to populate the aisles and take their shots and later compare their results. A few women with overly tough-girl attitudes.
And tonight, Imogen, with her delicate hands and features, her feminine body and clothes. She exits the front door with a jangle of bells, smelling gunsmoke in her hair as she steps out. Her coat is open, and she adjusts it about her body, carefully flexing her fingers as her hand falls away.
She glances both ways before starting down the sidewalk, reaching into her coat pockets for her lighter and cigarettes.
[Kemp Oates] He came out of the dark as he was wont to do at odd times. Falling into step next to Imogen as if she must of known he was waiting for her.
“So like, why do you practice? I mean, once ya got it, ya got it, right?”
[Imogen] She doesn’t startle, though her head turns as he falls into step beside her. A flick of her gaze up – far up, he over tops her by over a foot then down and her attention resettles forward as she fits her cigarette between her lips. Lights up.
Sometimes she wonders if he follows her more than she knows. Unseen, unknown. She’d asked him once, and he’d evaded the answer.
“You always ha’ the muscle memory,” she says, “but if yeh let it get rusty, it takes a few shots fer it to fall back into place.” Her mouth twists slightly, “I don’t really think, if I needed to fire my gun, I’d ha’ those few shots to spare.”
She watches the smoke move as she exhales it, and steps behind him, around him, to put herself on the other side, so the smoke does not blow into his face with the wind.
“Besides,” she continues. “You can always get better.”
[Kemp Oates] “I thought maybe ya just liked to put holes in things.”
Immediately on top of that he added.
“I’m looking for a new place to live. Getting too fuckin crowded in my place. Any ideas?”
[Imogen] He thought maybe she just likes to put holes in things. Imogen shakes her head, but does not have much opportunity to respond when Kemp continues.
She contemplates his question while she takes a few more steps, another drag from her cigarette.
“How much can you afford?”
[Kemp Oates] “Nothing, why?”
He was pretty serious, his income was poverty level. Maybe he should sign up for Government programs, get freed food, housing and shit? That was a thought.
[Imogen] Her mouth twitches slightly, “It gives me an idea on what to tell you. I imagine the Brotherhood is out of the question?” The wry glance, the twist of her mouth suggestions that the question is not altogether serious.
“Hill House might gi’ yeh a hand. Or maybe you could rent another storage box.” A glance as she lifts her cigarette back to her lips. “Yeh can’t get much lower income than that.”
[Kemp Oates] “True. Another unit might work. Hell if I could get the one right next to me, I could put a doorway between them. Ain’t no way I am staying at Hill House or the Brotherhood. I do fine sleeping in the woods if need be.”
He watched the night as they walked together, breath fogging out on each word and exhale.
“Though there are plenty of old dumps down here, might get one cheap.”
[Imogen] She shakes her head slightly, “Yeh don’t stay at Hill House. They ha’ low income housin’ available fer Garou. They can help yeh find a place.”
A brief, sharp glance, “I hope you don’t mean ‘dump’ literally.”
[Kemp Oates] “Really I barely go to my place now. I use it as storage for my bikes and the occasional sleep. Mostly, it’s a place others can maybe find me if they are lucky.”
He shrugged, his shoulder lifting beneath his jacket in a careless manner.
“I don’t need much.”
[Det. Izzy Montoya] There’s a gun range in Bronzeville which is frequented by many a law enforcement individual, wanting to keep their skills sharp. Izzy’s been there often enough herself – though that is not what brings her to Bronzeville this time. This time, it’s the next block down, and the reason she’s there is evident and obvious. There’s yellow police caution tape blocking off a beat up old storefront, and more than one squad car, though the uniformed officers are in the process of vacating.
Directing them all, as well as listening to a couple of beat cops, is one Detective Izzy Montoya, entirely in her element, as she consults her notes, points, asks questions, and double checks what’s been bagged and tagged, making sure everything is in order.
Despite the multitude of apparent faults, one thing has never been in question. Izzy is very, very, very good at her job.
“Thanks, Finn. Bates! You drop that and I’ll kick your fuckin’ ass. Close the bag, you fuckin’ moron.” And the slender detective stalks to the officer in question, checks the bag she was talking about, shows him where his mistake was and how to fix it – and then is seen checking the body one more time before it’s lifted into the van, for delivery to the morgue.
[Imogen] “Yeh could probably find a cheap bachelor apartment fer a few hundred a month,” she says, casting him a brief, unrevealing glance.
“If it’s what yeh want, I can help wi’ the deposit.”
[Kemp Oates] “Few hundred a month is strapping me. I’ll manage, but thanks for the offer.”
No way on earth he was taking money from anyone. And he pushed that thought far, far away as the action ahead came in to view. Infact, when it came in to view, he stopped walking that way and started to cross the street to avoid it.
[Det. Izzy Montoya] She runs her fingers through her hair, narrowly missing scrubbing along her face, which we all know is still a bad idea. While she’s healing, she still has a long way to go, and more than one of her co-workers, of her team still can’t quite look at her, still. Not without wanting to throttle someone, kill the person responsible, and throttle her for protecting whoever it is that did this to her. She simply ignores it – ignores them, and eats her weight in Advil.
Whatever gets ya through the day, right? Right.
As everyone starts to vacate, she moves to her car, and leans against the hood, digging through her pockets until she finds a cigarette and lighter, using the latter to light the former, ducking her head to block the wind as she does so. Everything goes back into the pockets of her long leather coat – unbuttoned for easier access to her gun – and she takes that first drag as she watches everyone pack up and move away. She’s not done here, but they don’t know that.
So she waits
[Imogen] “In that case, I suggest a second storage box wi’ a door between.” She seems unoffended by the offhand refusal of her money.
Up ahead, the action comes in, and Imogen exhales her breath between her lips, “Damn,” she murmurs, reaching beneath the fall of her coat with her free hand to check her phone, and then up again toward the medical examiner’s van.
A moment after Kemp shears away, crossing the street, Imogen does the same.
[Kemp Oates] “I guess ya know them, the cops that is?”
He wasn’t making any bones about crossing the street, doing it quick and uncaring of what traffic came his way.
“I hate scenes like that. Too much attention for my tastes. Though I been thinking about making a bargain to maybe blend in even more in the future.”
[Det. Izzy Montoya] They peel off, one after another, and still Izzy waits. She pulls her phone from her pocket, checks her messages, and truth be told? Simply enjoys the bit of freedom being at a scene gives her. Finn, as usual, is the last to leave the scene, and the overprotective redheaded cop stops by to make sure she doesn’t need anything, and then vacates as well when she waves him off.
And still, she waits until she’s certain they’re all gone. Once they are, she calmly steps under the tape, through the door and into the crime scene once again.
[echo, echo, do I hear an echo?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7) Re-rolls: 2
[Imogen] Imogen nods. “More importantly,” she says, “I probably know the medical examiner.”
A glance, “I wouldn’t imagine yeh’d have much need to get into scenes like that.”
[Kemp Oates] “Nope, but you do.”
He nodded towards the scene as different vehicles pulled away from it.
“Go ahead if ya want, I’ll wait over here.”
[Det. Izzy Montoya] Through the window that faces the street, she can be seen moving around, picking a spot, and the settling to a crouch. Her coat flares at her feet, she rests her forearms on her knees, her hands dangling lightly between her knees.
For all intents and purposes, it looks like she’s staring, and listening.
[Imogen] She shakes her head slightly, “I wasn’t paged,” she says. “it would be odd to just show up.”
In a glance toward the scene, she catches sight of Izzy, crouched in a store window.
“Is tha’ th’ kinfolk detective?” she enquires, as if Izzy were the only one.
[Kemp Oates] He squinted across the street as if his eyesight was horrible, far worse than the Kin’s.
“Not sure. Might be. Could just look like her. Seen one, seen them all.”
[Det. Izzy Montoya] And she listens…
…you fool, you shouldn’t have brought him here..
..what would you have me do? I had to!
..you’re a fuckin’ idiot, now they’ll be all over us!
…I didn’t have a choice!
…you want us to get caught, is that it?
…just.. no, of course not…
…clean this mess up. NOW.
…don’t move! I mean it!
…You don’t want to do that.. just put it down..
…don’t make me do this!
…I’m not making you do anything… you can jus
…I SAID DON’T MOVE!
…Just…
BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG
…i said don’t move. DON’T MOVE.
…you IDIOT. Help me get the shit.. let’s get out of here…
There’s a lot to sift through, a week’s worth of inane conversations and talk of things she has no interest in, but in the end, she picks through the pieces of the puzzle that prove two important things; one – this has nothing to do with the Nation – a nice change of pace, and two, she knows who pulled the trigger.
She lifts her cigarette to her lips again, exhaling slowly, and then nods, slightly. She has what she needs.
[Imogen] A sideways glance at the Rotagar, a narrowed gaze. “I would think you’ve learnt to tell the difference between us by now.”
[Kemp Oates] “Heh, sue me. It’s a failing of mine. Though I can sometimes tell the males from the females. Ya see, ya turn them over and look underneath.”
He made a motion with both hands like he was turning over a turtle or something.
[Det. Izzy Montoya] She pulls her notebook from her pocket, flips through the pages as she checks her notes. she makes a mark or two near a couple names, and the stands, stretching. She takes a moment to just… relax. To revel in the quiet and the fact that she’s alone, and that there is nothing here but the bloodstains on the floor, and whispering echoes of the week just past.
Finally, she turns and heads back outside once more.
[Imogen] An eyebrow wings upward. “How fortunate for the continuance of the species,” she says in tones of utter dryness. “To say nothing for the male kinfolk o’ yer tribe.”
Imogen glances toward the store front door as Izzy steps. “It’s ‘er. Detective Montoya.”
[Kemp Oates] “So it is. I guess that makes it a girl..er…woman…er…naw, walks, talks like a man, must be a Transformer.”
He nodded sagely as he stood with Imogen across the road, watching the Kin come out where all the pretty yellow tape was.
[Det. Izzy Montoya] She is still looking at her notes, propping her cigarette between her lips as she flips back a few pages, double checking the names, the details. She’s a stickler for making sure she has absolutely everything she needs to back up what she knows already to be true.
At some point, she glances up, and it’s then she notices the attention on her from across the street. Her jaw clenches, and the resultant flare of pain slides briefly across her face only to be hidden away again. She plucks the cigarette from between her lips, her hand dropping to flick the ashes to the walk.
[Imogen] “I wasn’t aware the Fenrir accepted transformers,” Imogen observes, deadpan. She has found a few techniques with which to deal with Kemp. If he asks a hundred questions, answer them in order. When he says something absurd, act as if it was normal.
Izzy looks up, and ashes her cigarette.
Imogen takes another hit from hers.
“So,” she says to Kemp, glancing over, “Are we going t’say hello, or just …” she removes her cigarette, waving it in the air, absently. The ember traces orange light through the air, “Stand here and stare?”
[Kora] Kemp and Imogen won’t be surprised when Kora walks up to them. There’s not spark of purity to her, nothing to make her stand out – except that she is an attractive young woman not dressed like a hooker out late on a poorly lit street in part of town known for its failures if it is known for anything. There’s a bar on the corner that has no name, just a guttering neon BUD sign in the grimy windows and a handful of man – young and old – spilling out onto the sidewalk. They don’t harass the Fenrir woman; they make way for her, unconsciously parting ranks like the fucking red sea.
Kora’s found another coat in the last couple of days; it’s another tailored thing, that hits her just at the hips – third hand, of course, double-breasted, some color too dark to be detected in the city’s half-light, but still not quite black. Her stride is long and confident; her steps are not silent. She a half-dozen feet away when she offers the pair a low greeting, “Hey Doc; Kemp-rhya,” her voice pitched just to carry to the pair of them.
[Kemp Oates] “Not me, you go ahead. I think she’s had enough from me. Woman won’t ever change. She’s too set in her thought patterns. I’m hoping she and Daniel learn something from each other, if nothing else, they learn to exist with respect. But to be honest, I ain’t so sure it’s gonna work. Ya can only do so much before ya have to cut your losses.”
When Kora approached it gave him something else to look at. He turned his head and greeted Kora with a faint cant of his head.
“We were just Kin staring. Want to join in? It’s kind of like going to the zoo, only there ain’t none of them little machines to buy feed out of.”
[Imogen] Imogen stares at Kemp for several seconds.
She is disconnected from the tribe. From the Nation. She does not get regular updates on the goings on of Fenrir and the Kinfolk.
“What on earth are you talking about?” she asks, before flicking a gaze toward Kora.
“Hullo.”
[Det. Izzy Montoya] One thing is certain – she’s not going to step across the street to them. Especially once Kora has joined. Dark eyes flick over to the Skald, then back, and she simply takes another drag and closes the distance between the crime scene and her car.
She opens the driver’s side, and pulls out something from within, and then resumes leaning against the front of the car. She drops her notebook to the hood, digs a pair of chopsticks from her inside pocket, and opens the container of leftovers, and finishes the dinner this call interrupted.
[Kemp Oates] “That Kin across the road, she doesn’t recognize respect. She lacks the common fear factor that would have her brain tell her mouth to shut the fuck up and show respect. I was already a little ticked myself when she pushed Daniel’s buttons and he reacted like a Ahroun and smashed her face into a brick wall a couple of times. Then he hauled her bloody ass to my place for his punishment and to show what he did. I figured the best punishment and lesson for both was to spend time together.”
He filled Imogen in.
“Anything to add to that?”
He asked Kora for her input.
[Kora] Kora’s hands remained buried in the pockets of her coat; the Fenrir woman greets her tribesmate and Elder with a tip of her head and a faint, wry grin for his quip. Then she straightens, follows his line of site toward the crime scene across the street, where the pure bred detective goes about her work. The creature’s mouth stills, still caught in the shape of the half-grin she offered Kemp, but nothing like it, now.
Anything to add to that? Kemp asks. Kora takes his summary in impassively, her dark eyes flicking neatly toward the Fianna kinswoman and resting there a passing moment. “She’s human – ” her addition is quiet, there’s more behind it, but she’s watching Imogen’s pale face for a reaction. ” – more than kin, I think. Proud of what she does, resentful of the demands placed on her by her blood. She has human ideas of equality, and is deeply bitter that the tribe doesn’t share them. She mistakes authority for worth” – the ghostly twist of her mouth reappears, then, ” – that’s my pop psychology take on her.”
[Imogen] She is human, Kora says, watching Imogen’s face for reaction. The Fianna-turned-Fenrir is nominally impassive. Her most ground-breaking reaction is a lift of an eyebrow, followed by a drawing in of her brow as Kora continues to speak.
She glances once, briefly toward Izzy again.
“Well,” she says after a moment, “I always find that beating someone is most certainly the best way to resolve that.” There is a faint thread of sarcasm, a quiet commentary.
Imogen drops her cigarette to the ground, and crushes it out. “She obviously has no interest in interaction,” she says, glancing at Kemp, then Kora, “Keep walkin’ shall we? It’s better scenery then if we just stand here and stare.”
[Det. Izzy Montoya] Across the street, she’s being analyzed, and watched. The line of tension in her shoulders suggests that she knows at least part of it, and withstands it without a word. To hear what is said might be amusing, on some level, but as it not heard, she simply continues working. It’s a moment of solace, of solitude even here, where people are gawking, where people are asking questions, making assumptions, and jumping to conclusions.
Its the closest thing to peace she has at the moment, and so she remains, slender hip propped against the fender of an unmarked car, box of takeout in one hand, chopsticks in the other, and notebook on the hood.
Sometimes, it’s the little things that matter – especially when it’s all you have left.
[Kora] “Tangentially,” the Skald’s attention flicks from Imogen to Izzy, leaning against her car now, eating Chinese on the dark street, then toward the corner at the end of the block. She starts walking, falling into an easy pace that she matches to her companions. She walks confidently on the slushy sidewalks, holding her winter coat close against her body, hands still in her pockets. Her voice is still low, ” – I’m interested the stories of either Lexi or Mina, the kin who have markers about the tribe’s heroes. I was wondering if you knew either of them.”
[Imogen] Imogen and Kora begin to walk away. At the question, Imogen tosses the Fenrir a startled glance the names unheard – and likely unthought of – for some time.
“I knew Lexi well enough,” she says. “She died in the Caern raising. Why?”
[Det. Izzy Montoya] (BTW – don’t wait on me. Izzy’s enjoying the night air. *L*)
to Imogen, Kora
[Kora] “They should be remembered.” That’s the gist of it, but not the truth. Kora cuts Imogen a sidelong look, her wide mouth curved into a thoughtful expression. “It’s more than that, though. It’s that kinswoman we saw; I listened to her tell me about all she has lost for the Nation. I want to show – show her – that we value the sacrifices our kin make. I thought it might help her – reconcile herself to the Nation and her place in it. If she can’t – she’ll get herself killed, over something foolish. Or worse – poison herself with bitterness, and fail, or even betray us, when we need her most.” The Fenrir woman offers this explanation in a low, clipped voice. She hesitates twice; once before beginning the little speech, and against half-way through.
“So,” Kora cuts across the street to avoid the men on the corner now, ” – what can you tell me about Lexi?”
[Imogen] There is a brief pause.
“What makes you think that you can help a Kinfolk reconcile her place in the Nation?” Her eyebrow arches slightly.
[Kemp Oates] ((Bah, what did I miss?))
to Det. Izzy Montoya, Imogen, Kora
[Imogen] (Mud fights.
Nekkid mud fights.)
to Det. Izzy Montoya, Kemp Oates, Kora
[Kemp Oates] ((Ha! Your nose will grow! I read back!))
to Det. Izzy Montoya, Imogen, Kora
[Kora] “I don’t.” The words are short and clipped; the Skald’s features are still under the patina of amber light. The street is quiet here; they can hear the thump of bass coming from the nameless bar on the corner, the roar of a bus engine, the distant wail of a siren. Somewhere, someone’s dying. ” – but she has the blood – I look at her and I know what she is. That woman can’t run away. And I’d rather not see her beaten to death.”
[Kemp Oates] “I ain’t so sure this one will listen to anything. And telling her stories of the dead ain’t gonna help. Garou listen to stories of those from before, we learn, we respect. The fact that she has Fenrir blood does not make her extra valuable to me. I’m sorry, but for me it’s what’s in the fuckin head. Breeding is nice, but if ya waste it, it’s like water down a drain when the desert is crying for it. We are the desert, she is water and I see her racing for the drain.”
He had fallen in with the others, letting the Kin across the street have her peace.
[Imogen] She turns her head slightly toward the sound of the siren, her hand absently straying to the phone at her hip, checking its presence.
“Lexi was a Fenrir assocaited wi’ the Eagles,” she says, “She was mated t’the sometime Alpha, Erik – I’m not sure o’ her last name.
“She always wanted t’be Garou, and since she couldn’t, she settled for being as good as. When Kinfolk were offered the chance t’participate in the Caern raising, she jumped at it.”
Kemp offers his metaphor. Imogen offers only a regard, unreadable in the shadow.
[Kora] The Skald shoots one glance back over her shoulder, her features a pale wash above the dark line of her coat. In the streetlights, the wool is shown to be a deep plum, nearly black, with a long row of black buttons down the right breast. Three are missing, and a fourth hangs by two threads, ready to be dislodged at the slightest friction.
“Respectfully, Jarl,” the female looks up at her Elder, but does not meet his eyes. Humans would find such a physical detail off-putting, ascribe to her a certain untrustworthiness, question her honesty. But while you may look men in the eye, you do not look wolves in the eye without challenge – and they are wolves, beneath the fine lie of their human flesh. ” – there is more than you do not know. She values the work she does in the human world, it’s important to her. She told me that she was demoted and nearly had her career ended for work she did for the tribe. I can’t give her the apotheosis she wants, and my idea may be – foolish, and futile – but I want to try.”
[Kemp Oates] “I ain’t saying your idea is foolish, but I am saying that sure, great she was demoted. She lost because of some work she did for the Tribe. But does she appreciate the fact that we fuckin lose every fuckin day? Turn around and another of us has paid the ultimate price so this…”
He waved a hand at the city around them.
“….this can continue. So it doesn’t all become total madness. So human numbers can grow and grow to the point that soon we will not be able to remain silent guardians. To them we are the monsters in the night, not Knights. To Izzy, we are ungrateful assholes that she believes she is better than. I don’t know if she was raised with Kin, or with Tribe, if so, they failed. I do know I become increasingly tired of pampering both Kin and ungrateful Garou. I am growing to the point I believe pampering is allowing corruption and madness to grow in our people. We are sliding down an iced hill on a greased sled.”
[Kora] “It’s a – strange balance here, Jarl,” the creature agrees when Kemp has finished. She glances up when he gestures at the city, taking in the long stretch of darkness, the sagging, unkempt buildings that line the street, the cracked sidewalks littered with a morass of broken glass, fast-food wrappers, and cigarette butts amidst the ice and slush. And the sky above – burnt orange, the stars drowned in the city’s backwash of light pollution, the moon somewhere in the sky above them, constantly pulling at their tidal blood.
She picks her words carefully; she has the image of her mother’s face in her head, the way the kinswoman looked every time they were leaving town, her blue eyes framed in the rearview mirror of their pick-up truck, and then their mini-van, watchful and wary. ” – but we need our kin – in the scab more than in Hjaltland, or any of the traditional Septs in the far north. I don’t intend to coddle her.” There’s a hook-curve to her mouth there, ” – I just want to tell her the story of a kinswoman who died to give birth to a holy place. Maybe there will be enough resonance there at she will find her strength.”
[Kora] (** “there that she will find…”)
[Imogen] Imogen is taking out another cigarette as they walk, freeing it from her bronze cigarette case and fitting it between her lips.
She pauses briefly as she lights her cigarette, her hand lifting to cup the flame.
“I think I’ll leave you both to this conversation,” Imogen says, her words wreath in smoke, her mouth twisting faintly. “Ha’ a good night.”
A wry twist of her mouth. “And good luck.”
With that, she steps aside, away, crossing the street to head down another to where she’d parked her car.
[Kemp Oates] “I’ll catch ya later Imogen.”
He waited till she left before turning his attention to Kora again.
“We need them, but they need us too. We are not equals. That is something some forget. And our Kin of all Kin need to be strong and not stupid. I ain’t gonna play baby sitter, I done tried that and failed. But you, yes, speak to the guardians, gather the tales and give it a try. When I am not PMSing myself, I can do this shit, but there are times I just got too much on the plate lately. Some of the shit you would not believe.”
[Kora] The Skald nods to Imogen as she takes her leave. The neighborhood is doubtful enough that the creature gives the Jarl a second look as he says his farewall to the good doctor, but she takes her cue from the Adren here, and swallows her offer to walk Imogen to her care for the nonce.
As the flame-haired kinswoman walks away, Kora’s eyes lift again to Kemp’s face. She never quite meets his eyes, but her attentiveness is clear, as is the twist of her full mouth. “No disagreement here,” she avers, then cants her head sidelong at Kemp, shoulders moving in a twist. ” – I meant to tell you, I have some money I can throw in if you’re looking for a different place, with more room for your kinswoman. I’ve appreciated your hospitality, Kemp-rhya.”
[Imogen] (thanks for the scene, guys!)
[Det. Izzy Montoya] (thank you! :) sleep well. :) )
[Det. Izzy Montoya] (…damn.)
[Det. Izzy Montoya] Dinner finished, she crumples the container, and tosses it into the nearest bin. A moment, or two, or three, and she grabs her notebook, and then, with a check of her watch, slides into the driver’s seat of the unmarked police vehicle. A few more minutes of relative piece, and then she starts the car, and pulls away, leaving nothing but fluttering police tape in her wake.
[Kemp Oates] “You I can share space with and hardly notice the difference.”
Garou, like Wolves, were pack animals, they did best in the company of others like them.
“Having our Kin there at the moment is a bit unnerving. I can’t sleep there, so close together. I smell her fear and it stirs the wolf in me to uneasiness. Though Imogen had an interesting thought. If I can rent one of the adjoining units, I can put a doorway between and with some modifications it could work ok. But I gotta tell ya, I would love to have at least a toilet and that means different housing.”
[Kora] “How are you at plumbing?” Her brows lift with the question – rhetorical, perhaps. Then: “I’d like to have a shower,” Kora confesses, walking forward, her narrow shoulders turned inward against the wind. Her hair is pulled back sharply from her face, and twisted around at the nape of her neck into a firm knot. ” – and you’d probably get better reception for your little television someplace with a regular roof rather than all that metal. Like I said, I have a little bit of money. Enough to throw in on rent somewhere. Or – ” she nudges him sidelong, her shoulder against his arm, her frame turned toward the dark buildings up and down the street. ” – we could squat. I’ve been in a few that were kitted up with all the conveniences. Find the right place, hook it up to the grid, as long as you don’t make a nuisance of yourself and find someplace no one wants anymore, the city’s like to leave you alone. I bet there are streets where eighty percent of the houses are empty. It’s just a matter of finding one that’s still in good shape.”
[Kemp Oates] “Now see, that’s the way I was thinking. It’s one of the reasons I was around here tonight in the first place. That and it unnerves Imogen when I show up. For some reason that just makes my day.”
He looked over the dark buildings, most not showing any lights, some showing faint flickering from tv sets.
“Joe and Thomas got a place down here. I think we do some looking and between us we can find a place with a toilet and a shower.”
[Kora] The woman offers a faint snort. “I don’t think anything would unnerve your kinswoman.”
“Joe and Thomas?” she echoes, query laced into her tone. Again, her dark gaze skims his face with the question; then, her attention slips back to the darkened rowhouses, the weedy lawns and unshoveled walks, the collapsing gutters and broken windows. “That’d work. If you can get the hot water working, even better. It’ll be worth checking out the other side, too. The closer we are to the Caern, the more likely we are to find someplace with reflection that is salvageable. That’d be important, if you’re going to stay for long.”
[Kemp Oates] “Joe and Thomas are Tribe. Joe’s a Ahroun and had taken over the Jarl position when Decker left on business. Thomas is…well…he’s a Talesinger and a bit…well…Ok sometimes I think he’s one crazy in the head mother fucker.”
There was no other way to put it.
“But they mean well. We haven’t made anything formal, but we were talking about Packing up. Only problem is, I think they are more suited to each other than to me. Even now they are off on some adventure again.”
[Kora] She laughs, low. “Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya,” the suggestion of her laughter still shades her voice. It is a surprisingly open sound, full and quiet and clear. ” – our tribe is made up of crazy in the head mother fuckers.” Then, she stops once, both booted feet coming to a near full stop on the sidewalk, enough that she has to job three or four steps to catch back up with the Rotagar. The laughter – the wreathing coil of it – has fallen away from her mouth and her voice.
“You don’t go on adventures.” Statement though it seems, the Skald’s words are a question, inviting answers.
[Kemp Oates] He grinned with her laughter, shaking his head.
“If they return, you will see what I mean. Hell more than half the time I ain’t got a clue what Joe is saying because of his accent. And the other half of the time I am trying to figure out what Thomas is foaming at the mouth about.”
He shook his head slightly.
“My duty is to this Caern, to this city. I have plenty of adventures here. The woods are within reach, if I need some peace and quiet I drive out there to run. But hell, I’m a city wolf. It’s what I have always known.”
He continued to walk down the street with her, talking as they went.
((Ok, I’m sorry but my fingers aren’t even working right anymore. I need sleep.))
[Kora] ( That works for me! Thanks for the RP. Night!)
[Det. Izzy Montoya] (night ya’ll! thanks for the RP. :) )
[Kemp Oates] (( NIght!))