[Grace]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Grace] She wants to scream, but there are no words that she knows to make it make sense.
Her moon is in the sky, and she is stuck.
She has not seen the woods in weeks, and she is suck.
There is no one nearby that could take her anywhere, and she is horrifically, unequivocally stuck. No one pays her mind. No one pays her heed. No one does much of anything for the strange blonde girl. She doeesn’t snap at the staff. She doesn’t harass the customers. No, grace comes down the stairs and waits.
Patiently.
And she gets a drink.
Vodka, not bourbon. Not whiskey. Vodka.
[Izzy Montoya] She’s as much a part of the bar downstairs now as.. well, the bar itself, practically. Every night, unless she calls ahead, she walks into the backdoor of the Brotherhood, moves into the restaurant/bar, takes her place at the back booth, and gets to work. The only deviation from this was on her Birthday – where she was allowed to share dinner with a friend. That night she was seen in a dress, much to the shock (and appreciation!) of her date. Since then, despite the fact that the Sentinels aren’t even in the area at the moment, she still does as commanded.
One more week.
File folders are spread across the table, where there’s also two bottles – one empty, the other just opened, beer tonight, not whiskey. The low-light of the laptop screen highlights her face. Her bruising is all but gone, and she once again retains the strong, natural beauty without anything to mark what she’s been through.
Nothing but the nightly incarceration chained to this fucking table at the fucking broho, that is.
[Grace] She looked at Izzy.
She was looking at her, and no matter how much she tried to drink it wasn’t taking the edge off. Grace was nervous, grace was confined. Grace was trapped. And only one of them in this room did not wear their human skin permanently.
She can’t take it anymore.
She goes back to Izzy’s table and sits down.
She says nothing.
[Izzy Montoya] Izzy finishes typing what she’s entering into the computer, and doesn’t seem to notice who is at the table, other than the slight arch of a brow. She finishes typing, reaches up and closes the laptop and grabs her beer. A long swallow, and she watches the lupus, curiously.
She is not comfortable, Izzy. She does not like being here, and the longer it lasts, the more it grates on her nerves and digs under her skin. But she is not near as high strung as Grace right now – and it shows.
But she simply waits.
[Grace] She looks at her, and her eyes tell a tale of desperation. The cub is high strung, yes, but it is more than that. It is…
it is…
She is stuck, horribly so.
“… I understand,” she tells her. And it’s all she can think to say
[Izzy Montoya] That brow quirks upwards, slightly, again.
Then, quietly. “Understand what… being stuck here?”
[Grace] “That it is awful,” she says. She commiserates. “I want to hunt.”
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly, and then. “So hunt. Even as a cub you have more freedom than I do.”
[Grace] “I’m not allowed to leave,” she tells her. “Hatchet-rhyha said.”
[Izzy Montoya] She shakes her head, slightly, and tips her bottle back for a long drink. Then.
“Tell you what. They aren’t even fuckin’ here. They’re off on some quest, and while I’m still required to check in, I highly doubt it’s a good thing for you to be trapped here. I know it’s not fuckin’ fair, especially if they didn’t bother to tell you they were leaving. Did they tell you? Can you go to the Caern at all?”
[Grace] “They left?” she looks genuinely crestfallen at this.
One would think that someone told the ragabash that Christmas was cancelled. The sound that escaped her lips was that of a high-pitched whine. It was more common for adolescent wolves to vocalize more than adults, so the tall, too-thin blonde’s behavior made sense. Obviously, they did not tell her they were leaving.
“I can go,” she says. She starts to stand, “I should go.”
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly, and sighs. “They should only be gone a few days, according to Daniel. Tell you what, kid.” A pause, as she tries to figure how much trouble she’ll get into for what she’ contemplating.
“I can’t go to the bawn – can’t leave here unless for work until 6am. If you want, you can go with me in the morning. Shadow me at work – I’ll tell Sarge it’s for the local school, and it’ll at least get you out of here. And I’ll see if I can’t manage to get you somewhere that you can hunt or something. At the very least, you’ll get out of here for a few hours.”
[Grace] There is silence. Such glorious, pregnant silence as she muses over this. Grace thinks for the time being, says nothing, does not do much outside of this. She had only been caught breaking the rules once, and what were the rules for?
She still owed Hatchet a Rite of Contrition, anyway, why not make it two?
“I would like that,” she said. As though the change in her body posture and hte obvious pleasure wasn’t enough.
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly. “Alright then. You know I don’t sleep here, so a few hours will be spent at my home while I get some rest, the majority of the rest at the station or in the field. If I go out on a call, you’re going to have to promise to do exactly as I say, when I say it We’ll be on my turf, my job, and I’ll do what I can to ensure you’re safety, as well as maintain the Veil and keep my job.”
A tip of her head, and a that sly little smirk. Clearly, Izzy loves loopholes. “Deal?”
[Grace] She nods again. Solid and secure, that yes, Izzy would be in charge if they went on the job together. Grace is ecstatic, obviously so.
“I won’t do anything bad.”
Look at her, using contractions, too bad she uses amorphous concepts and vague phrases with them.
[Izzy Montoya] She nods again. “I’m sure you won’t. Alright then. Might wanna take it easy on the drink. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
She winks at Grace, and then takes another swallow of her beer, as there are hours yet before she needs to leave in the morning. She pulls her folders closer, and flips through the top one, absently.
[Grace] She looks at the folders again, and looks back at Izzy. She looks and says nothing for the longest time.
“What do those say?”
[Izzy Montoya] “Hm?” She glances up. “Oh. They’re case files – unsolved murders, most of them. Some of them in the process of going to trial. More of the endless paperwork. The only good thing about my incarceration is that I’m finally caught up – and staying so – on all the paperwork we have to slog through on a regular basis.”
[Grace] “… will I have to do paperwork?”
[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles, and looks up at Grace. “No, you won’t. Most of this is just to keep me busy until I’m free to leave in the morning.”
[Grace] And, at that moment, there was a moment of intense, obvious relief that washed over her features. Just keeping Izzy busy until she’s free to leave. The cub seems to be pleased with this notion.
[Izzy Montoya] There’s a slight smirk, warmer than most, tugging at the edge of her lips at the obvious relief in Grace at the lack of paperwork she’ll need to do. She glances up, then back to her files again.
“There will be a lot of people at the station – lot of noise, etc.. I know you’re not quite…. well, you weren’t born human, so it might be a bit overwhelming. If it gets to be too much for whatever reason, just let me know and I’ll get us out of there.”
[Grace] “Do I talk to anyone?” she asks.
It’s amazing the kinds of leaps and bounds she makes whens he is interacting with people. Some lupus omit words, useful, important words . Some lupus speak in broken English, and she… she speaks with words clipped and chosen, but she speaks it none the less. She chooses the words she knows and she uses them well.
In her breed form she is eloquent.
This is not her breed form.
“Do you like it?”
[Izzy Montoya] She glances up again, and then lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I won’t stop you from talking to anyone. I don’t appreciate the muzzle being put on me, I certainly won’t put one on you. Just remember that they are human – and not a part of the nation, so speak carefully. Other than that, be a regular chatty cathy if you want.”
Then, a blink. “Do I like what, exactly?”
[Grace] “Your job,” she says, “do you like it?”
There is curiosity there. withthe moon failing to shine in the sky, maybe her questions would be more spot on. Or, worse yet, she migth be miles and miles away naturally.
[Izzy Montoya] She studies Grace, and gives the question some thought before she answers. “I’m very fucking good at my job. There are things I can do that no one else can, and I close more cases and work harder than most, as hard as the best.”
But does she like it… “I made a choice when I was 18 to join the force, and do my best for both sides and it’s all I’ve done since. Sometimes I love it more than life – sometimes there’s nothing more rewarding. Sometimes, I want nothing more than to give up and walk away – because what I do is not easy, and it’s emotionally draining.”
But does she like it. “I think it evens out, for the most part. I don’t know what I’d do without it… so in the end? Yeah. I guess like my job well enough.”
It’s more than what she does. In a very real way – it’s who she is.
[Grace] She takes a second, and she listens to Izzy. She listens and she hangs on every word because, to her, every word was different. Special. Sacred. Every word that came out of her mouth mattered and Grace, for her part, was going to listen to every word that this woman deigned to pass on to her. She didn’t mull over much, because this was all new to her.
She understood people by virtue of not being one.