[Izzy Montoya] She’s angry. She’s holding a lot of things bound up tight in the core of her [hehurherandshe[i]let[//i]him] and she needs SOMETHING to help her relax. Bound from what she normally would do by a promise made, she instead is at a seedy little place in Bronzeville that houses an equally seedy little gun shop and shooting range.
The man up front barely even looks at her while she purchases ammo, though it’s likely because the one look noted what so many people do so easily – she’s a cop, and he wants to be on her good side. Assuming she has one, which a quick look at her carefully impassive expression leaves one to doubt.
She pays for the ammunition, and then without a word heads back to the range, moving to the stall at the far end and setting the box on the little counter. She slides from her coat, and sets it on the small chair there, and as she turns back around, she pulls her weapon from the holster at the small of her back. She knows it’s loaded – she checks it anyway, her fingers moving with practiced ease as she handles the gun – a semi-automitic pistol, lt Glock 17, 9mm. It’s not exactly a prissy woman’s gun, but then again, she’s not exactly a prissy woman.
She sets the gun down, only to fasten a targeting paper to the clamps, and then press the button to send it deep into the range. Only when it’s as deep as any of her male counterparts would place it does she take her thumb off the button, pull the hearing protection headset onto her ears and pick up her gun.
She takes a breath.
Aims.
And fires.
[Izzy Montoya] [1a: Fire 3 round burst ! 1b: Fire.]
1a: three round burst: dex 4 + firearms 4 + 3 = 11 – 2 (split) = 9, diff 7 (rerolls)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 7) Re-rolls: 4
[Izzy Montoya] 1b: regular shot: dex 4 + firearms 4 = 8 – 3 (split) = 5, diff 6 (rerolls)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Izzy Montoya] (CAUGHT! Ya CAUGHT me throwing DICE for FUN! *L*)
to Imogen Slaughter
[Imogen Slaughter] (I am SHOCKED AND APPALLED.
and a little scared.)
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] She counts down as she fires. 17. 16. 15. a pause. 14. Each bullet finds its way to the intended target, without fail.
She takes a breath – and simply does it again.
[1a: three round burst: dex 4 + firearms 4 + 3 = 11 – 2 (split) = 9, diff 7 (rerolls)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7) Re-rolls: 3
[Izzy Montoya] [1b: regular shot: dex 4 + firearms 4 = 8 – 3 (split) = 5, diff 7 (rerolls)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7) Re-rolls: 1
[spirits] [haunts izzy’s gun]
[Izzy Montoya] 13, 12, 11. 10.
Brows furrow, slightly, as she nods the second placement, letting the gun lower slightly as she checks the spread. Not good enough. It’s good – no doubt about it, and she has yet to miss – but to her it’s simply…
Not. Good. Enough.
So she raises the weapon, and does it again. A single shot.
9.
[Dex + Firearms = 8 diff 7 + rerolls]
[and now waits for Mei to post. :) ]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[DIAPPOINTMENT] (THE S COULD NOT BE HERE TO WITNESS: IT WAS TOO UPSET)
to Imogen Slaughter, Izzy Montoya, spirits
[Imogen Slaughter] (stares)
to DIAPPOINTMENT, Izzy Montoya, spirits
[Izzy Montoya] (and you thought _I_ was scary.)
to DIAPPOINTMENT, Imogen Slaughter, spirits
[Imogen Slaughter] The man up front does look at Imogen when she purchases her ammunition, but she pays it no mind, passing over her cash and asking briefly which lanes are free.
She heads down to the end, taking the second from the last, casting a glance toward her neighbour, her gaze pausing there when she realizes who it is. When the detective looks up, Imogen merely nods, saying, “Detective,” as she slips out of her leather coat, slinging it over the back of the small chair. The words are muffled, if Montoya wears headgear, and like any good professional gunslinger, she probably does. Hearing is damaged with each unprotected, loud report of a weapon, and people like them, well, you protect it when you can, to try and make up for it when you can’t.
She removes her suit jacket, freeing her arms and revealing the short sleeved blouse underneath, a tattoo barely visible on the bicep, a perfectly round bruise on her forearm. There is a weapon at the small of her back, but it is not this weapon with which she chooses to practice, instead retrieving the unloaded gun from the small sack she’d carried.
She loads the clip into the Sig P220 and sets it aside, retrieving a set of ear plugs from the same sack, fitting them into her ear.
She is here to fire, not to socialize, and so that is what she does.
Imogen is a good shot. A damn good shot. She has a particular pragmatism and love of logic which makes her so. She knows her weapons. The angles of them, the sights, the recoil when she fires.
And in the firing range, the targets are much easier than the ones for which she prepares. It is almost a relief.
(please note, Mei is NOT DICING. kthx)
[Izzy Montoya] She does look over when someone takes the lane next to hers, and the recognition is immediate. Detective, she is greeted, and she replies with a nod and a “Doctor.” in return.
There is a glance at the weapon Imogen chooses out of simple curiosity, before she returns her gaze down the lane. She waits as she watches the good Doctor Slaughter fire, and watches as the bullets hit the target with unflinching regularity.
She’s a good shot. A damn good shot. And as a damn good shot herself? Izzy can admit to being impressed – if only to herself – before she raises her own weapon once more, and goes about emptying the first clip. She doesn’t stop this time until she needs to reload.
[Kire Gustarf] The marvelous smell of gunpowder in the air, that was the first thing that greeted Kire as he stepped into the establishment. He wore an open jacket patterned in Bosnian camouflage, from the days of the Yugoslavian wars anyway, white sweatshirt with a dozen dog-tags on his neck, and gray jeans which seemed slightly mismatched with the rest of his clothes. Underneath his jacket, a duo of Colt 1911s could be seen, one holstered on either side, they seemed to be modified to say the least if anyone knew much about guns. However, he wasn’t here to try those out, he’d used a work test for an excuse to try a weapon he was modifying and doing maintenance on.
It was stored inside a sleek aluminum carrying case he carried in his left hand as he headed for the man at the counter, putting several 20s to pay for his time at the range as well as buy a few boxes worth of 5.56 NATO and .45 caliber ammo. The weapon stored inside the case was an AR-15 commercial rifle, at the armory he worked at, they’d been fixing it up and he’d decided to take it for a spin. They’d changed the trigger mechanism, barrel, stock, in fact, roughly 70% of the rifle was new and replaced, customized, filed down, altered by Kire and his co-workers.
And as he headed down to the range, the 6’1 man paced himself, walking down the path slowly to catch a glimpse of all the other customers, their weapons, and their habits on aiming and maintaining the gun. Having grown up in and out of wars, guns were one of the things he was most familiar with, and he was highly critical when it came to them and their treatment.
[Imogen Slaughter] If the kinwoman had felt the gaze, the silent sizing up of the policewoman, she shows no sign, tapping the trigger rhythmically, letting the gun recoil, the weapon settle as she taps again.
She must have, however, at least sensed that the other beside her had not reloaded, because, when she’s emptied the clip, she lowers her gun, rather than reloading, reaching up to grasp the string over her shoulder to draw her paper target toward her.
She sets the gun down on the table beside her, reaching up to remove her ear plugs.
“I heard you’d been beaten,” It’s a hell of a conversation opener.
Kire Gustarf enters and before he chooses his lane, checks out the other customers. It is doubtless that he will notice the two women at the end:
Imogen, slight, slender, flaming red hair. Purebred.
Izzy, athletic, tall, brunette. Purebred.
[DIAPPOINTMENT] [uses you as witness all quicklike]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] She slides the ear protectors off to hang about her neck as she follows Imogen’s lead and brings the target closer, intending to replace it with a new one after she checks the placement of hits on the paper, and reloads.
In the meantime, Imogen gives one hell of a conversation opener. “Physically.” comes the reply.
Izzy is proud.
Izzy is bitter.
Izzy is angry, though precious little of it makes it past the careful mask she’s had in place for the past weeks of her incarceration. But though they hope against hope they’ve beaten mentally too… it hasn’t happened. And it won’t, either.
Curious, maybe – though it’s likely in order to figure out which part of the story Imogen heard, and how it was slanted. “Which grapevine?”
[Imogen Slaughter] Physically.
Imogen’s eyebrow lifts slightly, “I wasn’t aware the word had suggested otherwise,” she says as she clips another target to the sheet.
Izzy asks which grapevine, and Imogen’s gaze is inscrutable as she casts her eyes her way. “I wouldn’t say it was gossip,” she says, “Merely – informational. Another Fenrir told me.”
[Paul Kellogg] (locations?)
[Imogen Slaughter] (gunrange. Izzy and Imogen are at the last two lanes, and Kire hasn’t chosen one.)
[Paul Kellogg] The bus-stop was far from the main terminal. Why he decided to get off here rather than the Chicago Terminal was anyone’s guess. Even his own. Perhaps it was the food stand he ‘thought’ he spied from his view there with his brow plastured to the window where he sat. But when he finally took stock of his surroundings. Much to his disappointment, the food stand al-carte was actually nothing of the sort despite his rumbling stomach. Infact, he had no idea where he was, when and if another bus would come by or what these buildings were that he now stood infront. Wellllll shit he thought as he stole another gander about in surveyance.
[Izzy Montoya] “To most, no.” To her, there is a world of difference between beaten up, and being beaten.
Izzy’s lips curl into a familiar, comfortable smirk. It’s her default expression, which is enough to piss certain Fenrir off. Heaven forbid she not be perfect in every little way. She clips another target into place, and then looks over at Imogen as she sends it deep into the lane again.
“Lots of stories going around as to why. Knowing were it came from, I expect I know which version you got – the gist of it, anyway.” A beat, and then. “Especially if it game from Kemp.”
Once the target slides into place, practiced fingers go about reloading her weapon with the ease of long practice.
[Kire Gustarf] Kire, ignorant as he was on all things Garou to a limited extent, could hardly miss the nature of the two women who stood at the end of the corridor, as though in their own little world. He couldn’t feel any Rage from them, but the sensation of a… pure blood they were called, as far as he could recall, that was obvious. It was more overpowering than most others he’d encountered, particularly strong and hard to miss, but he wouldn’t speak to them, not of his own initiative anyway, he was here for ‘business’. He chose a lane right next to theirs and considered for a moment, plugs or no plugs.
Even he wasn’t quite used to firing in a confined space like this, so it might be for the worst not to wear them, but he liked the sound of gunfire, almost as much as he enjoyed the sensation of the recoil in his hands and the gunpowder smell that followed it. Having chosen a lane, Kire proceeded to undo the latches on the case and piece the AR-15 back together with care, piece by piece until the masterpiece of a (legal) weapon was finally back how it should be, he’d considered doing some mods to make it automatic but decided against doing something so blatantly illegal so soon after his arrival in the city.
For now, he’d just get a feel for the weapon, test the parts, calibrate it just right, see the alignment on the hammer and if they needed to work on the barrel some more for accuracy. It took him moments to grasp the weapon firmly in both hands, aiming it carefully and giving the trigger a single gentle tap as he aimed for the range target’s chest area at 200 meters, he’d try that first.
[I’ll take you on, Izzy, Dex + Firearms]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Izzy Montoya] (if it GAME from Kemp? *L* if it CAME from Kemp.)
[Imogen Slaughter] Her head turns slightly, sharply, at the sound of a newcomer in the range, not as he sets it up, but as he begins to fire – the only sound loud enough to reach her over the sound of the other guns.
Her eyes rest on the Garou, stay there for several seconds, and her mouth draws into a thin line.
She turns back.
“I’ll hear yer story, sometime, if you care to tell it.” Is all she says, taking down her target, having apparently changed her mind about remaining.
[Izzy Montoya] She slaps the clip home, reloaded, and then looks up to meet Imogen’s gaze as she changes her mind about staying. She looks past her to the man – no. Garou from that slap of rage – and then back to Imogen.
She reaches behind her to replace her gun into her holster at the small of her back, and then looks over at the redhead again. “Buy you a cup of coffee?”
Apparently she won’t mind telling her side.
[Paul Kellogg] So this was the ‘infamous’ Windy City. Definately looks depressed. It’s buildings and their facades not even the art deco his mother was interested in. Nope…this might be a bad part of town. Time to get the hell out of dodge. If only another bus would come by…perhaps city transit?
A gaze up and down the street as his smile widened with nervous energy. Or was it blood sugar? Damn if a snickers doesn’t sound good at the moment.
[Imogen Slaughter] She unloads the empty clip, picks up her ammunition box, setting it into the canvas bag. Izzy offers to buy her a cop of coffee, and Imogen glances up, pausing briefly.
A nod, simple as that.
“I know a place a few blocks away,” she says, putting on her suit jacket, then her leather coat.
“Come on.”
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, and turns to slip her coat back on, the long leather length falling about her calves with a flare. She doesn’t button it, as that would hinder access to her weapon. The box of remaining ammo she slips into her pocket, the ear protecting headset replaced on it’s hook.
She picks up the target she’d already fired on, judging te spread of the bullets with a critical eye – too critical some would say, as she is harder on herself than on anyone else – and then simply crumples it up and tosses it into the trash bin, before she steps out of the lane and falls into step with Imogen. “Alright.”
[Kemp] Outside it was growing cold again. Not freezing yet, but cold. Now and then it spit rain that would later turn to sleet. In the parking lot, warm breath coming out in little white puffs, sat a figure upon the trunk of one Imogen Slaughter’s vehicle. Dark hair covered by a black knit cap. Coat damp, hiding all but the breath of the shoulders beneath it. One knee peeked out of faded jeans.
[Kire Gustarf] As the Kinfolk left, maybe due to Kire’s arrival, maybe not, he resisted the urge to glance around and continued with his work. He wasn’t there to socialize, and while the shot had been almost as accurate as he’d expected, the mechanisms to handle recoil were off so he’d felt it more than he had to, which in turn had made it miss the exact mark by several millimeters. In the blink of an eye, he was undoing the weapon again and opening it up, he’d have to check what was up with the internals and see if it was something he could adjust or he’d have to take it back to the shop to fix it up.
(Guess this is the part where I phase out)
[Kemp] (you don’t have to phase out)
[Paul Kellogg] (outside on the street)
[Imogen Slaughter] Like Izzy, Imogen leaves her coat open. She does spare a glance at Kire’s back as they pass, studying him briefly before heading for the door.
Outside, the cool air washes over her skin. A fog hangs heavily over Chicago, blurring the streets, people in the distance, the cars. She can see her vehicle a half block away and the form seated on its hood. Her breath draws in – sharply, then exhales, slowly, a line forming between her eyebrows.
“We may not have opportunity for your story after all,” she observes, stepping toward her car, and Kemp seated on the hood.
[Paul Kellogg] Paul stood near the corner curb. A faded blackhawk pack on his back, a duffle bag at either side of his feet. Wiggling his toes visibly, his shoes looked like socks rather than the shoes they were. Relaxed bootcut jeans from Hollister and a creamy sweater beneath a Guess leather motorcycle jacket.
He wore a baseball cap with a Whiskey logo atop his head, blue eyes scanning the streets ahead and behind him.
[Izzy Montoya] She follows Imogen’s gaze and sees who is sitting on the hood of her car, and there’s a flash of something undefinable in her gaze. She continues in that direction, as her car is parked just in front of Imogen’s, but there is no doubt that the other woman speaks the truth.
She slides her hands into the pockets of her coat, her jaw clenching briefly, before she forces it to relax, lips curving once more into their naturally slight smirk. “So it would seem.”
It’s already established fact that Kemp couldn’t give two shits about anything that Izzy might have to say.
[Kemp] Kemp’s jeans were old and faded, brand…Gaia knew, but one knee was completely bare where the jeans had worn through. His boots were so worn after a year of weathering, it was hard to tell what color they may have begun as. The knit cap was frayed, black and unmarked but for little bits of lint sticking to it like deformed snow flakes. And the coat….well the coat was a stained, ugly army green that no doubt come from the Goodwill store or a trash bin somewhere. If he bothered to pull his shorts out of his jeans, by golly he could show the little logo with fruit on them. Yup, Fruit of the Loom.
From his perch he watched as Imogen and Izzy emerged from the building. And yes, he was aware of the guy with the pack and duffel bags.
[Paul Kellogg] http://www.vibramfivefingers.com/products/products_kso_trek_m.cfm
truly the most awesome shoes in the world. And if you’re anything like me (a true DeMarco), you’ll have to add them to your collection LOL
to DIAPPOINTMENT, Imogen Slaughter, Izzy Montoya, Kemp, Kire Gustarf
[Paul Kellogg] Unfortunately, Kemp and two blurried silhouttes were not completely visiable from his vantage point. Even casting his gaze over his shoulder from time to time, they were blurs that moved in the parking lot. Alot like the cars that were now passing him buy, one of which he thought might have been a taxi. “Well Hell” He mused, shaking his head before removing his cap to swipe beneath his coifed locks that feathered atop his brow.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen glances at Izzy for her tone, but it does not derail her from her approach.
Kemp sits on the hood of her Volvo, the old car perfect for this part of town, and completely unlike the refined kinfolk.
Imogen heads to the trunk of her car, first, fitting her keys into the back lock, lifting up the lid and dumping in her bag.
“Just hangin’ about, are you?” Her gaze moves briefly to see where the detective has gone, or if she’s remained nearby.
[Kemp] “Yup. I knew sooner or later you could come out and buy my dinner if we weren’t going to play with the epee.”
And then he added.
“Izzy.”
Like saying…good evening.
[Izzy Montoya] She continues to walk at Imogen’s side, until they reach the Detectives unmarked vehicle, which is parked just ahead of the Volvo. She has no intention of moving further, until Kemp says her name
[suchalittlething]
which is when continues on a few steps more, before she rests a hip against the back fender of her car. Her hands remain in her pockets, and her gaze is direct – and unreadable.
“Kemp.” The tone is the same, precisely matching his own.
[Imogen Slaughter] She shuts the trunk’s lid, a shudder through the frame of the car.
“I’ll buy yeh dinner,” she says.
A glance toward Izzy. “Will you be joining us?” There is a faint thread of irony in her tone.
[Kemp] He wasn’t entirely unemphatic, but he was very good at hiding things. While Imogen spoke to Izzy, he slid from the hood of the car and went to the passenger door to wait for Imogen to unlock it. Showing no sign of caring either way whether or not Izzy came along.
[Paul Kellogg] He could hear the befuddled words. Spoken not afar, behind him to be exact. But his mother raised no fool. He was sure it was the same for these yanks. Mind your own business. But still…his curiousity beset him. Turning on his heel, it did nothing to clear the blurred images. Though he could tell two were femine. The other definately male, just by his posture. But from here he could ‘sense’ the otherness of the triplets. Despite their blurry images, they reaked of it. One more than the others..but hey..like a beacon it called to the wolf within him. A wolf he now pulled back upon as if reigned like a horse. How long that battle would ensue was anyone’s guess, let alone his own.
Still, it wasn’t polite to stare, and that was just what he was doing. Staring. Though even from afar, their voices mutable like angry static on a car radio; he smiled to them unbeknownst even to himself. Something he did more oft than not. And finally he spun back around, bending to capture the handles of his duffle bags.
[Izzy Montoya] There’s a faint thread of Irony in Imogen’s tone, and it’s not missed. Nor is the fact that Kemp has nothing to say if she joins them or not. That is the deciding factor, as she glances at Imogen again.
“No. Thanks anyway.” For the earlier offer, for the offer now. She turns then, and moves around to the drivers side door of her car, and digs the keys out of her pocket.
[Paul Kellogg] (um…mind if I attempt to hitch hike? *chuckles*)
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] (with a cop? *LOL* whatever ya like. *L*)
to Paul Kellogg
[Paul Kellogg] (is it a marked car? *chuckles* If not..how would he possibly know till it was too late?)
to Izzy Montoya
[Imogen Slaughter] She glances briefly in the direction of the Garou looking at them, her gaze coming to rest there and stay there for some time.
Then, back toward Izzy as she says she’ll pass.
“Catch up with you later, then, shall I?”
The question is marginally rhetorical. “Ha’ a good night.”
[Paul Kellogg] either way, if you don’t mind the extra minute or whatnot for my attempt at jolking a ride for the boy…when your about to pull out of the parking lot is when I’ll knock on your passenger side window *winks and cackles*
to Izzy Montoya
[Kemp] He shrugged and leaned against the car door. Looking for all the world like he didn’t give two shits as he waited for Izzy to get in her car and leave.
[Izzy Montoya] She nods slightly. “Yeah. Give me a call.”
There’s another glance at Kemp, expressionless, and then she just pulls open her door and slides into her seat, pulling the door closed behind her. A few seconds later, and she starts the car, and pulls her phone from her pocket, checking through her messages while she waits for the heater to kick in.
[Paul Kellogg] Uh Oh..He thought as opportunity seemed to present itself. One of the blurs was moving to a car. Which was a bigger blur, but that didn’t matter. What did rested in his capability to finagle a ride, and that took precedence over standing here oogling people from afar.
Duffle bags in hand, he sauntered a few steps to the parking exit. Waiting patiently, albiet abit descretly for the parked car to begin moving. Hopefully there wasn’t an alley exit he can’t notice and it’ll cruise to a stop next to him where he’ll be able to solicite. Hence the big grin now forming upon his lips as he pitched up on his toes then descended once again in waiting.
[Kemp] Smooth as shit through a goose, his position shifted. One moment he was lazily leaning against Imogen’s car door, watching Izzy get in her car and the next, those long legs of his were eating up ground as he strode towards the unknown with the duffel bags.
“Yo, wazup man?”
As he neared the full weight of his size could sink in. Well over six foot five inches and two hundred fifteen pounds. The mark of his heritage and carriage Rank gave him, added to the weight of his rage.
[Imogen Slaughter] Kemp leaves without saying a word, and Imogen pauses from unlocking her door, an eyebrow shooting upwards.
She moves around her car and back toward the sidewalk, approaching more slowly than Kemp had.
[Izzy Montoya] Dark eyes flick upwards at the movement past her car. She pauses, her phone in her hand, and watches Kemp bear down on the man, and Imogen following – albeit at a slower pace. A glance at her phone, she deletes the message she’d finished with, and then tucks the phone back into her pocket as she watches the trio ahead.
[Kemp] The knit cap was pulled down low, long muddy brown hair stuck out from beneath, looking black with orange highlights in the faint light from the security lamp in the parking lot behind him. At that moment his green eyes seemed to glow as they picked up what little light there was and reflected it back. He took up position between Izzy’s car, Imogen and the stranger as he approached the other in that lithe swagger he had.
[Paul Kellogg] And one blur moved towards him. Not the car as he’d hoped, but the male which he became fully aware and certain as he came into focus. Another blur moved to flank the man, abit more hesitantly or cautious. He’d felt something before, now he was sure of it. His wolf recognized the predator in the figure looming before him. You just couldn’t miss the tells if you knew where to look and he did.
Kemp was indeed an intimidating fella, though barely older it seemed than he. Now Imogen were not so much a blur as she were just slightly indistinquished. A real beaut from what he could make of her as his eyes darted between them. From left to right as the crook of his smile wavered then grew once again.
True to his rearing, southern and gentlemanly he offered the pair a singular smile. “Well Hi there, howya doin? He responded with that definate southern quip and draw. He’d offer his hand as were appropriate, but his momma had warned. Never shake with Mr Boshangles less you know he’s actually Tom.
[Kemp] “Who are you? Ain’t seen ya before.”
He was clearly taking up position between the two females and this stranger in body language that screamed….
MINE! BACK OFF!
[Izzy Montoya] A brow arches slightly at that body language, and she doesn’t put the car into gear yet – nor does she step outside. She does, however, hit the button for the power window closest to the sidewalk, so that she can listen to what conversation filters back to her.
[Paul Kellogg] Paul carried the touch of Gaia himself, no where near the beautiful Imogen, nor as potent in portent as Kemp. But it was there. Unlike Kemp’s wolf however, Pauls was docile, barely there. Raising it’s head and relaxing it’s watchful eyes with the sense of copitulation rather than agression as were the ways of Garou Alpha Males. His own rage was a sweltering reserve, nothing like the Garou’s before him. Unthreatening.
The Postering of Kemps did not go unnoticed, nor unresponding. As if speaking without words, the wolf that were Paul lowered his head in such a nonchalance that he simply submitted before there could be a rise for challenge. But then again..he was being abit personable with his queries he thought as his gaze raked past him to the woman.
That smile, once faultering returned doubley strong. Name’s Paul, can’t say Im surprised that ya haven’t made m’quantance before Sir. Ive just arrived in town and were intending to solicite a ride from one of ya’ll. If that is you folks wouldn’t be put out that is. Retreving a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, his head downcast to read aloud from it’s smudged inscriptions. The Y on Third and Cherry. Blinking casting another disarming smile to the wolf before him in askance.
[Paul Kellogg] playing out the docile flaw
to Imogen Slaughter, Izzy Montoya, Kemp
[Kemp] “Paul? Paul, what family ya belong to? My relations could of sailed with Leaf Ericson. What about your’s? And don’t tell me they were hitch hikers that asked women for rides at night.”
He still had not relaxed his posture and still remained between his Kinswomen and this stranger.
[Imogen Slaughter] (it’s always really sad when you’ve been knocked out of a room and you think everyone’s really slow, instead.)
[Paul Kellogg] ‘Well forgive me, I actually had no idea which of you would be driving that car as you can see..well..I can’t see very well’ Just didn’t sound like a good response. It sounded meek and despite the fact that his wolf didn’t want to tangle with his..His wolf was no coward either. “Now was that snarky comment really necessary? I mean really. I haven’t muttered that your relations were butchers, pagans and the raper of women, so why would you infer thats the case with mine? Now I’ll forgive it, cause it’s obvious you might be abit put out cause you’ve mistakenly recognized a challenge to your lass’s there. Of which case I assure you Im not. And my people are the true Children of our Maiden who’s known tolerance and love to be the greatest quality that life springs.”
Docile he might be, but bullies never suffered an inch of him giving into them, so why should it change this eve? His stance however became defensive, not defiant as his hackles rise at the sullying of his intentions and familie.
[Kemp] “That’s one.”
He held up a finger.
“I give two, then I consider it a challenge. I also consider it a challenge to approach women in the night to ask for rides. You don’t know them, they don’t know you. So let me give ya a bit of advice here, for free.”
He smiled darkly.
“Both are strong headed and neither takes kindly to fools. Both will not hesitate to take action should they feel it necessary. Both are very capable and should I need to place a bet on who would win, ya lose.”
“Now next time before ya find ya can’t get a cab to take ya where ya need to go and rather approach a woman in the dark. Think twice. We clear Mr. Tolerance and Love?”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s eyebrow arches slightly as Paul speaks, before stepping forward to Kemp, tilting her head back to the car, her cell phone, vibrating, in hand.
“I’ve got t’go,” she says simply.
With that, she turns and walks back toward her car.
[Paul Kellogg] “Well, praise be unto them. The thought that be the timid swan never crossed my mind since from the beginning of time males have mistakenly believed they’ve needed our protection and they’ve been unable to stand on their own…Im not of that defunct school, but thank you for educating me that there are some who still are. Tipping the brim of his ballcap to Imogen, casting her his apologetic smile. Ma’am, would you be so kind as to perhaps give me a lift to the Y on third and Cherry?”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen turns her head to look over her shoulder, “I will not,” she says, as she flicks open her cell phone to answer it. “I ha’ some things to do.”
She gestures toward the nearby bus stop, “Buses come o’er there.”
[Kemp] He nodded with Imogen’s words that she had to leave and then burst out laughing when she pointed out the bus stop.
“Hah! Touche'”
[Izzy Montoya] A brow quirks upwards at something heard, but she still remains in her car, watching as Imogen makes her way back to the Volvo. A lift of her chin, slight, and that same little smirk as dark eyes swing toward Kemp and Paul once more, fingers tapping an absent beat on the bottom of the steering wheel.
[Paul Kellogg] “Why thank you ma’am.” Amused, he turned his attention to Kemp, drawing up his two duffle bags in hand. “See, she didn’t need you as you might think. But before I go to the stop, I’ll ask you since I don’t discriminate. Would you gander giving me a lift to the Y on third and Cherry?”
[Kemp] “Naw, ya done pissed me off mister love, tolerance and smart ass. Go catch a fuckin bus before I have your ass locked up for loitering and pan handling.”
With that he showed the full measure of his scorn by turning his back and sauntering to Izzy’s car and her opened window.
“It’s a freak, shoot it if ya must, I ain’t gonna see a thing. By the way, ya hungry?”
[Imogen Slaughter] To her car and away.
[Imogen Slaughter] (thanks for the scene guys!)
[Izzy Montoya] Permission to shoot. There’s a huff of amusement, brief, as she meets Kemp’s gaze, then turns to watch the man left standing there. Back again, as Imogen drives off, and she chews the inside of her cheek briefly. Then.
“Sure. Get in.”
She thumbs the lock so that he can open the door, and hits the button to close the window once he does so.
[Paul Kellogg] His momma did tell him not to expect a warm reception. And while it might be the ‘christian’ thing to do, forgivance and tolerance were hard lessons. Chuckling softly beneath his breath, his wolf’s hackles once again relaxed; it appeared he’d have to wait on the curb for the next bus to near. Since a prideful Wolf was balking over his kinswan like an abject harem guard. The boy definately has issues he thought.
[Paul Kellogg] (thanks for the scene folks *goes to find another*)
[Izzy Montoya] (thanks for playin!)
[Kemp] He climbed in next to Izzy and mumbled.
“Idiot. Who approaches unknown women in the dark to ask for rides?”
The door was closed behind him with a dull thump.
“Watcha feel like eating?”
[Izzy Montoya] He climbs in, and when the door closes, she puts the car into gear, and pulls out of the parking space and heads toward the exit. A pause there, as she takes in the area, and runs through the possibilities. Then…
“There’s a diner not far from here. Coffee’s shit, but the food is good.” She glances at him to see if he has objections, and then pulls into traffic. She drives with the negligent ease of someone who has spent a great deal of time behind the wheel.
[Kemp] “Sounds good.”
He leaned back in the seat and buckled in.
“So, how’s it going with Daniel? Killing him with meekness yet?”
[Izzy Montoya] She never buckled her own seatbelt – and she doesn’t now. Maybe it’s a death wish, maybe it’s negligence, maybe she simply didn’t think about it, considering she will be getting out of the car in a mile or two again anyway.
She doesn’t look at Kemp, not even when he asks that particular question. There’s a jump of the muscle at her jaw, but otherwise no shift in her expression. “No.” Though she has visualized his death in many, many ways.
“He’s” a grit of her teeth, a forced relaxation immediately there after. “granted me most of my freedom’s back at this point, as long as I continue to obey.”
And. its. killing. her.
[Kemp] “Ah, I see.”
There was a long pause as he watched out the window before speaking again.
“And are either of ya learning anything form or about the other? Tell me, other than learning not to voice what’s on your mind, have you learned anything about him?”
[Izzy Montoya] “He knows nothing of me and has made it clear that won’t change.” Its out before she can bite it back – and if he pays attention, if he’s really listening he’ll hear the underlying hurt there. He hurt her – and recently. As well as the determination that she will not try again.
Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and she forces them to relax again, one by one. “He shows up. He asks his single question. He makes his demands. He leaves again. If he says anything else it’s to further berate me.” a beat, and then. “I’ve learned to no longer try.”
[Kemp] He turned in the seat to watch her face and though he might not want to do it inside, because he was sure all Kinswomen were out to shrivel his balls to little raisins, he asked.
“So, tell me what you would tell him if the honey moon wasn’t over.”
[Izzy Montoya] She doesn’t look at him, though she feels his gaze turn to her. She doesn’t speak right away, either, concentrating instead on pulling the car into the lot of the small diner she’d mentioned and angling it into a parking space. She slides the gearshift to park, but doesn’t turn off the engine just yet, as she studies the building in front of them instead.
Finally… she speaks – and the words are tinged in memory, solidified by pain, and voiced only with determination. “I know you think it’s ridiculous, that you think it is an honor to be referred to by something other than my name. I’ve tried to explain, I’ve tried to get you to see that to me it is not. It triggers…”
A pause a clearing of her throat in frustration, as she looks at the window – but seeing nothing but what’s in her own head. “I was working a case in Miami. Serial murderer, and he’d evaded us for months. Everyone was frustrated, everyone was on edge, and we’d exhausted every lead – followed even the stupid ones. I knew there was something more to it. It wasn’t just some person, but it was something worse, and so I had the pressure of the Nation breathing down my neck for a lead, a direction, anything. He was killing us too, not just humans.”
Her fingers twist the leather of the steering wheel restessly. “We got a tip, and I was going to be in the area, so I followed up on it. It was three days before they found me, and I had listened to this fucker call me nothing but kinswoman the entire time as he did…” She won’t voice what he’d done. She won’t. Her jaw tightens, her teeth grind, and then…
“It took me months to recover. I have a problem with enclosed spaces because of it – another thing Daniel berates me for, calls me weak. When I could not force myself to enter his room the first night, when it was too small, too enclosed, too much rage – and he’d said something that fucker in Miami did, that he’d put me in the corner a spot on the floor – he treated me as if I was throwing a tantrum. That it was something to just get over, not that it was something that genuine…”
She shakes her head, and then finally looks over at Kemp. “When you call me Kinswoman, I hear what happened before. I remember it. I FEEL it. I’d asked Daniel several times, politely, to call me by my name. He tells me it’s a stupid name and means nothing, it tells him nothing of me. But to call me Kinswoman – that tells me that I am no individual, that I am nothing, and only about to be used, abused and tossed aside.”
She turns her gaze back to the window, with a sharp jerk of her head, as if to try and clear it again. “I’m sure you will think it’s stupid – but… It’s a trigger. I can’t help the reaction. I’ve done everything I can to control it the past weeks with him, but he strips a little more from me every single time. And he doesn’t care to know why.”
[Kemp] “So, ya never really got the recovery help ya needed, huh?”
He could see that as sure as he could her face right now.
“Now, let me say this and if ya don’t want to have dinner, that’s cool. I’m gonna arrange it so Daniel sits and hears your story. At the sametime, I am asking you to seek help. And to learn that prickly is not always best. I remember the night before this happened, you were as rude as you could be.”
He held up a hand to stop her.
“Just saying. It ain’t all one sided. I don’t agree with some of the shit he has done. I had hoped the weight of responsibility for you would teach him some humanity. Things will work out, I’ll change a few things after we have story time, the three of us.”
“Now, ya still want to eat?”
[Izzy Montoya] She drags her fingers through her hair, and lets it fall, and then… “The night before…” She doesn’t know if he wants to hear it because he stops her to finish what he was saying, but she says so anyway after he’s done… “You asked what I was doing in the crime scene. I was honest in saying I was making sure it wasn’t something I’d need to cover up for you all. And you bit my head off, and said that you guys never make mistakes.”
She sighs, and looks over at him. “I’m very good at my job, Kemp, and I do it not just for the regular people but for the Nation. It’s bit me in the ass more than once- and I get defensive and prickly when I’m told that I’m not needed. I apologize for being a bitch that night. Daniel arriving didn’t help – but for what it’s worth, I apologize for snapping. I almost lost my job – more than once – because I’m more duty bound to the Nation than to the force. And without being a cop? I don’t know what would be left.” A snort, tired amusement. “except to be a broodmare for the likes of Daniel.”
She nods though, and reaches to turn off the car. “Either way. Thanks for listening.” A mental shake, and another sharp nod, decision made.
“The burgers here are amazing. Come on.”
[Kemp] “No, I didn’t say we never make mistakes. What irked me was, it was like you were saying we fuck up all the time and if not for you, we would all be nothing but fuck ups.”
He stopped her with a lifted hand.
“I know that ain’t whatcha were saying, but hear me out. We just lost two more of our number doing what we were created to do from the start. So in my mind, saying what you did in the tone you used at that moment, it was like spitting in the face of those sacrifices at that moment. I ain’t saying you don’t sacrifice, we all do. But at that moment it was. And then ya just saunter off like that and frankly, I am so sick to death of all the bullshit. I got Kin always insulted and insulting. I got Garou falling back to nature and all the while all they want is a little acknowledgment and reassurance that yes, there’s something they can depend on not changing.”
He pulled the cap off, scrubbing at his face.
“And soon this turning will be over for me and shit like this makes me welcome it.”
[Izzy Montoya] He did. He said ‘we don’t fuck up.’ But she doesn’t argue, she just lets it go. Maybe it’s because of what she’s learned, or maybe – just maybe – it’s because she’s always known it, and right now, is just too exhausted, to mentally beaten up by the memory sheshared to continue to argue. Eventually everyone gets tired of beating their head against a brick wall.
“One last thing.” He has to mentally groan at that… but she just shakes her head, and chuckles. “I wanna fuckin’ piece of chocolate cake the size of my head. Come on.”
[Kemp] “I want about two dozen stiff drinks.”
He unfolded from the car, feeling a hundred and ten years old and frail. He could feel it in the air, it wouldn’t be much longer before this life was gone. He could only hope he met the end with a shred of dignity left.
[Izzy Montoya] “The we’re at the wrong diner – but there’s a liquor store down the street we can hit up after.”
She climbs out of the car, settles her coat around her with a tug as she hits the locks and closes the door, and heads into the diner.
[Kemp] “Good, lets eat so I have something to throw up.”
He followed her inside, ready to make some waitress miserable.
[Izzy Montoya] (and fade!)
[Kemp] ((thank you!))