[Marni] (open for a utterly adorable Gnawer? :) )
to Joe War-Handed
[Joe War-Handed] A menacing shape haunts the hedge wall next to the pond near the back. Seated beside the still water, Joe cradles his head in his hands. Thick elbows are braced on knees.
He stares fiercely at an open book on the snow at his feet.. ‘Guerrilla Warfare’ by Ernesto Guevara. His lips move gently as his eyes skate across the page. Every now and then he tilts his head back, scowling at the power lines overhead in fierce concentration before returning to the page.
[Joe War-Handed] (open to all- but he’s a sword. He’s likely to be rude.)
to Marni
[Marni] (GASP. Joe, rude? I’m shocked. *L* No worries. S’why I chose Marni instead of Rory. He’d make Rory cry.)
to Joe War-Handed
[Marni] The buses in Bronzeville aren’t known for stopping very long – barely long enough for people to climb on, get off, and the their off. Something about the neighborhood and the thugs that frequent it. Either way, it doesn’t rightly matter to one particular Gnawer, because she doesn’t pay for her rides anyway – choosing instead to ride on top of the bus rather than inside.
A bit of a daredevil, Marni.
Thus, when the bus pauses in front of the Bellemonte Park, there’s a shadowed form that hops lightly down from the top of the bus, knees bending to absorb the impact, before she sneaks into the park itself at a crouched over run. Only then does she she straighten and set out to explore this little bit of paradise she’d heard about along the ‘Chain.
[Fabienne Bartelle] *Bellamonte Park. In Bronzeville. Well, she supposed if anywhere needed a touch of class, it was here. Fabienne strolls with long strides and measured grace, boot-heels click clicking on freshly paved paths. A swingset here, a fresh stand of trees there. Who ever Katherine had contracted to d the work was suitably skilled, the park had an organic, natural flow. She’s the product of kings and leaders, and she surveys the area with a certain proprietary air. Assuring all is well in her little kingdom. There’s no mistaking the slender woman’s lineage, that much is certain. Gilded courts and white wolves. Royalty and madness. A hulking figure draws her attention as she nears a pond. The brute was reading. Interesting choice.. of more interest to her was – did the pond have heating? Goldfish? Lilies? She crouches to examine the water. Knees carefully tucked to allow for her pencil skirt.*
[Marni] .
to Marni
[Joe War-Handed] For several paragraphs, Joe doesn’t notice company at all. Only scowls deeper, turns a page back with thick, murderous fingers that nevertheless seem to have a learned regard for books. Surprise surprise, he doesn’t seem to be faking the reading.
Eventually the scents of ancient halls and pure kings pull Joe’s heavy jaws around toward Fabienne- and he freezes. Far from the deer- in- headlights sort of freeze, the Modi ceases motion in the manner of a practiced killer. Move too much, startle it, and the bird will fly away in terror.
He watches the side of her face, overwhelmed by the stories it tells; the strength of the blood so obvious amid the filth and crime of Bronzeville, park or not.
Rarely is the kid speechless, and he doesn’t remain so for long.
“Yowah new ta Chi-town, aintcha.”
[Marni] Marni runs up the slide – not the steps, no, the slide itself – to perch on the railing there briefly, very much the queen of trashheap all she surveys as she checks out the whole of the park from this vantage point.
She couldn’t miss Fabienne if she tried – there’s a stately air, and a whooooooole buncha breeding that slaps her in the senses when she watches her crouch down by the pond. And there along the back hedge wall is a brute reading who is undeniably Fenrir. She waits a minute, two, then runs back down the slide to approach the pond.
She waves to Fabienne, but the question is for Joe, even as she listens for the answer from the Fang. “Whatcha readin?” Shes a friendly one, Marni.
[Fabienne Bartelle] *No fish, no lilies. Only a few faint skiffs of ice and the brute beside her. He speaks, and her hand drifts to the small purse hanging on a thin strap from her shoulder…and the mace within. Someone waves, and grey eyes skate briefly to Marni, other hand raised in idle greeting, before her frank attention is once agian on the roughneck, Joe. He’d said something but what exactly was uncertain. It could have been “hello”, or it could have been “Give me all your money bitch!”. The man’s intense gaze and general figure lent itself to either.*
Pardon sir?
[Joe War-Handed] “Guerrilla Wahfare.” He answers before he looks up from the book. A moment of interest in his eyes.. usually dames are a little shy about walking right up to Joe. He squints closely at Marni’s face, and the question is laden with subtext.
“Who ah yew?”
He speaks a bit louder, and a bit more slowly.. which means he’s roughly as loud as a machine gun being fired a little more slowly than a breakneck rattle.
“I said ah yew NEW ta CHICAGO.” Then nods. That was a job well done. She surely heard him that time. Oddly enough it doesn’t seem he’s trying to be rude to the gleaming kinfolk.
[Marni] “Ooooooooooooh. Nice.” Fitting to, from what she can gather just lookin at him. Murderous only begins to describe the feeling that rolls off him. She grins and leans over a little to peer at the book. “I read all sorts of shit- haven’t tried that one yet.” And then, the answer to the question.
“Marni Geller. Streetrat extraordinaire at ya service.” She doffs an imaginary hat and sweeps it into a bow, before plopping down comfortable like on the ground nearby. She’s clean, Marni – thanks to the purchase of a packhouse by her alpha, which means she’s a shower at her disposal. Laundry too. She’s on the short side of average, and pleasantly padded in all the right places, but her crowning glory is atop her had in a mass of brunette curls that tumble down to her shoulders in little corkscrews. She’s cute – and that knowing little smile only solidifies that picture.
She looks over at Fabienne, as he asks the question louder, curiosity writ across her gaze.
[Fabienne Bartelle] *In something only slightly more subtle than an airhorn’s bellow, Joe repeats the question, causing the woman he’s blaring at to actually step back. She blinks, one hand still carefully placed on her purse. He didn’t seem terribly eager to leap up and attack her, but after the incident a few days ago, one was better to remain vigilant until things became clearer. A quirk of lips as she reponds crisply.*
I am. Little more than a month, myself. You are not a native yourself, I expect?
*Polite. Chin up, she glances to Marni and spares the woman a muted smile, taking in the thug and streetrat in turn.*
A pleasure to meet you Ms. Geller. Fabienne Bartelle.
[Joe War-Handed] From the way his eyes lash from one woman to the other, it seems plain that this is not the sort of situation Joe finds himself in often. Women don’t approach him for so much as the time, and tend to scoot like they’ve dipped a toe into a piranha pool soon after. He looks from one to the other, a bit at a loss, and rises while tucking the book under one arm.
“Nah.. nah I’m from Joysey. Name’s Joe. Nice ta meetcha.. uh.. ma’am.” A slight twitch of one lip as he tries the word out.
[Marni] “Just Marni’s good nuff – I’m not the fancy smancy type.” She grins up at Fabienne, and nods. “S’a pleasure.” It somehow encompasses both, even as he raises above her, tucking the book under his arm.
“Jersey? Awesome. Arrived a while ago from NYC myself.”
[Fabienne Bartelle] *Short blonde curls ruffle in the chill night wind, Fabienne nodding her head curtly in acknowledgement of Joe “No last Name”. He rises, and dear god – he was two normal people. A thin eyebrow lifts in mild surprise as a meaty hand tucks a book away. Assured she wasn’t about to be mugged, the Silverfang kin folds her hands politely in front of her. She was drawn into the most unlikely conversations as of late. All part of this “try new things” idea she’d been trying out as part of her “independance”.*
I’m originally from New York city myself, though I’ve been abroad the last several years. It seems nearly everyone I meet in Chicago is a native of New York. Yourself excluded of course, Joe.
*A subtle gesture with her handl caught and corrected. One didn’t flail like a fishwife, regardless of the company she kept.*
[Joe War-Handed] Its funny, how stuff can occur to you long after its too late. The deep green tattoo across the middle of his throat, for instance. A little too much to drink and a buddy with a homemade ink gun combined to achieve genius in the form of ‘DIE’ being offered to anyone less than Joe’s height. Sure, look him in the face, but ‘DIE’ is on the way to his eyeballs. What a hoot.
Except now, the daughter of queens and champions is looking across that damn tat to be sociable. Funny how stuff like that happens.
He’s aware of every unfinished edge in his personality, and he hates the fact. The perfection of breeding in the shorter woman seems to lend a bit too much light to such things. A scowl slowly begins to form, wrinkling youthful features.
“New Yorkah’s, huh?” He nods a bit, feet shifting once before his attention swings back to Fabienne.
“Listen.. I t’ink I know Marni heah… but I don’ know yew. You True owah a relation?”
[Marni] Now Marni, she doesn’t have one single bit of breeding in her bones. Sure, there’s a bunch of stories that may (or likely not) include the efforts of her and hers, but it’s not written across her blood, and next to Fabienne, it’s not surprising Joe keeps returning to her… Marni, despite the fact she’s recently showered and clean and has hardly even gotten her hands dirty [but for the smudges from the bus ride, and a rip in her jeans and…] feels like she’s covered in refuse next to the Fabienne and her obvious breeding.
She just doesn’t care. Bottom of the totem pole can be an awful lot of fun, after all. Her grin, sly and knowing, matches the look of sheer mischief and fun in her gaze. Joe says he thinks he knows her, and she chuckles – a nod confirming what he hasn’t asked, because he doesn’t need to.
[Fabienne Bartelle] *Interesting. She was face to face with the word DIE. In light of his question, the tattoo perhaps made a sliver more sense to the young royalist. This one was Fianna or Get, she was willing to bet her pearls on it. The self-proclaimed street-rat no doubt was one of the nations unfortunates, a gnawer. A bit of invisible dust is flicked away from the sleeve of a silk lined jacket that costs more than most people’s rent. Grey eyes slip to meet Joes.*
Forgive me, a relation. I am kin to Mlle Bellamonte.
[Joe War-Handed] “She knows yah heah?”
As soon as Fabienne gives an affirmative, Joe’s eyes drop to her hands.. slip along her jacket.. guns? doesn’t look like it. Knives? Nope. He watches the kinfolk closely.. if she’s in Chicago, she’s probably an explosion waiting to happen.
Joe’s heavy jaw swings up as he looks out across the park, then drops his attention back to the two women.
“Yew know Bronze aint really da place fah yew aftah dark, right?”
[Marni] She arches a brow, and then stage whispers “Ya mean her, not me, right?” Just teasingly making sure, as well – Bronzeville is exactly the place for a streetrat after dark. She’s pretty sure though.
…but… she has to admit that little purse that would likely cost more than she sees in a month is making her fingers twitch lightly, dancing across her thigh as she does her best not to think of what kind of sparkly shiny things might be inside…
Concentrate, Marni.
[Fabienne Bartelle] I presented myself to the Lady upon arriving in Chicago, as to my presence in Bronzeville this evening, I expect not. I arrived rather later than I had intended, I admit.
*Polite. Careful. Concise. Fabienne doesn’t appear to be concealing a weapon or ready to attack at a moment’s notice. She’s not the most charming thing. Katherine is far more glowing and lovely. Far more glib and cagey in her answers as well. The silverfang kin is in fact, so far, alarmingly honest. Very little in the way of colorful flair to her words. A glance to Marni and her twitching fingers. A slight smile to the poor urchin. One must treat their lessers well, to prevent rebellion. Marie Antoniette tells the tale of that one. Fabienne looks to Joe and tilts her head, considering him a moment before inquiring.*
If I might be so bold as to ask your tribe, sir? You’re clearly aware of mine.
[Joe War-Handed] Joe blinks, a bit startled in spite of himself. His head cants to the side and he sweeps one blue eye across Fabienne’s calm face. The other shoe has got to drop some time.. but what the hell. She doesn’t seem about to wig out or anything.
Thus, the bullish skinhead decides to take the polite route. He nods his head as though taking a risk, but that one mean, gleaming eye doesn’t shift from her face.
“War-Handed is my deed- name. I’m a cliath Modi of da Get of Fenris. Nephew of Stone- Tooth, Great Grandson of Arn Witch- Strike. Proud Swords of Heimdal all.”
He pauses for a moment, then offers a bit more in the way of explanation.
“Sahrry, Ms. Bahtelle. I aint got da best luck wiff kin.”
[Marni] Aw, she smiled at the poor urchin… somehow, instead of being offended, Marni gives off the vibe that very little would offend her or set her off. She’s simply in too good of a mood. Joe gives his full intro for the kin, and Marni adds hers as well.
“An’ I’m Sticky Fingers – and ya prooooooobably don’t wanna know why..” There’s that grin again, knowing and amused. “BG Raggie, of course.” a beat. “Wassa Sword of Heimdal?”
[Fabienne Bartelle] I seem to share your luck in that regards, War-Handed ryha. Chicago is an.. interesting city, with regards to its trueborn and kin population. Interactions are somewhat less.. formal? than I find myself accustomed to.
*Less formal. More savage and unhinged. A slight frown is all that betrays her opinion on the matter. The subtle downward pull of carefuly glossed lips. One gets the impression they could drop Fabienne in the middle of a circus, and she would continue on unphased by the ridiculousness of it all. She’s staring up at a Fenrir with DIE on his throat, associating with a gnawer named “Sticky fingers” – a fact which has her keeping better track of the designer handbag she’s carrying.*
I of course have no deed name to offer, but perhaps a more complete introduction. I am Fabienne Bartelle, daughter of Gregory “Sage Heart” Bartelle of New York, Neice of Anton “Gilded Tongue” klabner, of Vienna. …Austria.
*She adds the country as an afterthought. Waiting for Joe to address Marni’s question, or not. A glance across the park as a siren blares in the distance.*
[Joe War-Handed] For a second, Joe scowls at Marni as though she was putting him on.
Slowly, very slowly, the Modi’s face opens into something very like surprise. dark eyebrows stark against the backdrop of a bald head, they twitch upward before he speaks.
“…Ah yew serious? Yew aint hoyd uh Swords of Heimdal?”
[Marni] He scowls and she blinks, and arches a brow slightly. Then he slides into surprise and she lifts a hand to scratch at the base of her neck, her nose wrinkling. “I hear a lotta things, but I’m not up on all the Fenrir stuff, as well.. ya don’t find many of them down in the gutters with my lot. Though it’s not a bad place to be, ya know – all sorts of neat things in gutters..”
Pause, and then a grin. “But yeah – ain’t heard of em… sorry…” Almost sheepish for the lack of knowledge as she shrugs.
[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fabienne takes the opportunity to take a seat on a nearby bench, limbs folding gracefully as she flares her coat around her. Listening with idle interest. The swords of Heimdal. A rather controversial sub-sect of the Fenrir among the lesser tribes. This much she knew. Garou business at hand, and possibly bloodshed. Chin lifting haughtily as she regards them both.*
[Joe War-Handed] “Weah da only real Garou left.”
As an opener, its not a great way to make friends, and Joe’s rapidly mounting zeal doesn’t help in the least. One foot slides closer to Marni- a swift, twitching motion that seems more a matter of excitement, of rising to his point, than anything overtly aggressive.
“Weah da purest and strongest of da Get of Fenris. We keep th’ old ways an’ don’ let owahselves be swayed by soft living and soft tribes. We resist da Taint of Jormugandr by owah virtue, an’ we know da way tew th’ sort of strength Gaia needs ta be free of him. Owah blood an’ honor ah pure still. An’ we aint been corrupted wit da compromise dat afflicts da rest of da Get. Breedin’ wit soft gutter people, lettin’ any lesser races among us- dats da Wyrm’s way. Compromise leads ta half measures, an’ dat leads ta failin’ ta be true ta owah folk. Basically, weah da ones what ah gonna lead da way ta victory.”
[Joe War-Handed] “Da very best of da best.”
[Marni] (oh marni…. wp check)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Marni] She listens – and she doesn’t interrupt, though it takes an act of will to do so. And in the end, she just snorts, and shakes her head.
“Like hell ya are.” Is all she says, and she’s already walking away.
[Joe War-Handed] A chuckle, and Joe blows Marni a mocking kiss.
Joe barks a vicious laugh. Strangely, he doesn’t seem to have moved. His attention swivels to the Fang and his eyes narrow again. Bellemonte park isn’t in His territory.. but she makes quite a mark to take down if she goes past Trenton, or up Rangeview Ave.. that could make problems he doesn’t want to hear about. Joe grinds gum between his teeth as he considers.
[Fabienne Bartelle] *The wide Fenrir, was a zealot. He spoke with the same fanaticism many of her own tribe did in Vienna, granted, to a different end, but with similar hot-blooded resolve. He speaks of purity of blood, something the Silverfang kin couldn’t help but be well acquainted with. It was not her place to correct him on the specifics of just who was meant, in all their purity, to lead the garou to victory, afterall. She would save that for someone withthe fangs and teeth to back up their point, as no doubt this Fenrir would bring up his beleifs to a royalist somewhere down the line. Marni leaves, Fabienne raising a hand in goodbye. Eyes settle on her, and are met.*
An interesting philosophy, to be sure.
[Marni] (nothing to see here, maybe… *L* still debating)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Marni] It’s the blown kiss that does it. It really is. She stops walking, and she smiles, and shakes her head, looking upwards as if to ask the moon itself if she should. Finally… finally, she turns, and with that grin, catches his eye, and blows him a kiss in return.
Not any kiss. Oh no, this is tinged with the breath of her very soul, her connection to gaia, a bit of her spirit that makes her every bit as much the Garou as he is… minor Air Spirits dance in anticipation, and soon, Joe smells every bit as sweet as he believes his destiny to be… and soon, even his skin is sticky to the touch. And by the time Marni has left the park, and disappeared into the alleys…
…the bugs start arriving, drawn to the Only True Garou left in Bellemonte park.
[That’s 3 suxx on scent of sweet honey on joe – gnats, flies, bees are a-comin and attracted, and it’ll last for 3 hours with those suxx – can’t be washed off and hes a vermin attractor of the highest degree.]
[Marni] (bugs = rats! :) )
[Joe War-Handed] “No hard feelings uh.. Ms. Bahtelle.. but desperate times an’ desperate measures an’ shit.” Joe raises his eyes to the skyline around him, and lifted arms seem to indicate it all. The press of humanity, the pollution.
“Hindsight’s always twenny- twenny an’ all dat.. an’ anyone can say they’da done bettah aftah da fact- but Silvah Fang rule brought us alla dis. Da end of da Imperignum. Da end of us havin’ da upper hand. I figgah-”
Rustling in the bushes, and the shine of lots, and lots, and lots of beady eyes suddenly making themselves known…
[Joe War-Handed] Joe’s attention is drawn to the sweet, oily stickiness of his skin, and he looks at Fabienne.
“Yew bettah go. Like. fast.”
[Fabienne Bartelle]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Fabienne Bartelle] I’m interested in your thoughts on this, as of course, I don’t entirely agree. However I do find th-
*There’s rustling. Scratching. Too muted, too warbled for damaged ears to make out as anything beyond – noise. Noise behind her, where there was none before. Its enough to draw the regal kin up short, bring her to a stand as she moves swiftly away from the bushes. Joe trails off, tells her to go. Quickly. She’s all too happy to oblige. Voice ringing crisp in the chill air as she moves past him.*
Of course. Good evening Joe Warhanded. Good luck.
*And she’s off, at an easy run towards the park exit, more than willing to spare herself involvement in a fight.*
[Joe War-Handed] Right now, there are three scents.. soon there will be more.. so many any possibility of a trail will fade.. and he’ll have a hard enough time trying to track that little Gnawer bitch as it is. A swift look around and Joe drops into the icy water of the pond, submerging himself completely.
“I’m GONNA GET YOU, MARNI!”
Joe doesn’t emerge. Instead, he takes advantage of the thin Gauntlet of the park to escape.
[Joe War-Handed] (presumably)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 3 (Botch x 1 at target 7)
[Joe War-Handed] (Or he drowns. Either or.)
[Fabienne Bartelle] *The kin hears a furious bellow, and it only serves to hasten her footsteps out of the park, a cab company already dialing, cell phone in her hand.*
[Joe War-Handed] (no drown! yay!)
[Marni] (YAY! *Whew*)