Avoidance of the ‘little rat’…

Posted on March 19, 2009 by Lessa
[Andrew]
It’s late. And he’s… well… cleaning isn’t the right word. Not exactly trashing the place either but… things have been… unsettled and they need… resettling… It’s tempting to burn the whole place down or something but that’d require accelerant and matches and he doesn’t have either of them. Plus it attracts all those dudes with the yellow jackets and sirens and those things hurt his fucking ears.

Wearing his sweatshirt, sweatpants, beaten up sneakers, and a jean jacket over his shoulders. It repels the worst of the rain. Worst of the cold. Keeps him at least survivably warm. While he paces back and forth in an alley near a run down liqour store. Kicking bags of trash now and then.
[Maija]
She had taken advantage of the charity of a man who never gave her the chance to decline, and last night was spent in an actual hotel room, with an actual bed with actual sheets and a shower that stayed hot long enough even for her. She did not order room service, or rack up any other bills to go on his tab. She did order in, and took her time drying her hair and washing her clothing in the tub. It was nice – but it was very temporary.

And she doesn’t like to accept charity to begin with. Stubborn little shit.

However, she has been dying for one of those hotdogs she saw at the store since last night. Thus, she’s walking down the street at an ungodly hour, looking very much as she did last night – only cleaner. Oversized hoodie hides most of her features, her pack is on her back, and her hands are shoved into the ‘roo pocket, clutched around something metalic within.

She’s woman (girl) with a purpose – a destination. Hot dogs are calling her name….
[Andrew]
There’s a grunt and a kick and a garbage bag sails through the air and lands with a crash, skittering along the sidewalk for a bit. Stopping just short of sliding and tumbling it’s way out into the street. But the crash is loud. Too many glass bottles. Fucking glass bottles. Break them all. He lets out a sigh and goes quiet. Listening for a moment. Adjusting to the hum of the city. The buzz of street lamps, dull roar of cars and exhaust, heating units on buildings and blinking neon lights. All generating their own sound pollution.

He stalks to the mouth of the alley, near the store, and leans there for a time. Head down. Short dark hair cropped close to his skull. Heavy rounded scar tissue splitting his brain pan up the middle into his hair, leaving a wide streak where no hair can grow like a pearly slug on his head amidst the otherwise normal colored flesh. A dahli-esque jagged dripping scar moves down from one eye to the side of his mouth. A piece of his nose is missing, and there’s a notch out of one ear.

They’re all scars that are strangely reminiscent of an animal she saw not too long ago, which is kind of strange. Did some freak get a dog and fuck it up just as bad as him so he’d have a buddy? No.. that’d be too weird.
[Maija]
The trashcan goes sailing, and she near jumps out of her skin, eyes watching the alley where just last night here were some worse sounds – way worse then a garbage can sailing. She hesitates in her walk for a moment, just a barely noticeable hitch in her step before she continues on, making her way to the door quickly.

Just as a man comes out of the alley and leans against the wall. She glances at him from under the edge of her hoodie, and her brow furrows over dark eyes. She looks away, shoulders hunching tighter as she reaches for the door handle of the store and pulls it open.
[Andrew]
His chocolate brown eyes flicked over the street with a feral sort of alertness. They seemed to almost vibrate, the way they moved from object to object, rattling over the details, bouncing around the edges and lines, then moving on. They brush over Maija. Their presence on her is almost palpable, the way your hairs stand up on the back of your neck when someone stairs. The way that squirrels sit up and look around when you watch them, or turns hop and turn to face you, keep an eye on you. They just know. They’re prey and they know they’re being watched.

That’s how it feels, his eyes on her. For a few moments. But he remains otherwise motionless. Stocky broad shoulders, thick torso, bulky shapeless sweatpants covered legs and ratty tennis shoes. All of it motionless as they watch her head into the store.
[Maija]
There’s no mistaking the feeling. It’s that of being prey, of being watched, of being hunted. She shoots him another glance as she pulls the door open the rest of he way, scooting inside as soon as there’s enough room to do so.

She takes a breath, and heads to the hot dog machine to get her treat, even if her appetite isn’t exactly raging (hahah) right now. She grabs two buns, loads them with the dog, cheese, relish, onions and ketchup, then grabs a bag of chips, and a coke from the fountain. The clerk eyes her suspiciously, but when she offers him cash, who is he to really complain? She shoves the chips into her ‘roo pocket, her change into her jeans, before she puts the dogs in one hand, her soda in the other, and after a moment to stead her breath and nerves…

…steps outside again.

The door hardly closes behind her before she is sitting on the curb, on the side of the door AWAY from Andrew, which may be stupid, but her growling stomach demands satiation. Right. Now. Soda set aside, and she digs into the first of the dogs, as if she hasn’t eaten all day.

Because she hasn’t.
[Andrew]
She goes inside. She comes back out. He’s still there. He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Still as motionless as he was before. His eyes still moving around alertly, and still tracking her until she sitting on a curb. Obviously avoinding him. It’s not like that was unusual.

But she was someone’s kin. Or so he’d gathered from the way Decker talked to her, and seemed comfortable around her. May as well find out. Decker and his crew seemed somewhat detached from the rest of the sept. It was a weird schism in his mind, between the two factions in the city.

Inertia creeps, he’s coming on slowly… There’s an odd grace to the way he moves. Moving up slowly… A definite predatory… gait. Not so much a walk. And he’s standing over her. Not quite in her personal space. But close enough that ignoring him becomes difficult. Still, as though recognizing the natural instincts of an animal with a rare bit of food, he doesn’t loom.
[Maija]
She’s halfway through the first dog when he makes his move, eating so quickly it seems impossible that she’s actually tasting the cheesy goodness – but she is. She closes her eyes in satisfaction as her belly quits complaining, and starts processing the crap she’s shoveling it. She takes another bite, and only then does she glance up at him once more.

She doesn’t show much of her face, even as she looks up she remains in the shadows of the hoodie, though perhaps he can see her eyes – dark as the night itself – glitter in the depths. The line of her jaw – strong, yet feminine, the point of her chin, the tip of her nose – the briefest flash, before she’s looking down at her food again.

“What’re you look at?” the surly growl, before she takes a long swig of her coke, and yet another bite.

Yeah. Annoy the locals. That seems like a good idea.
[Andrew]
“A girl in a hoodie.” His voice is low, gravelly, and measured. He speaks with the attention and precision of someone who had to learn the language second hand, and probably had a rough tutor. It’s a little slow, sometimes missing articles that make it seem stilted or odd. But it works.

He coils his body and sits down next to her. “Who is eating. Very fast.” His butt rests on the curb, legs curled up to his chest with the feet on the asphault and his arms going around his legs loosely.
[Maija]
“Hello captain obvious.”

She smirks, but it’s hidden behind the last bite of the first dog, which is shoved into her mouth as well. Chew Chew (maybe) swallow, and she’s washing it down with a slurp of her coke. She’s not savoring the sweet treat tonight, she’s enough cash to get another one, even if she is stretching everything she was given to the last penny. She intends to pay it all back, too. She’s fiercely independent that way. She don’t like to owe ANYONE.

He sits down next to her, and she deliberately scoots to the side to put just that much more room between them. She’s not necessarily rude, just careful. Even if she recognizes the feel of rage pushing at her, surrounding her, and knows he could get her before she got a full step taken, it’s the principle of the matter. She doesn’t like folks too close to her bubble. Decker she tolerated. Tonight, she wants to eat her fill, before someone tries to take it away.

“what’d’ya’wan?” she mutters around the first bite of dog number two.
[Andrew]
His eyebrows raise. His voice expresses a ‘it’s your own fault’ sort of feeling. “You asked…”

His nose twitches. Ugh. Hot dogs. They were worse than rats. They really were. Although, rats were pretty bad honestly. Sometimes you got one with parasites and you could feel them squirming around on the way down before they splashed into a stomach full of acid and melted into goop. More fodder for the war engine that is a Garou.

Kittens, on the other hand. Ones without collars, the feral kind. They were fucking tasty. Sure, they got parasites sometimes too, but they kept themselves cleaner on the outside. The ones with collars always tasted like chemicals, but the feral ones, they were delish.

“What tribe are you, girl?”
[Maija]
“Who wants to know?”

Ain’t one to give away information, not willingly. And she hasn’t put two and two together yet, because seriously, who wants to look at him long enough? He sure ain’t pretty, you know? And she’s more intent on her food than anything else at the moment. Ok, her food, and hoping he doesn’t decide to rip her head off.
[Andrew]
“Someone bigger than you. Should be enough for you, little rat.” The way he says it isn’t particularly… offensive, as though he thinks less. But obviously he knows she lives on the streets. I mean, who wouldn’t be able to guess? Of course, he knows a bit better than most, but that’s okay.
[Maija]
“Should be…” She echoes, and takes another bite, slowing down now to where she’s actually chewing her food more than once before bolting it down. She glances over at him again, before away to grab her soda and take a swallow.

“…but ain’t always. You guessed it anyway, though.”

Little rat. Close enough.
[Andrew]
He grunts and settles his head down onto his knees. Staring ahead quietly, still, while she eats. His eyes bore throughthe asphault. A minute passes by, maybe. Then he snaps out of it and grunts again, a sort of chuffing sound. Gutteral.

“I don’t know any more of you. The one I knew, I killed last night.” Deadpan. Ominously.
[Maija]
That gets a full on look. Her head snaps to face him, as she stops chewing for a moment, and studies him. He really is an ugly fucker, ain’t he? She narrows her gaze at him slightly, but than simply returns her attention to the remainder of her hot dog.

“Ain’t lookin for none.”

She shoves that last bite down, and while she chews it thoughtfully, she grabs the bag of fritos out of her ‘roo pocket and opens it. She takes a couple, and now that her hunger is somewhat sated, actually holds the bag toward him in case he wants a few.

“He deserve it?”
[Andrew]
His eyes slowly turn to meet hers. Underneath all the ‘OMG SCARY UGLY FUCKER’ he seems relatively… calm. His eyes move away again after only a moment or two, don’t want to scary the kin. You stare them in the eyes two long and even humans feel like you’re getting ready to open their throat.

“You should.”

He looks down at the back a moment. Tilting his body a bit to look in the bag without opening it. Then shakes his head slightly and moves back.

“He was kin theif. Didn’t deserve death though.”
[Maija]
“Why?”

Seems to work for bot of his statements, because she is the curious type, even when she’s keeping her head down and her nose clean. You learn, or you die. That’s the way of the streets, and when someone talks, you listen. Never know when some little tidbit learned might come in handy.

She crunches the chips as she awaits his answer. Looks like she’ll finish off the bag without a second thought. She aims to be full until this time tomorrow night, after all. At least she’s slowed down some – no longer shoving the food in, and enjoying the greasy salty goodness instead.
[Andrew]
He eyes the fritos bag for a moment more, then shakes his head. Yuck. Kittens. Definitely prefer kittens. “Someone gonna make you theirs. It’s what you born into. Make some friends first. Be under protection. Maybe you get a choice at least.” His tone is… frightfully matter of fact. As though the horribleness of what he’s describing is just to be expected.
[Maija]
She snorts. “Gotta catch me first. Ain’t no fuckin piece o’meat for anyone.”

Leastwise, not if she can help it. She’s been on the run long enough that it’s a way of life. Things get bad again, and she’ll grab her pack and disappear. Won’t be the first time. Won’t be the last.
[Andrew]
He snorts. Smirking. It’s not a pleasant expression on him. It kind of twists up his lips and the scar on his cheek sort of lifts his lips into more of a sneer. As though the idea of catching her might hold some appeal. It’d be something to do, at least, that’s for sure.

“Can only avoid it so long. Just telling you, little rat.”
[Maija]
A shoulder lifts in a shrug. Something of a we’ll see kind of gesture. He’s no idea what she’s avoided so far, nor how stubborn she can be. She’s down to eating the chips just one at a time now, licking the oil and salt off her fingers in between bites. Finally feeling full, a feeling she doesn’t get to have very often from the looks of her.

She’s a little above average height for a girl at 5’8″ but if she’s 110 pounds, she has a brick in each pocket. She practically swims in the hoodie that’s several sizes too large.

“If you say so.”
[Andrew]
He grunts and rather abruptly, and alarmingly, rises up to a standing position. His hands, dirty and – with them at head height she might notice – smeared with red stuff that might be blood, go to his pockets and slide deep into the denim. “You know where the Brotherhood is?” Staring out across the parking lot, the street, head moving side to side as he scans for signs of light in the wee hours of the windy city.
[Maija]
She flinches away from him as he stands up – not fully, just a little twitch because it was so unexpected.

“Yeah. Decker tol’ me.”

Doesn’t hurt to drop the name of the guy who could probably break a house in half, right? Right.
[Andrew]
He nods absently. “Good.” Turning to look down at her. “They feed you there. It’s good.” And it becomes apparent precisely how he manages to continue looking as solid as a tank while obviously living on the streets himself. Also explains why he only smells like 2 day old garbage rather than week old garbage.

“See you around, little rat.”
[Maija]
“Ain’t a charity case.” It’s muttered. She don’t take food from no one, unless it’s absolutely necessary. The other night, it was, but first thing she did with John’s cash was give a little to the brotherhood to pay for her keep. She don’t like taking handouts, even if her very survival some days depends on just that.

She watches him a moment as he starts off, and nods slight.

“Yeah.”

Sure. Non-commital is best, of course. Always.
[Andrew]
He reaches out and gives her head a light, probably intending to be playful, shove. How that’s read, is entirely in the air. “It’s kin run. They provide. The garou fight. It’s the way things are. Don’t be stubborn, rat.” He turns and walks away as quietly as he’d arrived. Heading back into the alley that spawned him.
[Maija]
She sways with the movement – hopefully interpreting it correctly, though she did try to duck away from it. Didn’t work, well, but he catches only the top of her head, and she reaches up to pull her hoodie back into place as he moves off.

He tells her not to be stubborn, and she snorts in something that might have been amusement. Like she has a choice – it’s in her blood.

He disappears into the alley, and she stands, brushing the grit off her ass, before she grabs her soda, finishes it off, and tosses the cup into the garbage can by the door. Then, as she finishes her fritos, she starts the hike back toward the brotherhood, where she’ll catch some sleep for a couple hours, before prowling the city again.

Always on the move.
It’s safer that way.
[Maija]
(thanks for the play!)
[Andrew]
((you too!))
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