[Joe Holst] Sometimes, dressing down just looks odd. Gone are the war flags and open, obvious emblems. Joe rolls into the Brotherhood wearing… slacks. That’s right. Charcoal gray slacks. The boots look shined up. The violence of teeth marks filled in with shoe polish until the toes gleam in the off- light. That and a navy blue turtleneck means it must be the end of the world.
An intent and formidable creature, these days. Before Alaska, Joe thrust himself forward. The subtlety of a meteor plummeting to the ground. He seems much more measured now. His gait the even, controlled power of a creature monstrous by intent, rather than happenstance.
He doesn’t even eyeball the waitress. Well- her ass. But that’s it!
[Izzy Montoya] She has shown without fail for every interrogation. Upon finding that he’s not upstairs in room 8, she’s once again taken her place at ‘her’ table where she practically lived for the first three weeks of this ridiculous farce. She’s there now, a pile of folders in front of her, a beer to the side. No laptop tonight, but there’s a briefcase on the seat of the booth next to her, and a notebook that she occasionally jots down notes in.
Everything about her screams Cop – they couldn’t break that out of her if they tried. Business casual dress – dark blue slacks and a button down blouse of a pale yellow – her hair is down, loose and flowing over her shoulders, her gun at the small of her back, her badge in the pocket of the jacket that’s draped over her briefcase. The more things change…
She is positioned so that she can see the doors – both front and to the kitchen – and thus doesn’t miss the entrance of the former Jarl. A glance – a muttered curse – and then she simply watches him a long moment, taking in the differences from the last time she saw him.
[Joe Holst] Something like interest gleams in Joe’s eyes as his attention lights on Izzy. It takes a while- he’d given the small, warmly lit restaurant area the once over before weaving his formidable bulk through the tables. On the way his eyes fall to the pocket he roots through.. coulda sworn he had… yeah. There it is.
No greeting. No undue scowl. In fact he seems a little distracted.
“Ey.”
He drops into a chair and crosses his ankles over each other.
“Yew mind gettin’ me a carbomb?”
[Izzy Montoya] “Evenin.”
He seems distracted – and that plus the state of his dress tonight, well, something is definitely different and she wouldn’t be who she is if she didn’t study him to see if she could figure out what it is. Her dark gaze doesn’t flinch away from him as so many do, before she arches a brow, slightly, at the request.
She rolls the pen through her fingers for a moment, than two, before she just nods, and lifts that pen to wave in the direction of a passing waitress
“Get’im whatever he wants, put it on my tab.”
Apparently she doesn’t mind.
[Joe Holst] “T’anks. Fuckah’s always card me.” Murderous hands are tucked under armpits, blocky shoulders hunched together as he leans back in the seat. An afterthought, he drops a crumpled ten on the table with a nod to the woman.
Rather than sitting under the table, he sits with his back against the wall facing the Friday night crowd. Gum is mashed in the boy’s bulky jaw over and over again. At least he leaves his lips closed.
Patrols fucking blow. Sure. Its what one does for the sept. Its honorable, the right thing. Still blows.
[Izzy Montoya] “I should think a well placed glare would be enough to stop them. Most times.”
She smirks, a comfortable expression, as she starts to close the files in front of her, tucking pictures and notes and reports back in their respective places – not in preparation to leave, but because to do otherwise is 1. rude, and 2. a breech of her considerable work ethic. The files are private and remain so. She stacks them to the side, closes the notebook and sets it on top, before she reaches for her beer and takes a long drink.
She sets it down, and waves the money back at him. “My treat.”
[Izzy Montoya] .
to Izzy Montoya
[Joe Holst] Joe’s face twists for a moment, uneasy. Eventually he shakes his head and pushes the ten across the table a few inches.
“Nah.. it can be a tip oah whatevah.”
He sprawls casually in the chair, and nods to the waitress once she brings the drink. One guiness, one shot.
Broad hands gather both to his chest- in some strange ritual few would understand, Joe murmurs something into the shot glass, kisses the rim, and promptly drops it into the guiness and begins to chug fast.
[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow, again, but doesn’t argue a second time. She doesn’t pick up the 10 either, just leaves it there as the waitress drops off his drink, and she takes another swig from her beer. A shake of her head- she doesn’t need another one, not yet – and they are once again left alone.
She watches the little ritual, but makes no comment about it. She’s done her fair share of drinking over the years, and seen more than one little ritual. And sang more than one drinking song, loudly and off key – but THAT’S a different story.
“So.” A beat. “You here to enjoy today’s interrogation, or just happened to stop by?”
[Joe Holst] One bright blue eye slides toward Izzy warily as he continues to tip the quickly foaming Guiness back. He considers the woman until long after he taps the half full glass back to the table, and licks the foam mustache off of his upper lip before he replies.
“Dunno wha’ dat other stuff yah tawkin’ about is, but I’m heah takin’ a break. I’ll be outta yowah hair shortly, if yew gaht some kinda meetin’ goin’ on.” He nods, having tasted every word before he says it. His chill gaze remains casually against Izzy.
“If I’m bodderin’ youse, I’ll go ta th’ bar.” He points at the long panelled expanse of dark wood with a thrust of his chin.
[Izzy Montoya] He doesn’t know what she’s talking about… “Must be the only one in Chicago that don’t.”
When he offers to leave her alone, she just gestures absently, much the way she waved aside the money, only this time with her bottle in hand. “Nah, you’re not bothering me. I’m just waiting for Daniel so he can bel..”
stop. her teeth grind for a moment, and she forces herself to relax again. “Ask his questions, check the lock on the chastity belt, and I can go on my way again.” Somewhere in there – right around chastity, most likely – the smirk returns, amused.
“Until then..” She shrugs. Apparently she doesn’t mind his company for the duration. So far, anyway… “knock yourself out. You hungry?”
[Joe Holst] “Enh.” He waves a hand idly at the offer of food. “Nah. I ate awready.”
He sweeps the glass back off the table and takes a long drink, smacking his lips absently. After another thoughtful perusal of the restaurant, he twitches his features toward the detective, but doesn’t take his eyes off a certain short blond moving back and forth from tables to kitchen.
“Sah like.. how much longah ‘foah yew can go back ta dewin wha’ yew wanna dew?”
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, and doesn’t seem bothered that he turned down the offer of food. She’ll order her own later, if Daniel still hasn’t arrived. She’s already texted to see what John wants, and she’ll escape shorty after midnight, if she’s lucky. Until then, she just keeps nursing her beer.
“Supposedly tonight. Daniel didn’t show up for the last interrogation though, but until someone tells me differently…” she gestures absently toward were she’s sitting. “I report as ordered.”
And if he thinks that doesn’t piss her the fuck off still, then he doesn’t know her at all…
[Joe Holst] At first, Joe just nods absently. Apparently content enough to leave the cops’ business to herself, outside of idle chit chat. She got him the beer without a fuss, that’s something.
“Heeeeyyyy…” Something beyond chit- chat occurs to him. Interest sparks and frosts in light blue eyes as he fixes his whole attention on the woman again.
“How plugged in ah yew on some new guy named like… Monty, uh sumpfin?”
[Izzy Montoya] Heeeeeeey, he says, as something occurs to him, and she just watches as interest sparks and his attention rests fully on her once more. It’s not everyone who could handle the force of that gaze, even if it’s just in interest, in casual conversation. She does though, without a change in her expression or demeanor.
She nods first, before replying. “Sabine. I know him alright. We’ve chatted a few times. He’s a good one – eager and intelligent and damn good at what he does.” A beat. “Why?
[Joe Holst] “Drew says I oughta get ‘is phone numbah. Deah’s some stuff I wanna ask ‘im about, city wise. Yew don’ got dat dew ya?”
He raises the glass again without taking his eyes off Izzy. The waning moon leaves room behind the eyes for the boy to think, and he means to make good use of it.
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, “Sure, I got it”
She reaches for her coat and pulls her phone from the inside pocket, and flips through to her address book, thumbing through with the ease of one well used to the technology, even with the multitude of numbers she carts around. She grabs her notebook, and once the number is found, she writes Monty’s full name, title, phone number and the address of his office too. When done, she tears off the page and slides it over to him.
“That’s the address of his office. Call first, of course. He’s a little.. skittish… when it comes to you all, so go easy on the dude, else ya give him a fuckin’ heart attack. And if he offers you some lemon tart? Take some. He makes it from scratch and it’s fuckin DIVINE…”
[Joe Holst] “Lemon tart.”
He blinks, and rereads the piece of note paper held between both hands. Another glance askance at the touchy kinfolk, and he tucks the paper away to take up the beer again.
“sah.. yew jus gonna wait ’til he shows, owah what?”
[John Thornton] ((Mind if I tag in?))
[Joe Holst] (Not at all)
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly. “Don’t have much choice in the fuckin’ matter. He doesn’t show? It’s no big deal. I don’t? It’s my ass.”
She runs her fingers back through her hair with a chuckle that’s more touchy than amused, She hates this. Hates it with a passion. She has to clear her schedule for the evening, and wait. Wait until he deems it necessary to bark at her for two minutes than go on about his merry way.
“If he ain’t here by 1am, I’ll leave a note and bail. I did my part.”
[Izzy Montoya] (of course not! :) )
[John Thornton] The resounding lolling thrum of a souped up car sounds from somewhere outside the Brotherhood… Carried by the chill winds that swept Chicago’s streets this night. Then, a short time later, the door to the downstairs portion of the Brotherhood opens, and a man with dark socketed hazel eyes enters the room. They seemed an odd shade of grayish-green in the lighting inside, like the shade of ocean water on the continental shelf, before you reached the darker blues of deep seas.
He stops there, shrugging out of his trench coat… The unmistakable white dress shirt already unbuttoned at the collar, silk blue tie askew, sleeves rolled to the elbows… His dress pants were a matching shade of blue, and his dress shoes polished black leather.
He takes a moment to consider the room, and those within it, just inside the door.
[Joe Holst] Joe’s features twist in a thoughtful scowl as he listens, half his attention still on some far off place. His eyes flick to the clock high on the wall. He can give himself maybe twenty minutes. Maybe. Otherwise he’s got to admit he’s slacking off.
Joe’s lips twist as his jaw does a number on that gum. He scowls at the slacks, slaps a bit of fluff from one leg. Fucking wierd, these highbrow trousers.
“Why’d… I dunno. Why d’ yew stick aroun? Ahmean, I figgah a cop’d have plenty uh options gowin’ on.”
[Izzy Montoya] The door opens across the way, and she lifts her gaze toward it, and the something happens that Joe’s never seen before. Something rare, and something she’d not consciously, and if she realized it was happening, it’d be wiped away again…
She smiles.
Not a smirk, not a harsh expression in any way, but something softer, genuine, and clearly heartfelt. She lifts a hand to get John’s attention, to let him know where they are and then she turns her attention back to Joe – and maybe, she’s already answered his question…
“You mean why not bail outa town when it went down?” She shrugs. “Chicago is home, and I’m far to stubborn to let one backwoods asshole to run me off, no matter how wrong he is. It took me 7 years of rebuilding my career in Miami before I could transfer back here. Just because he can’t see sense – I’m not gonna give up trying.” She looks up at John, and then back again. “Not when the only thing I care about is here.”
She hold up a hand though. “Don’t get me wrong – I still believe he was in the wrong and the request I made – repeatedly, nicely right up until the day I snapped – wasn’t something so outandish that i deserved what happened. I’m still pissed as fuck.” But she shrugs again, slightly. “But some folks can’t be taught, and some things are worth biting the fuck outa my tongue for.”
[John Thornton] John sees the wave and nods in reply… His brow rising curiously upon his forehead at the company Izzy kept. Still, he doesn’t tarry long in the doorway; instead, he starts toward the bar to get a cup of coffee (black and piping hot). As Danny turns to make the coffee… John finds his eyes drawn to a strange mural on the wall, like spin of an iron needle in a compass. The eyes take on a haunted cast, as though he saw something other than what was before him, as though ghosts or apparitions from beyond were rising up before his very gaze.
Then Danny turns and begins filling the coffee cup, and John blinks… The enchantment broken, whatever it was. John places a couple bills on the bar from a wallet overfilled to bursting with slips of paper, notes of various sorts, a veritable pocket library.
Then, taking the coffee cup and saucer in hand, he starts to where Izzy and Joe sit, his trenchcoat idly tucked under his other arm.
[Joe Holst] Wry amusement flickers across Joe’s face for a second as Izzy’s explanation unfolds. Whatever he has on his own mind sees his features smoothed quickly enough, and there is little in the way of a response to John’s approach.
“Yeah… awright. Soun’s goodt. Ahmean.. love an’ alla dat. I geddit.” He nods, amicably enough, but his attention cuts back to izzy’s face after a brief consideration. “I moah sorta meant.. us, yannow? Why’ownt yew jus’ toss th’ folk th’ finger fah real an’ cruise on witcha own bidness. Like dat.”
[Joe Holst] “ahmean, stay in Chicago. But like.. on yah own toyms, yeah?”
[Izzy Montoya] She watches him, and studies the Mural a moment as he does, before she meets his gaze as he approaches the table. Here she does something else that’s unusual, something that John would note, even if Joe wouldn’t know the difference. She slides deeper into the booth on her side, so that John can sit with her, effectively trapping her in the seat. There’s a trust there, when she not only allows it, but encourages it.
“Hey. I was gonna bring home dinner- but this is better.” Meaning she sees him sooner. That makes everything better.
Then she’s watching Joe – and she starts to deny the whole ‘love’ thing, but… stops. And doesn’t. She furrows her brow, slightly, and then answers honestly. She always them answers honestly – that’s what gets her ass in trouble most.
“Two reasons. First – I believe in the war. Even if it’s run by teenage rageheads that don’t always…” she stops. And moves on… “It’s why I joined the force, it’s why I do what I do. I believe in it. And second?” Here, she smirks, slightly. “You think you and yours would allow that? There’s not a fuckin place safe for me from you guys in Chicago. My blood’s too rich, my uses to many. Even if I wanted to flip you all the finger and do my own thing – you don’t allow me to have my own terms NOW. I tell you all to fuck off for good and you’d just outright kill me.”
[John Thornton] John considers the conversation he’s walked into, the curious brow still risen upon his forehead as he takes the seat in the booth beside Izzy. He considers her for a moment and nods as she mentions dinner…
“It certainly seems so… Unfortunately, there’s still a large pile of file folders out in my car.”
Then, the hazel eyed gaze turns to Joe.
“Good evening.”
It was interesting, watching John’s expression dance. Izzy gets the wan not-a-smile, however briefly, before John takes a drink of overly hot coffee. As he sets the cup back in the saucer, his expression becomes the untelling deadpan once more… His gaze focused on Joe.
Then, as the pair converse, he sits quietly listening to them both, his attention periodically moving from the one to the other and back again.
[Joe Holst] Bright eyes swivel to John for a moment. Joe nods, taps his forehead with a finger, and lifts his glass to lever the last of the dark, bitter drink into his mouth.
“I dunno ’bout all dat really. Sorta make it a point not to, dese days.” He shrugs wrecking ball shoulders, and glances at the wall clock again with a brief scowl of displeasure. He offers his answer with the air of someone resigned to getting up, going back out to punch a clock.
“But… like… is anybody tryin’ ta make use uh yah? Like.. blood owah uddahwise? Ahmean.. mebbe now’s yah chance.”
[Joe Holst] “Hey- also. T’anks feh orderin’ dat fah me.” He gestures to the glass, and leaves the crumpled ten on the table as he moves to rise. “Latah yew guys.”
The nod is apparently meant for both.
[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles, softly, at that and nods. “Oh I think we’ll manage to get to those folders too. I slept in this morning, figuring for a long night’s work ahead of us…”
She studies Joe for a long moment, and then shakes her head, slightly – and she considers answering, but then just shuts her mouth as he stands up, and takes his leave. “Later Joe.”
She doesn’t say anything else, not for a long moment, not until Joe has gone, though her hands fall to her lap, and half a second later one finds it’s way to John’s thigh, caressing lightly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Joe there is trying to get rid of me…”
[John Thornton] John considers, hazel eyes watching Joe’s departing form for a time. The curious brow never quite drooping to its normal level, the deadpan unflinching… Then, he turns his attention back to Izzy.
“Maybe…”
He takes another swig of overly hot coffee, letting it burn, uncaring… used to it. The wan not-a-smile returning to his lips.
“As for a night’s work… We both know I don’t sleep.”
It’s happening again… All over again… And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
[John Thornton] ((Thanks for the rp, Dirge))
[Izzy Montoya] (Thanks for playing! :) )
to Joe Holst, John Thornton
[Izzy Montoya] She just shakes her head. “That was… just fuckin’ weird. Not what I expected, at any rate. Even he barreled down on me once he got a whiff of my breeding, so why on earth would he think that I could do my own thing without the Nation breathing down my neck? Now’s my chance? To do what? Get killed? by the good guys?”
She furrows her brow, and then sighs, with a shake of her head. Back to more important things. Like lack of sleep. She chuckles and arches a brow. “True. Though the snoring that rattled my walls this morning would suggest even you fall pray to exhaustion eventually…”
[Joe Holst] ((Later guys! I’m just shit at two scenes, or I’d stay. *L* Thanks!))
to Izzy Montoya, John Thornton
[John Thornton] “Oh, that… I’ve had this developing sinus thing the last couple years. I do that when I lie down anymore. I’m sure that’s what you heard.”
John smiles that wan not-a-smile, until after Joe leaves, and then Danny disappears to do whatever he’s going to do. Then, like a curtain being drawn aside from brilliant sunshine streaming through a window, John’s smile becomes more genuine as he considers Izzy…
Though every now and again, his attention seems drawn by the strange mural on the wall, his eyes becoming distant and haunted in that brief instant.
When he comes back from… Wherever it is his mind goes to at these times, Izzy would get the impression she is the center of the universe right then. Still… He does remain quiet, thoughtful…
“Perhaps that is his aim. I would not be shocked if some of our brethren decided a purge of the unwilling or overly troublesome was in order.”
His voice grows exceedingly quiet then…
[John Thornton] “Point of fact, I expect it. Maybe not today, or tomorrow… But soon.”
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] He smiles at her, and she returns it – it’s a look that is reserved for him alone, though it’s becoming easier to let it show, at least for him. “Oh I’m sure that’s what it was.” They both know better.
Se follows his gaze to that mural again, and again, and then nods slightly to the soft words. “Maybe. I don’t know – guess we just wait and see, for the most part.” Not that they’ll be unprepared, but that they bide their time.
And then, finally, she asks softly. “She painted that, didn’t she?” Because she would ask, and because she already knows.
[John Thornton] It’s a long time before John answers…
A long time…
His gaze turns to the mural, quietly staring for a time, even as he answers. Nostalgia, memories flooded back… So real, so very real seeming…
“Yes…”
He could almost see her standing there, paint brush in her hand, working on it. Before it was a mural, before there was anything there. And then, John stands from the booth, and starts over to it. He stops by the left hand side… And after a moment spent considering the painting, his finger taps a point that’s not quite blue, not exactly green, and close but just off from gray.
“She… Mrena… said this was a painting of all the things and people she knew in life. A painting of the people and things that surrounded her, of the world in which she lived.”
He sighs deeply, and begins fishing for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket before continuing… A long white tube of tobacco bounces with each syllable as he speaks.
“That dot… is me.”
John just stands there for a time, staring at the dot… Before he turns back to Izzy. His eyes closed for just a moment as he forces himself to recognize reality for what it is.
“Doesn’t matter now.”
And with that, John lights the match and takes a deep drag of the cigarette… Retaking his seat beside Izzy in the booth.
[Izzy Montoya] She watches him, understanding shining deep in the darkness of her eyes, watching as he tells her this little bit about her, about him… about them. He returns and says it doesn’t matter now, and she’s still watching the spot that he says represents him. She finally looks up at him again, her hand reaching to take his, fingers lacing with his automatically.
“It matters. It matters to you – and so it matters to me. Just because we’re together now doesn’t make her any less important to you. And I’m glad you told me – because now I know there’s a part of you in that painting, and it makes my sitting easier when you aren’t next to me.”
[John Thornton] John smiles, nodding slowly as he considers Izzy… Smoke drifting lazily up past dark sockets, hazel eyes, and a care-worn brow with each drag he takes. Then, tapping the ash off the tip, John turns to Izzy and kisses her gently on the lips…
Then, still smiling as their lips part, he speaks in a quiet whisper.
“You are an amazing woman, Izzy Montoya… How you weren’t whisked away by a better man years ago is something I will never fathom.”
[Izzy Montoya] She’s determined to get those dark sockets soothed with more sleep, if she has to ‘sacrifice’ and work him to exhaustion every night to ensure he sleeps just a bit. She presses into his kiss with a soft smile, her free hand lifting to trail fingertips along his jaw.
The kiss breaks, and she laughs softly, as she shakes her head.
“Two things – there is no better man, and no one would ever do. I scare all the others away.”
[John Thornton] John lets out a low, almost laugh. Brief, no more really than a simple exhale of air… But a laugh nonetheless. He doesn’t break from her gaze, the cigarette forgotten on the saucer with the coffee cup, smoke drifting into the air in lazy curves.
“Bullshit.”
Then, still smiling at her, he shakes his head, his voice a quiet whisper.
“I know better, on both counts.”
[Izzy Montoya] He laughs and even cusses, and she chuckles in return. “Someday you will accept that there is no man on this earth that could deal with me – no man but you.”
A beat, and she teases… “..or women, either, I suppose.”
She reaches for her briefcase, and then turns to shove the files she has with her into the case, and click it shut. The 10-spot on the table covers the rest of hertab and a tip, so she doesn’t even need to take time to pay.
She smiles up at him and arches a brow slightly. “You know what I think? I think we have a mountain of paperwork to tend too… so how about we go home and… work…?” She leans in and kisses him then, briefly and warm and full of promise.
Before she’s nudging him to slide from the booth, and allow her to follow him. Danny knows she was here. Daniel never showed. That’s enough for her.
It’s time to go home.
[…home is where John is…]
[John Thornton] ((That looks like a fade to me. Thanks bunches. :) ))
[Izzy Montoya] (thank you! :) )