Maija | Seeking Ryan [Marcus/Lonna/Andrew]

The floor smelled of pine sol and looked to have been freshly swept then mopped. All the furniture was dusted and the place looked pretty well cleaned up. There was a bit of a draft as every window that could be opened on the 2nd Floor was.*

She doesn’t go often, for obvious reasons. Well, obvious to her. She’s been upstairs only twice, both times to sit for a portrait for a woman who also hasn’t called her for some time – though for that, she’s grateful, even if it means she is running low on cash, again. Regardless, she makes her way on near silent feet up the stairs, and does not pause in the common room. Instead, she moves straight to the hall, and room one and knocks on the door.

Ryan’s room.
(…before it was so briefly Joss’…)

…she blinks, and studies the door, before she turns to look at the common room, and the man who is sitting there on the couch. The man from earlier in the park. Great. She shoves her hands deep into the ‘roo pocket of her hoodie, looking for all the world that if she could disappear, she might. But there’s.. well. There’s a question that needs answered.

She steps into the common room, though not very far, and certainly not close enough that he can see what’s under that hood. William liked to joke that for the first week they knew each other – if she changed clothes and didn’t speak, he never would have been able to recognize her. She looks back toward the room then to Marcus again. “Where’s Ryan?”

“Shit.”

She takes a breath and looks at the door again, to the room that isn’t his. And he didn’t even say goodbye. She shakes her head slightly, and then turns as if to head down the stairs again. “Thanks. Ain’t mean t’bother ya.”

She turns back though, and looks at him, though he only gets a hint of the line of her jaw, the strength of hidden features in that glimpse before thin fingers tug the hoodie back into place. “Yeah.”

She had headed up the stairs in the hopes of catching someone there. Well, not quite catching, just… Yeah, at any rate that wasn’t important. What was important was that hte tall, rather leggy blonde was making her way up the stairs at this late night hour in hopes of catching a particular Shadow Lord. Evan said he lived there. nessa said he lived there; she hadn’t had much in the way of luck catching up with him.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. She was just headed up the stairs anyway in beat up capris and a white tee shirt. Lonna had thrown her jacket off for the time being.

From down the hall there’s a creaking. The last door on the long hallway back to the rooms opens. A shorter than human shadow plays out into the hall. The shadow is followed by a nose. The nose [i]always[i/] leads the way. Wet and black and twitching to pull scents from the air. The nose turns into a long furry snout and the broad black head of a wolf. A wolf who begins trotting down the hall towards the common room.

A wolf who has a rather large, fist-sized, red rubber ball clamped in one side of his mouth with his thin black lips curled around it, deforming the normally thin wolfish snout of his almost as much as the many scars on his head.

So far.
(it never lasts…)

“y..yeah. S’Wendy. she crashed at my… uh… friend’s place last night.” Eyes still on that wolf. She doesn’t even notice Lonna coming up the stairs just yet.

He looks over at Lonna as she comes up the stairs and his ears perk up a bit when he sees her. He looks her in the eyes, and nods in greeting every so slightly.

He turns his gaze back to Maija and then he smiles a bit, his face now more warm and inviting.* “Ah then that is where I escorted her last night. Who is this friend of yours?” *He says politely.*

Lonna had a nice smile, but that was neither here nor there.

She then found herself looking at Andrew. And the red ball. She cocked her head to the side slightly, curiosity written plainly on too-perfect features.

Finally his eyes roam over to Lonna and stare at her. And he performs a near perfect twist of his head, mirroring her.

She looks at Lonna, and gives her a double take. She oughta take all the attention of Maija quite nicely, hm? Thank god for leggy blonds.

She finally answers the question. Sorta. “Was’it to ya? His name’s Will. S’a lawyer.”

Thank god for leggy blondes, indeed.

“Whatcha got there?” she asked Andrew. She didn’t reach out though; he was intense. he was more than intense; she might loose a finger if she tries to pet him or poke him or do anything that might upset a wolf. Just move slowly. and don’t make eye contact.

Thumbs were hooked behind his belt, the jeans worn above his ass unlike many of the younger generations these days. Above his ass, but not up to his armpits. A black Motorhead t-shirt was worn as well, along with a light gray hoody that was left unzipped.

There were familiar faces here: Maija he knew of in passing, the same for Marcus and Lonna. Andrew was another acquaintance. To say that he knew these people well would be an overstatement for the Fianna.

“Evenin’, one an’ all,” came the Irish brogue as he came to find himself a seat.

He glances over at James, leans forward a bit curiously, tilting his nose up and sniffing, and then snorting when he gets the smell. Turning his gaze back to the leggy blond. Leggy blonds indeed. But it was all about how they smelled at the time. Very important how they smelled. He dropped his head and let the ball fall out of his mouth with a wet sound.

Then nudged it with his nose towards Lonna.

She deosnt’ say antyhing for a long moment, as she reaches up to tug that hoodie more firmly into place, before she moves across the room, finding some space where she can put her back to a wall, and watch them all.

“Maija.” Mi-yah. Her name, presumably.

“Well Maija I am Marcus Schwarzkopf. You did not need to be alarmed while you are here. You are among friends. You are safe.”

*He looks at James.* “So how does this night find you -Rhya? Shouldn’t you be out acting like a proper Fiana?” *He says with a smile trying to make a bit of a joke. Yeah it’s a bad one, but hey he’s trying. That’s something.*

You know, that grin really said a lot about Lonna. We’ll leave it there to be mulled over later.

She started to stand up, taking the rubber ball and then looking at Andrew. He was a wolf. he was a large wolf. he was a large wolf and she was a slow kid. She bounced it once, and then looked at him again. The Child of Gaia cocked her head to the side and looked at him for a moment longer. She didn’t make eye contact though; she knew that much.

Maija was given a smile of greeting and hello, forever wrapped up like a victim/refugee escaping whatever persued her. In a way he might of empathized with the girl, but he didn’t know her well at all.

Marcus actually spoke, so the Fianna turned his attention to the Forseti. “Evenin’, boyo. Well ‘nough by m’ reckonin’, though I’d be curious as t’ what ye deem ‘actin’ like a proper Fianna,” he asked good naturedly.

Lonna spoke to him in his native tongue, and the words sparked a merry twinkle in his eyes and a broad grin across the Galliard’s lips. Responding in the same language, he gave her a cheeky wink before reverting to English to talk to Andrew. “Th’fook’re ye doin’, Andrew? Ye dinnae look like n’ ‘ound-dog tae be playin’ wit a ball.” A touch of a laugh there.

He turns away from Lonna, his large body curling into her a bit and his dented ribs bumping her knees. He’s a heavily scarred wolf. If he were just some dog, he’d have to be a stray. As it is, maybe he still is. The long scar that splits his scalp, marbled black and pink skin under parted fur, and the scar that curls his lip and traces up to one eye are prominent. A missing chunk of ear and nose probably stand out too.

He looks at James, then huffs, turns, and shimmies a bit. ~ws~ “The humans don’t know what to do with me.” And his tail wags with enjoyment.

Her shoulders hunch, slightly, though she is not quite in fight or flight mode. It thrums under the surface of her skin, but it’s not quite that tens. Not yet. Close, but not yet.

She glances at Lonna and the wolf – who’s actions are a little more familiar now – but it’s when James calls him by his name that recognition finally falls into place. Not only did he shake disgusting crap all over her that night, the next he tried to tell her it was Mate or die.

Fuckin’ garou. Ain’t no safety here – in any sense of the word. “If yeh say so.” is all she vocalizes though, as she leans back against the wall, keeping some distance between her and the rest of them and just watches.

Humans didn’t know what to do with him.

“Aye,” the Galliard said to Marcus. “Though ye’re fergettin’ one thing an’ one thing ‘lone: good people. An’ nae nec’sar’ly ‘n tha’ order.”

Lonna again replied to him in Gaelic, and James only winked at her before repling in kind.

His nose lifts and brushes over Lonna’s hand, his tongue flaps out slimes her hand with the mixture of wet and sandpapery that is his tongue.

Then his nose lifts a bit and he leans towards Marcus, sniffing curiously.

Then, to James – she ain’t remember his name, but she does remember him – maybe he knows. “Yeh know when Ryan left? Where he gone?”

Lonna still looked a litle disconcerted by the slobber that just.. wouldn’t.. come… off.

Marcus replied, and James nodded to him. “Aye. Ye’d be s’prised what folk ye’d run intae ’round here. S’posin’ ye’d o’ been told o’ Kemp Oates? ‘E’s ‘nother o’ yer tribe ‘ere – Adren Rotagar, th’ last I ‘eard. Good lad, if’n a wee bit cheeky.”

James snorted, snickering softly to himself as he eyed Lonna, a brief look up and down. First his reply in Gaelic came, followed by the English. “Andrew, boyo, th’gal’s wantin’ tae know if’n ye know ‘ow tae play dead ‘s well ‘s fetch.”

His front paws sort of just… flick down… and propel the front half of his body up. He chest bumps into Lonna, with his head about her height now. His paws hook over the tops of her shoulders. Dew claws digging in a bit. His jaws flick open menacingly, with a flash of white teeth.

But surprisingly, he’s rather gentle as he takes the ball from her hand with his teeth, lips pulled back, and still slobbering on her.

She pulls her journal out of the ‘roo pocket, and rests it on her knees, flipping through the pages until she comes to a fresh one. Her pen appears next, and she begins to set ink to paper, quick character sketches of those in the room, keeping her hands busy, and her mouth shut.

She learns quickly. Ask if you absolutely must, and when ignored, keep your damn mouth shut. That’s not to say she’s not paying attention – because she is. Avidly.

And then? then there was her… well, was he her tribal elder? The kinswoman wasn’t sure, but she just knew that she was staring at a very large, very menacing, rather terrifying wolf. She blinked, and she looked away quickly. Her inclination was to stand still, and so she did. Don’t look at his mouth, don’t look at his teeth, don’tflinch at the fact that he’s very… very… very close.

And then? he was still slobbering on her, and making a right mess out of her shirt and on her hands. He was surprisingly gentle when he took his ball back though.

“God, you’re huge,” and it was the only thing she could think of to say.

Andrew did his little showmanship to Lonna, and James cocked an eyebrow as though eyeing a boy that did something that wasn’t all together… intelligent. Liken as not the lupus only served to put the Kinfolk more on edge. For the time being Andrew didn’t seem like he was going to take Homid skin to make the others feel more at ease. James ignored it.

” O’Course I’ll be buyin’ ’em,” he said to Lonna. “Ye’d think I’d make yerself pay for ’em?” James owned a nightclub; he could give her whatever alcohol she wanted.

So she does what she does best (…second best…). She sketches. The others talk around her and she listens, but it’s their likenesses she’s more interested in, and placing them on paper.

For the moment, anyway.

And with a few flicks and twitches of his body, threw a question over at James. ~ws~ “Who’s is she?”

*He looks at Maija.* “I will inquire as to what happened to your friend Ryan. I will do what I can to get you an answer Maija.” *He says politely to her.*

She looked at Andrew again, and then took the opportuntiy to straigthen herself out, to get the slobber off of her hands, and she, for her part, didn’t quite know what to do with herself. And then? She had to ask James something.

And then back to Andrew, her pen still, the tension twisting up along her spin again, her shoulders tight, her breath barely registering as she inhales slow, and exhales once more.

James gave a disarming shrug and a smile to the lupus, but as he was heading toward Maija, the Galliard turned his attention back to the others.

“I’ll pass th’word ‘long,” he said to Marcus. “Cannae be promisin’ ‘nymore’n that.”

The Gaelic language seemed to sound all hard consenants and not very many vowels, but the ease and fluidity that which James spoke it meant that he’d grew up on it. Perhaps, even, that he knew Gaelic even before he knew English. It was hard to tell, but either way he gave a slow grin to Lonna.

~ws~ “Ask her.”

And he sidles up to Maija and peeks at what she’s drawing. His breath humid and smelling of meat, decayed, or more likely, rotten when he ate it.

Quick character sketches are just that – there’s not a lot of detail just yet. She’s captured the general essence of them, the way they stand, the way they sit — the way he’d jumped up on Lonna. It’s all there, bare bones, with only enough detail for her to be able to pick it up again later and flesh it out.

Grinning a touch, that celtic language flowed out from the Sandman’s lips once more, with an off-hand look to Maija as if to say, ‘are you all right?’

He moves over a bit and sits his butt down, leaning somewhat askew to rest against Maija. Looking at the paper, then the rest of the room, in little glances.

She doesn’t move. Not a muscle. Not yet.

He moves to sit next to her, leaning against her hip and side as he looks from the paper to the people in the room and back again. Slowly, slowly, the pen gripped tight in her hand, so tight that her knuckles are white, she forces herself to breathe. To relax slightly, just enough to put pen to paper again, and to start filling in some details here and there as he watches.

When the woman has gone, it was then that he fell silent, though he did keep a weather eye on Andrew and Maija for the time being. The girl looked like she was about to bolt, the lupus unnerving her. A soft grunt issued from the Galliard’s lips.

His attention suddenly snaps over to Marcus. And pulling away from Maija’s side reluctantly, he goes through the twists and turns, yips and huffs to communicate. ~ws~ “Dances-on-Fire, Fostern Theurge Gaia Child. You?”

She’s not doing a very good job of it – but she’s trying.

Still, the theurge’s proclivity to remaining in his breed form around so many humans usually was not a wise penchant.

He glances once more at the pictures on the page, then lifts his hind end up and lopes over to the couch. Slowly grinding his way up through the various forms as he goes, rending and ripping through bone and flesh until he finally settles onto the couch in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Both with dirty splotches, patchy holes, and other signs of heavy use.

He coughs roughly and takes a piece of jerky. “I am not the most normal of my tribe.”

They still couldn’t tell what color her eyes are, what color her hair is, but perhaps the shape of her mouth, the line of her jaw, the strength of her chin. Until she tucks the latter again, reaches up to pull that hoodie down lower and into customary place.

James gets a glance as he leaves, then she turns to her sketches again, and just listens.

“I have talens to make. Must prepare to steal.” Which perhaps doesn’t make much sense. Or offends sensibilities. Depending. Either way, he starts back towards his room with no real goodbye to speak of.

Then she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Marcus asks her a question, and her reply isn’t exactly polite. “What do you do when ya ain’t fuckin destroyed somethin’ yet? Ya fuckin beat ’em again.”

Somehow, it’s not likly they’re talking about exactly the same thing.

A pause, and then. “We ain’t talkin bout th’ same shit. Ya know that, right?”

She stops, she runs her hand up along the back of her hood to pull it forward again. “Ain’t give too shits bout ya war. All ya know is how t’make someone… thing… else bleed. What principles is that?”

She pauses, then. “When ya can’t win? Ya run. An’ hope they ain’t catch up with ya anytime soon.” Personal experience, there. He’s talking big picture, she’s talking bottom of the barrel survival. Personal survival.

She shakes her head, slightly. “Ain’t no pretty fancy deep fuckin meanin to anythin’ I say. No need t’look deep or nuthin.”

She unfolds then, and stands, in doing so making sure he still doesn’t see her, anything that would give anything about her away. She has been hiding for so long, it’s second nature, the way she moves, the way she finds shadows or creates them where there are none. “If I minded, I wouldn’t answer. I gotta go. S’late.”