[Danny Jones] 123 not me!
[Keith Sommers] ( AUGH. HOISTED ON MY OWN POTARD… petard? poitard? petard… spellcheck isn’t yelling at me – )
[Keith Sommers] Late night; no moon. No moon; quiet streets. Quiet streets, still concrete; still as the dawn of the dead, still as drab, still as seedy as possible in Chicago. Chicago, place of heydays and bygones; Chicago, place of ruins, home to the Cubs; Chicago, no moon in the sky, and so dark, and a lo, a deserted basketball court. The netting is missing from one basket; the other is in draggling ruins, the pavement well-scarred. There, a young man; a basketball. The young man worries people who see him, if he looks at them; if they get close enough. He worries them, just a little, and they don’t really know why.
[Danny Jones] There; a basketball, a basketball court, a boy that people don’t really look at, that they worry about.
And here – a girl, under a no moon, late night, wandering the quiet streets. Here, a girl with cargo pants, and a purple t-shirt with rainbow brite in glitter that is the same teal as her hair – her hair, 15 kinds of awesome, don’tcha know. She stands out, even as she blends in. boots, army jacket, backpack. Same ole Danny on another different day.
And soon, he misses a shot, and the ball gets away, and she catches it. A lopsided grin as she holds it out for him. “Hey.”
[Keith Sommers] He misses a shot; he misses it and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He plays hard; he plays active, vibrant, sharp; he plays to burn out, to burn away; plays with a rather languid sort of lassitude and, oh, whoops. Look; he misses a shot.
He stands out, even as he blends in, too; they’ve that in common. He stands out, though, because of how he stinks of pure blood, how he reeks of the legends all those dead heroes told about in songs were told about in songs. That’s why he stands out, Keith; that, and, well. He is handsome, in a plain way: straight nose, almost cleft in chin, almost curly brown hair, always dark eyes, ironic cant to his eyebrows, evidence of a sense of humor or a self-mocking bitterness.
He eyes Danny for a moment. Then says, “Nice hair. Wanna play?”
[Danny Jones] She grins and runs her fingers through her hair to spike it up. Then she’s laughing as she tosses the ball back at him. “I can do a lotta things – but getting a ball through a hoop ain’t one of them. It’d be two things – no challenge for you, and very, very embarrassing for me.”
She lifts her shoulders in a shrug, and studies him for a long moment, before that grin slides amused again. “So, ya always slum it round here?” He reeks of breeding, after all.
[Keith Sommers] He catches it, easy; dribbles, dribbles the ball against the ground; the energy behind his grip, the energy in his fingers, is an eloquent savagery. Although he does not look as if he were hideously strong, for a moment –
Keith does look as if he’s slumming, in a way; his pants are good quality, but they’re frayed at the edges, as if they’re too long for him, and who looks too closely at a man’s pants? Those pants: They slide low on his hips, for want of a belt. Some kind of shirt. He can’t remember what it’s called; he has, very likely, never thought about it. A wife-beater. A smear of pale gray, for want of the moon, or some other light. There. And Danny might notice, pooled on the edge of the court, a dark sweater.
“; could be very,” dribble, “very,” dribble, “amusing for me, though.” Here; he smiles, a little lopsided, although he also seems a little disappointed. And, “This Chicago’s slums, then? Thought that was Bronzeville.”
[Danny Jones] “Could be.” She agrees, and then with a chuckle, slides free of her backpack and sets it down – close, always close, but out of the way – and soon her army jacket follows it. She moves with a sedately savage grace, an animalistic style that causes her to move with a liquidity that makes people look twice, perhaps, and then look away. burned.
“Will be.” she confirms, and then joins him on the court. She scratches lightly along her jaw, before she shrugs, slightly. “That is, too. Wasn’t what I was referring too, however, and ya know it.” that little grin appears again, as she lifts a shoulder in a shrug.
[Keith Sommers] He laughs. Easily. Bounces the ball back at her. Hits the ground solidly, leaves it just as solidly. Then both of his eyebrows lift up, again, crease his brow – these are the lines of an expressive man, funny guy, wise guy, smart aleck, charmer – “I know it? Wish I’d tell myself what it was.”
[Keith Sommers] schwap!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Danny Jones
[Danny Jones] She manages to catch the ball while she’s laughing again. “Uh huh. Yourself, not such a talker, huh? Maybe if he were…” A pause as she attempts to dribble, and daringly faces the basket, just to see if she can come anywhere close, just once before they start for real. “…he’d mention ya stink, positively reek of heroic tales. I’ve a friend who’d be begging you to tell her stories on that basis alone…”
A glance at him. And she shoots…
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Keith Sommers] Hey, look; the ball arcs through the air, effortlessly (well, of course: it’s not really exerting any muscles here, is it?), and plunks through the circle. Hits the ground; even rolls back to her. More or less. Keith grins, again; he’s got quick grins, sometimes, and they’re all teeth, all sizzle.
Even now, when there isn’t any moon at all, not even a little bit, not even at all. The grin fades, of course; fades, replaced by huh, really suddenly more inquisitive than he’d been a moment ago. When he’d just thought she was a girl with an exceptionally strong will. Or one of those who liked to be afraid.
” – oh yeah? What kind of heroic tales does your, ah, friend like?” Beat. “And, what, you don’t like stories?”
[Keith Sommers] Emphasis should be: “And, what, you don’t like stories?”
[Danny Jones] She lifts her arms with a grin “and she SCORES!” before scooping up the ball and tossing it back at him. She turns to face him then (And admit it, Danny girl, it’s been a long time since ya played basketball..) and hikes up her jeans that threaten to fall off skinny hips, and gets ready to guard him…
A shrug, slightly. “Sure, I like stories. Ain’t my strong point though. An my friend, she likes all kinds – hero tales of old, new age tales, stories of glory honor and wisdom… She’s Irish, ya know, an tells stories all poetic like. Me? I jus’ listen. When I ain’t talkin too much.”
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Keith Sommers]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Keith Sommers] He’s got a squint, naturally; now his eyes narrow a little, and they’re as dark as the moon is tonight. Aren’t really legible. Aren’t really decipherable. He’s looking at her, though; looking at her close.
He is also, Keith, competitive, so when the skinny girl wearing a rainbow brite shirt prepares to guard, he prepares to slip past her: deft, smooth, eel-quick. Doesn’t happen, though; he’s quick, and she’s got to struggle, but he’s got to struggle too, and they’re in a lock. Dead lock. “Yeah,” he says, at some point. “So who’re you?”
“What’re you?” Ball drums at the ground. Punctuates this discussion, drum-speak.
[Danny Jones] She grins, and arches a brow. “Name’s Danny. streetrat extraodrinaire. An if ya can’t tell what…” a winning smile, a wicked grin, under a tricksters moon that dances in her eyes. “maybe I ain’t should tell ya… unless ya win…”
She goes for the ball, aiming to swipe it away from him, and make a shot…
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Keith Sommers] “I,” Keith says, laughing, “Will hurt you bad.” He doesn’t mean it; does he? Does he. Doesn’t mean it; the moon is dark. His eyes are dark, but not black with; he’s good. He’s a good boy, he is, despite his straight nose, his expressive eyebrows.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Danny Jones] She aims to sweep it away and make a shot, and succeeds at first, but is not quite quick enough. I will hurt you, he says, and knocks the ball from her hands as she lets out a very girly squeal of mock irritation, and tries to scrabble for the ball again.
But they’re even – dead even – and maybe he’s not as good as he thinks, or she’s better then she thinks, but either way it stands here; He has the ball again, and she’s still grinning.
“Will ya now… seems I mighta forgot that I used to play with my boys back home every once in a while…” She wiggles her brows, and goes for the ball again…
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Keith Sommers] “Seems you mighta,” he echoes her, wry. His accent makes her words over into something different; mocking bird. His accent is crisp, is round; is upstate New York or Massachusetts or one of those places. He’s still languid, right now; his energy is on a low simmer, coils lazily through his limbs, all hot and dark and oh.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 5, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Danny Jones] He gets past her this time, all mockingly wry, and swoops up for a layup and score, leaving her behind, laughing. He’s all hot and dark and coiled and lazy, and she’s still smiling. Seems not much makes her mutter – least not right now.
“Nice shot.” She says, and gestures for the ball. Once he gives it to her and she takes her place at the top of the key, she doesn’t waste any time, fakes left, goes right and…
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Keith Sommers]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Keith Sommers] To understand Keith’s move we will break it down. (1) He does a one handed back-spring. (2) While he’s still going through the spring, he reaches out – well balanced – and steals the ball. (3) He sends it bouncing to one side, savage, strong, sharp. (4) He does a no-hand back-spring, and catches it before it’s bounced more than once. (5) Then he shoots, and his eyes are radiantly cool.
OOC: Because, godammit, for five successes–!
[Danny Jones] And Danny. Just. Stares.
And stares.
And stares some more.
(Pick up ya jaw, girl, ya catchin flies..)
Snap. Her mouth closes, and she blinks rapidly, before holding up her hands with a low whistle. “Ain’t no way in hell my skinny ass can top that – ask ya questions, ya get answers. Ya earned em.” Chuckles and runs her fingers through her hair again.
[Keith Sommers] Plunk. That is the sound of a perfectly made – and highly improbable, not to mention conveniently unimportant – shot. Keith lowers his arms – he’d held the shot – and turns away from the basket; behind, the ball rolls across the cement, following cracks. His lips quirk, and there’s still something wry about it; something ironical about it. “Do you still remember my question or do I need to refresh your memory?”
[Danny Jones] Laughing as she wanders over to her backpack and finds herself a nice bit of cement to settle and sit on next to it, she pulls the pack into her lap. Somewhere in there, she digs and digs and digs and finally finds it… 2 day old donuts – three of em. She offers one to the boy who’s name she still ain’t know. “Danny Sticks’n’Stones Jones atcha service. BeeGeeBash of course.”
A grin and a tip of her head. “yer turn.” beat. “Fang.”
[Keith Sommers] He glances over at the ball. It’s caught itself against a sagging chain-link fence. He turns his head back to Danny; reaches up with his left arm and scratches the back of his neck. That pose is comfortable; he holds it, for a beat. Has walked to the edge of the court after Danny; when she offers him the donut, he’s scratching his elbow. Idle movement. Because stillness is never usually an option; not even on nights when the moon is somnolent.
“Thanks,” he grunts, accepting the donut. He hears what her tribe is; studies the donut for a second. Those expressive eyebrows are expressing all sorts of things, like doubts. Then: “Beegeebash? What’s that?” But, nay! He has figured it out, it seems but a moment afterward. Then: “Ah. Your moon.”
He bites into the donut. Chews. Swallows. Then: “I’m Keith Sommers. Savage Dawn. Voice of Carnage. Cliath Ahroun of the Silver Fang Tribe and the Sun Lodge. Son of Richard Sommers – “
He’s speaking rote, now. His lineage is almost a poem; there’s no self-consciousness. There’s just his slightly squinted gaze, direct, and his voice: not quite so languid, but still relaxed.
” – Richard Sommers, Echo of the Fray, Teeth of the Moon, Athro Galliard of the Silver Fang Tribe, member of House Wyrmfoe who was begat by Augustus Sommers, Hell’s Eyes, Faithful Heart, Killer at the Ford, Adren Ahroun of the Silver Fang Tribe, also Wyrmfoe, who was begat by Marion Hughes, daughter of Prosperpine Hughes, Merciless Heart, Unyielding at the Gate and whose great-grandfather was Keith Sommers, Walking Strife, Careful Strategy, Ragabash of the Silver Fang Tribe.”
“And so on.”
[Danny Jones] And – cue Danny’s stare again…. she’s even forgotten her donut – and to swallow the bite in her mouth. slack jawed for the second time, before she remembers (hello! food!) and snaps her mouth shut and chews once, swallows, and clears her throat. “fuckin’ell. That ain’t a fuckin intro, it’s a goddamn book. Ya’d think i’d know better, wouldn’t ya? I forget ya’ll can trace ya line all the way back t’adam ‘n’fuckin eve….”
She chuckles and shrugs a shoulder. “I can tell ya what Mama raised me, that’s bout it.”
[Keith Sommers] And, in case there were any doubts as to his breeding before; well, let them all rest in their graves now: He manages to recite that lineage, while looking Danny straight in the eye, even though her mouth is half-open with half-chewed food. Yes, indeed: the trials and tribulations.
He grins, again; it’s a sharp grin, a wry grin, but mellow at the core. Right now. He ruffles his own hair, as if he were a bird, then pops his knuckles: one by one by one by one. “Right. Adam Names The Animals, Leads The World and Eve First To Take A Bite. Think I’d run out of breath.”
See? That could have even been a joke.
[Danny Jones] It coulda been, and to Danny it is, and she laughs outloud once more. “Yer funny. For a Fang.”
She pulls her legs in to sit crisscross applesauce, and pulls her jacket back on. It’s a little chilly after all, even if she’s more acclimated then some others she knows who just got to town. Speakin of… “How long ya been in town? Ya meet anyone else yet?”
[Keith Sommers] “Three. Two Fianna. And Darkensky.” He doesn’t use any code words, right now; doesn’t put himself to the effort. They’re alone on a deserted basketball court. “Little Throat Ripper and Rambler. Also,” here, he rubs his jaw in idle consideration. “One of their kinfolk. Theurge said he packed with a Fianna too. They the dominant tribe?”
Danny makes herself comfortable; Keith is already comfortable, it seems, or as near to comfortable as he ever gets: standing. Finally, dropping into a crouch. Fingers, steepled.
[Keith Sommers] ooc: Er. “Not long. Three. Two Fianna. ETC.”
[Danny Jones] “Ain’t sure I know Rambler…” brow furrows, slightly, and then clarifies.. “Wait – Brodie! only met him a couple times, but am tight with his packmate. Sorta. I’m fuckin his brother.” Grinned, that, with a wicked lil smile and automatic slide of fingers up to play with the goldpainted wedding band she wears around her neck.
“Darkensky’s the first Fang I ever met n liked – he’s my big bro, love’im to death. Which kinfolk? Darkensky – he’s packed with Aodhan. Ain’t the dominate tribe, no. That’d probably be the Fenrir. Though ain’t all of em with the Sept here anymore. They’s still badass though.”
[Keith Sommers] “Really,” he says. “How many Silver Fangs have you met?” Here: one eyebrow cocks way, way up. The other quirks way, way down. Then, he smirks, “Her name’s Avalon. The Get, huh?” Dismissive, almost – “Who isn’t bad ass?” And that could be a rhetorical question – really, it could be. He frowns, faintly, and flicks a glance at her stomach. Not so subtle, that. The whole: are you pregnant yet? look.
[Danny Jones] “Not so many here – ton’s back home.” She catches that look, and her gaze narrows. darkens. “Ain’t got time to go poppin out a kid – not that it’s any of ya business. Some of us gotta fight this damn war, after all.”
As for who isn’t bad ass… “the fuckin Lords.” Snorted, with not a small bit of her disgust for the tribe. “They ain’t fuckin badass at all. They think they is, but nah.”
[Keith Sommers] Ain’t got time to go poppin’ out. All the way to. Fight this damn war, after all. Keith’s eyes snap back to Danny’s, a little bit blacker, a little bit more intent, and his expression is what and golly and any moment he’ll rub the back of his neck. The wolf in sheepish clothing, although: no. It jars. He smiles. “But who you’re fucking is?”
As for who isn’t bad ass. He laughs! He’s got a really nice laugh, especially when he’s this easy. This at rest. “How’s that different here from anywhere?”
[Danny Jones] Who you’re fuckin is…. oh. She grins and shakes her head. “Just makin conversation. The kid thing though – makes me wanna spit nails. Sorry. Ain’t you, was a guy I used ta be packed with once. Fuckin Lord, of course. All conversations were like this;
So, saw this wicked ass bane today – says I.
He says Ya gotta mate yet?
Me – wacked it good, all by myself, since ya was trollin date nights
Ya need a mate
An then, I went on a mission with the Eagles
Ya hear me? Mate. Mate. mate. Procreate!
me – AUGH! I’m BLEEDIN here, pass me the BANDAGE dammit
KIDS! YA MUST MAKE KIDS!!”
All this said with proper hand gestures and wild eyes mimicry and annoyance. “So’s anyway, sorry. I still get a little rankled with all them ‘ya pregnant’ looks.” Nods.
[Keith Sommers] His mouth is etched brilliant with amusement. That amusement, oh; just grows. His eyes half-close, half-squint; he cocks his head to the side, rubs the side of his neck. His eyes flick away, roam the deserted court, roam beyond, fasten on a car as it comes around the corner and glides – shark – away. Then flick back. “It’s okay.” He smirks, touch of irony again. “I can try to understand, I guess.”
[Danny Jones] She grins at him and shrugs. Don’t seem to bother her either way, just that ugh! Who has time for kids? “So – what brung ya to Chicago?”
[Keith Sommers] “A sense of adventure, and forty dollars. Also, Dad.”
[Danny Jones] She laughs and nods. “Me – i ain’t never have that much cash, but it was Mama Anne, and a message what needed to be delivered. I ain’t never gone back after that. Met some folks here, and settled in bout 2 years ago I guess now.”
[Keith Sommers] He listens, idle; takes another bite of the stale donut. Tears into it, actually; he is not a neat eater, not in the slums, not at night. Listens, idle. Then, idly: “Huh. You want your chance to color my preconceptions?”
[Danny Jones] She arches a brow, and shrugs. “What kinda preconceptions? And ya know, i dig color. In case ya ain’t tell…” A little grin as she fluffs her hair again.
her donut, is gone. Has been. In fact, she’s munching on the final one, already.
[Keith Sommers] “Who’s who? Who’s got what kinks? Who’s – ” He yawns big. His jaw snaps shut again, right after. ” – your pack?”
[Keith Sommers] “Those,” he adds, “preconceptions.”
[Danny Jones] She nods then. Alright – the nitty gritty.
“alright – startin with the boys. the Vientos de Cambio – that’s my pack, there’s Loki, an James an Bai an’ me. Fenrir, Fianna, Ukkie, and also a probie member, Reyna, another ukkie. Ain’t sure how long I’ll be with em – my promised 3 months is up, an’ well, still ain’t quite fit right. Need me a pack I fit in good with.
Like the other Twister pack – Rafi and Brodi. Them’s mah boys, an I adore’em.”
A grin, as she plays with that ring again. “Then they’s the Eagles – baddest mofos ya ever knowed. Ain’t affiliated, an’ I ain’t really blame em. Fenrir, an ya give em shit an ya get ya ass fuckin whomped on. They’s in the Green. Steer clear.”
A breath, a bite of donut. “Skadi n’ Kemp. They’s makin a new pack, probably. Skadi’s alright, and Kemp’s my best friend here, most likely. Both Fenrir and total badasses. Aodhan an’ Caleb, well. i ain’t know much bout Aodhan cept he’s Fianna an well. old. Caleb we discussed. Thaney – she’s my girl what loves stories? She’s fianna, an’ hangs with Oops!, but I ain’t sure who all they’s got in they’s pack now. Ya met Throat-Ripper. She’s… well, she’s got a problem what with beatin kin that makes me wanna smack her shit down, but we just ain’t step on each other’s toes no more an be polite when we cross paths.”
Inhale… another bite of donut.
[Keith Sommers] ” – Ukkie? The fuck’s an Ukkie?”
[Danny Jones] She laughs. “Uktena.”
[Keith Sommers] Also, “We’re in the Green, aren’t we?”
[Danny Jones] “Huh? oh – yeah. They ain’t hold ALL the green. Just most of it. We’s cool.” Nods, and shrugs. “I have my box in an alley jus down there. This swatch is where I had claimed once, but well, The boys wanna hover round china town n shit, so.” Shrugs. She still hangs out in the green more often then not.
[Keith Sommers] Also, “How old?” – curious. “What’s his daughter like?” Aodhan. Also, “Deedname is Oops? What was the punishment for?” Also, well; Danny has a problem with Kendra’s problem about beating kin. Keith’s eyes black. ” – sometimes it’s hard to keep control.” And she answers the other questions. He snorts out, as thoughtful as he ever gets. “So who’s worth respect and who isn’t?” Aw, look, the Silver Fang is asking the Bone Gnawer for her opinion on who is worth respect. And, lo, a star or two just fell from heaven. He must be mellow tonight, Keith; or particularly pleased with himself.
[Danny Jones] How Old. “I ain’t know – almost 40 probly. His kids like in high school or some such. I ain’t met her.”
Oops! “Yeah, s’her deedname. ain’t sure if it was punishment or what, never asked.” Was never much… inclined too.
She snorts at that and arches a brow. “I ain’t never beat a kin, an’ I won’t. It weren’t an out of control movement neither. She did it on purpose cuz the kin said something to her little fuckbuddy Lord. So it weren’t like she just lost control. She just ain’t think at all sometimes, an that ain’t right. I’m Gnawer. Someone fuckin beat up my kin an theys gonna face me. If ya can’t control ya fuckin self, keep to the Caern an take out ya rage on the Enemy.” Period.
Respect. “The Eagles. They’s worth respect and ain’t ya believe the shit folks say about em. Ya want theys story, ya ask em. They as stand up a group as I ever met. The Lords are all fuckin worthless. Most the Fianna – barrin the fury blooded Kendra – they’s good folks too. Thaney’s awesome an’ I think sometimes she’s fuckin brilliant. Kemp n Skadi – respect theys asses, or they’ll teach ya the real meanin of it. They deserve it too – honorable to a fault, the both of em.”
A lopsided grin. “An me. Cuz I got the rockin-est hair in the windy city…”
[Keith Sommers] His jaw clenches. His stare is fixed on her face while she speaks. Fixed, like an etymologist’s needle. In the end, he just nods; cracks his neck. Melodious bones. “You don’t suck as much at basketball as you let on,” is what he offers, in response to all of that.
[Danny Jones] She laughs at that and shrugs. “I ain’t played in a long time. I got lucky. Used to play with my boys back home when Mama Anne was sick of us gettin under foot an’ sent us to the playground.”
[Keith Sommers] He has finished (devoured) the donut. Now, he’s hungry. Very, very. “You want to get food?”
[Danny Jones] “Ya ever met a Gnawer what ain’t?” Incredulous, that look. Even as she nods and stands. “Ain’t ate in like… 2 whole hours. I’m wastin away afore ya very eyes, see if i ain’t..”
[Keith Sommers] He frowns; it’s sudden, a slash, a lash: whip-lean. Deep. Impressive, yo. Then: “I didn’t think my introduction went on for quite that long; thought I saw you with a donut in your mouth. Two hours?” There, then: he’s up on his feet, one smooth, liquid motion. Masters of the martial arts unsheathe swords like that: so smooth. He’s a weapon, this boy; that’s all.
[Danny Jones] She laughs and shrugs her pack back into place. “Bah – a donut ain’t eatin. That’s just… snackin. Barely. Hell I already done worked that off jus’ by talkin!” She shoves her hands into the depths of her pockets, which causes jeans to have to cling to precarious hold on skinny hips.
[Keith Sommers] “You’re a girl,” he says, eyebrows raised. The expression is an innocent one, or perhaps just consciously naive; either way, it is there. He waits a beat for her response, then turns and crosses the court to gather up his sweater. It’s cold now, anyway.
[Danny Jones] She blinks. Then pulls out her t-shirt to look under it. Nods, and looks back at him. “Yup – got tits an’ everything… but what’s that got to do with anythin?” curious, and teasing that grin.
[Keith Sommers] He answers, casual, almost callously so, over his shoulder: “Don’t girls have, I dunno, a gland that secretes limitless energy to talk.” Then shrugs on the sweater, pulls it down over his chest. Hair, as ruffled as a bird’s.
[Danny Jones] She laughs and shakes her head. “Nah. We jus’ make ya think so. Now thaney, see, she’s quiet a lot of the time. She lissens – an all serious like. Cept when she ain’t.” Makes perfect sense.
[Keith Sommers] He inhales; exhales, with a hiss and a chuckle. Basso profundo. Enter, devil. “So where’s a guy go to buy food this time of night?”
[Danny Jones] “Joe’s.” the answer, quick as ya please. “S’about 3 blocks thataway – 24 hour diner, old style food, filled with greasy goodness…” Her belly rumbles at just the thought…