[Danny Jones] She sits, suddenly, and Danny remains standing a moment, before she steps up on the bench seat, and turns to perch on the back. Lean muscles under the skin of a too-skinny frame lead her to curl, bend until forearms rest against her thighs, her hands clasped lightly between her knees.
That she’s still here, still talking, still listening is a testament to the strength the small Gnawer possesses. The pain of what she hoped, the one thing she allowed herself to indulge in has been taken away, and in truth would not have been – it’s all there, and yet she’s still here, still reaching out to the woman who by all rights should be named enemy. It’s an age far beyond her years that allows it. Her time with the Durante’s allowed her to recover some of her joy, give her back a bit of her stability…
…but it still ain’t easy. Being the good guy is far, far more difficult then being the bad.
She sighs softly, at the question, and the twist of her lips is wry, pained, slashed with the realizations of what she always hoped, what dreams could lead her to see, what wasn’t ever there. “He don’t know. When I was with him, all I wanted to do was help him, to hold his head above water until he could see again. Even what I felt, still feel, it weren’t ever so important as trying to help him see what he still had to offer, what strength he always had. He never asked – so I never told. Only thing I ever offered him from my past was why I felt compelled to be a raggie, instead of a dox.”
A soft chuckle, there. Sad, but amused. Sadly amused. “He called me special then, said that I reminded him of you sometimes, that I was strong, and he touched me – for the first and last time, and it weren’t nothing but a caress of face and hair… and still I hoped.. I prayed that he was finally seeing me.” And here, here’s where it all went wrong. “The next night, you showed up at the door, and I found out it weren’t ever me he ever saw at all. Leastwise, not like I wanted.”
She shakes her head, and sighs. “All I ever wanted was for Hunter to be happy. That’s all. He… he can’t be that with me an’ I know that. Probably always did, but it was easier to hope an’ not see, then to face it. Anyone who can give him happiness has my blessin cuz its all I can give. Everything else – it’ll all be locked up where it shoulda stayed to begin with. We’ll be friends again – ain’t worry me none there. It’ll always hurt – but life always does.”
Another sigh, soft and deep. “If he asks, if he wants to know, ain’t no harm in him knowin. It’s part of my story, part of the story they’ll tell over my grave when i can’t duck fast enough no more. Almost ain’t made it back the last time… still ain’t even know where I was – THAT memory Gaia seems content to keep from me, but leaves all this other fuckin shit to come back in force…” A snort, and the amusement is back. Gaia – she has a sense of humor. “Ain’t need to keep it from him. But I appreciate the offer.”
[Danny Jones] .
to Danny Jones
[Christina Drake] She listens as the Gnawer speaks — speaks frankly, all her pain and hopes [those dashed and those retained] made plain. The kinwomans lips form a firmly pressed line, soaking in words that will no doubt be trapped in the stronghold of her memory….listening for the sake of understanding. Listening in the [often vain] attempt to make sense of things. Her gaze doesn’t always stay on the younger woman [perhaps because she knows the intensity of her own eyes and, out of respect, doesn’t wish to subject the Ragabash to such scrutiny. not that she believes Danny couldn’t handle it.. but for the simple reason that it feels like an invasion.], often wandering slowly over her surroundings, taking in worn out faces, dirty places and all the rest of the ugliness so ever present on the surface in this part of the city. In some way she’s always found it to be refreshing — the reduction of hypocrisy; the fact that in the midst of such suffering [violence, greed, lust, vanity, humiliation, shame] you could still find things worth holding onto. Fighting for. And those precious, worthwhile life-moments are made all the more singular [beautiful, important] for their fleetingness.
As Danny’s words come to an end, the kinwomans blue eyes [varied and tempestual as the sea] slip back to her, raised up to look over at her companion [unlikely though that may be, given the situation], who looks so young, has seen too much, lost too much, but keeps moving. Her lips curve faintly at the tricksters variety of humour, shaking her head and brushing back loose tendrils of wheaten hair with the hand holding her cigarette — she’s lucky she dosen’t set her hair on fire.
“Hunter…” She breathes a sigh, shifting on the bench, moving her grocery bag to the side and hooking one foot up on the bench, an elbow perched atop the knee. “For someone so utterly brilliant, so infuritatingly perceptive, he can be damnably blind when he wants to be…. he’s always been that way, since we first met.” There is a surface of wryness to her husky words, tempered beneath by the subteranean strength of her undoubtable love for him… but, often, to love someone is to see their faults and accept them all the same. “We were… very young, Danny. Very young. It didn’t seem like that then, of course. Then we could take on anything. Then we had everything in the world to gain and prove and – it seemed – nothing to lose.“
Licking her lips, slightly chapped from the fluxuating temperatures and the oft present wind coming off the Lake, she inhales on her cigarette, careful with her words, enunciating and taking her time… “I can’t say what it’s like for you all… for my brother, for you, for the others who have the… gifts and curses that Hunter and I don’t. We are in some ways aware of the horrible things that go on beneath most other peoples noses, but never to the degree you and yours are. And even with our lines of work — Hunter with his delving into the minds of some purely sadistic fuckers and me, throwing myself into hell holes of human famine, disease and warfare or the even more twisted skeins of politics… still, you seperate yourself from that evil. You try to make a haven out of your home. And we did… we were both enthralled by our work, but more so by one another and utterly devoted to our daughter. Not perfect – never perfect, we fought something aweful sometimes – but truly commited….”
Her pupils dilate slightly, taking on the classic look of someone remembering a myriad of details, a symphony of images, tastes, touches and sounds. That they glisten [and, at the same time, burn] with the memories is only testimony of their potency.
“But you’ll know the way of it — as parents, we simply instinctively believe we will pass on before our children. Nothing prepares you for that blow. That loss. You know what it is to feel a child within you – to feel the nerves, the hopes, the fears, the promises you whisper to it at night when it stirs within you. And many men, men who stick by close throughout like Hunter did…. they hold their newborn daughters and they feel the same things… the overwhelming urge to protect. When it suddenly – violently – shatters…“
She allows the words to fade away along with her breath, clearing her throat at the end, a rough sound, swallowing back the tide, regaining her composure and… “…all I want if for him to be happy as well. It kills me to see how he has suffered. And, trust me… there are no gaurentees. I honestly don’t know if we’ll save our marriage… but I think we both know we have to try.“
She looks back the the Gnawer then, her gaze sharpening, clear, intent on her understanding. “I’m sure he knows the friend he has in you. And, for what it’s worth… I’m glad you have been there for him. It doesn’t ease your pain, I know… but it takes a hell of a woman to stick it out as you did and, in the end, still genunely want his happiness. Whatever else may happen…. well, you have my respect. And I do hope the two of you continue to be friends — he needs it. Our situation isn’t exactly… ah…. ” Her lips quirk, wry but honest. ‘… it isn’t exactly the best of situations… but please know that if Hunter think well enough of you to call you a trusted friend, then, well, I more than trust his judgement in that regard. From what I’ve seen for myself, you deserve it.”
[Danny Jones] She doesn’t look up, not really. She watches her the bench between her feet, her hands, her fingers that lift to tuck the new addition around her neck away under her shirt – the ring painted gold, guaranteed to turn the finger green if worn too long. Threaded on a thin leather strip and tied into a necklace. A reminder, a memory, a moment’s happiness bound into the toy babble gained from a vending machine. Feeling it slide cold against the skin, only to warm with the inherent heat of a body working overtime, all the time, it is comforting. It is a reminder that there are smiles, laughter, and happiness – mere moments, sure, and fleeting. But they are there.
Sometimes, sometimes she keeps moving because she simply cannot do anything else. It’s what she’s always done, it’s what she has to do, it’s what is bred into her very bones that shift and reshape, in her muscles that elongate and shorten and exhibit strength that no mortal man could achieve with years spent in the gym. It’s all she can do. Keep moving, keep fighting, keep trying.
“I understand,” she states finally, “what a blow it was, and is. I do. Ain’t never gonna understand how ya gave up, an’ that’ ain’t a slam, it’s just true. I couldn’t do it.. if I did, I’da suffered Hurano so long ago. I’ve more blood on m’hands then any of the Capt’n’s” back to the nickname now. Hunter is too… too.. to real. To intimate. He’s always been the Capt’n, always will remain so. “sickos and psychos. More enemies then friends, an’ that’s the only way I can look at it. But I ain’t able to give up. An’ to be honest… since we is bein so open n shit… that’s what worries me.”
A pause, and she finally looks at Christina. “Ya’ll got the past, and ya fightin for a future. But if ya give up again, if ya go back to the way ya was, it’ll kill him. An’ ya know I won’t never be able to forgive ya that. I spend so much time tryin to take care of him – an no, I ain’t gonna tell ya what all I done – but if ya do that again… I don’t know as I could save him. An’ I just ain’t ready to let go’a’im. So jus… just travel lightly – an take ya time. If it works out, good on ya. If it don’t, don’t let it be because ya gave up.”
[Christina Drake] She sucks in her breath through her teeth when Danny speaks of her ‘giving up’ — for a moment it may seem this conversation may well end up deteriorating as their last one did, a wall coming up rendering understand impossible while both clung to their own perviews.
Her features crease in a wince, a grimace… but she sucks down on her cancer-stick and forces herself to draw in a deeper, slower breath, releasing it after a held moment, closing her eyes, willing her shoulders to relax….
[cool it, drake. you sure as hell can’t fault the womans observations.]
“Guilt, Danny. Maddening, horrifying, soul-slamming guilt.” The first word is spoken like grit, but the rest mellow, steeped in the sad – and harsh – admittance of her blame. “There’s a lot about the situation you don’t know. That Hunter didn’t know until recently. Bad choices and worses prices to pay for them….. I never once in a million years dreamed I might shut down the way I did. But, then again, I never once dreamed anything would turn out the way it did. I’m ashamed of it.” She snorts, a harsh sound, blue-wraith smoke slipping from her nostrils like some small dragon.
With a grunt she rises just as suddenly as she sat down, stamping out the last of her smoke, hefting up the grocery bag and shking her hea slightly to remove tendrils of hair from her eyes as she looks to Danny, her eyes dark with her own demons, but not shielded… strong enough, now at least, to stand up to the consequences of her actions. ‘… but I’ve faced that hell and I made it out again. I’m not anywhere near proud of it… but now that I know what it can be, trust me.. I have absolutely no intention of going back there again. I know it doesn’t seem that way… but Hunter was in large part the only thing that got me back at all. I won’t just give up… ultimately we’ll both have a lot of tough choices to make… but giving up completely… it’d kill us both, Danny.“
Absently she dashes a hand over her eyes [she’s half sick and tired of crying, half amazed that after everything there are still tears that want to fall] and snorts once more, this time her lips curving into an attempt at levity — wry, but good humoured at the root. “‘Sides, you’re a hot little ticket, but I have no doubt you wouldn’t even have to break a sweat to kick my ass from here back to N.Y.C…. ugh, come on… ” Hoisting the bag again she cants her head in the direction they wre originally heading. “You should say hello to Renko. He sniffs around for you sometimes.. when Hunter isn’t there. When Hunter is there that beautiful smelly beast of a mutt doesn’t think of anything else. The only other person who got anywhere near that sort of adoration was Mandy…‘
There. She said her daughters name. She didn’t even hesitate… nevermind that she winces back the flare of paradoxal, painful, exquisite joy and pain that the name invokes. Small steps, drake. Small steps.
“…but she was like that.”
[Danny Jones] She just nods at the first bit, accepting it and choosing not to continue to drive the point home, to twist and jab the knife in again and again – even if part of her wants too. ” There’s a wry smirk at the hot little ticket comment, and the allusion to her strength. “Ya did see the fire escape, right? Ya ain’t half as strong as that…” lips twist into a little grin. She’s small, the new trickster, but gaia knows she’s stronger then most, in many different ways.
When invited to continue, she nods and stands with a soft chuckle. “I miss the damn furball. Ain’t near as warm sleepin now as it was on the couch with him fighting for room there too. I got some pizza bones in my pack for him too. S’the only reason he loves me, ya know – I always got treats.”
She shifts her backpack to settle more comfortably on her shoulders. She starts to reach for the bag – but again, doesn’t, instead pushing her fingers through her hair then hooking a finger in that ring again, playing with it idly in one hand, while the other shoves deep into her pocket. Then there’s a little grin. Sly. Truly born of the dark moon.
“So. Wanna really get the Capt’n thinkin bout somethin else for a bit? Steada all the work ya’ll gotta do?” Wicked, that smile. It’s a prankster’s smile that twist of her lips, that amused glint in her eyes. “I kin tell ya the story of this here ring, an’ yeh can use it to continue my lil prank, this time on’im…”
[Christina Drake] “I’ve seen the fire escape,” She intones dryly, her lips maintaining an fetching lilt, half smirk [its undertones sultry, moist, but such is simply the nature of the woman — depending on the tide] “I often bemoan the poor fire escapes general state. And I amire the fire escape for not crumbling entirely to pieces. It’s one hell of a fire escape. Should there ever be a next time, though, try not to tackle something that, you know, might potentially be useful in saving lives… though, between you and me,” wrly conspirital, “..I doubt the fire escape was in such fine shape even before you tore into it. Years of soot and grease on it… you could plummet to your death on that thing.“
As Danny gathers herself up to continue moving she shakes her head, lightly blowing strands of hairs out of her eyes — it seems she spends quite a lot of time clearing her hair from obstructing her vision. “I bring Renko treats. I shower him with treats… but he’s on to me and, so, the only ‘treat’ he accepts is that of my shoes. He is somewhat mollified in knowing he has rendered my feet a bit more suseptable to the weather.“
Onward they proceed, and the older woman glances to the trickster, reckognizing that glint and unable to keep from a hint of it seeping into her own visage [such is the gift and curse of being fairly empathic — the moods of others tend to creep into your own bones.]… she glances down at the ring. “Yes, you’ve been toying with that ring on and off…” She chuckles lightly, low and ever-so-minutely rasped. “I’m not sure if pulling pranks on ones estranged husband is just what a counselor would advise, but I’m always game for a story. I love stories. I live for stories… outside of fucking up my own.”
As though to accent that last point, she barely manages to forgo a misstep on a curb as they cross an alley-way, josteling the bag slightly — for all that her own skills of perception can rival her husbands, Christina always was and always would be somewhat accident prone. Muttering a frustrated, mildly chagrined curse – in some tongue entirely not English – she rolls her eyes heavenward. “…never was heroine material.“
“So,…” Glancing down at the ring once more and then back to the small Gnawer before deigning to wisely keep an eye on the filfthy side walk. “Let’s hear it… what did you do, get a ring from a cracker jack box and convince some googly eyed guy to pretend to make an honest woman out of you?“
Her intuition is, at times, rather uncanny… just not always in her favour.
[Danny Jones] You could plummet to your death on that thing.. “Well, maybe YOU could. Takes a bit more then that for streetrats like me.” Said with a bit of a grin, testing the humor, forcing it at times, but mostly just trying. They can’t ever, bout nothin, writing on her grave that she never tried.
Christina stumbles, and this time there’s no taking no for an answer. A hand shoots out to cup the other woman’s elbow, steading her, while free hand takes the bag. “Will ya let me carry that for crissakes? Shit. Wouldn’t wanna risk the food…” And yes, the food comes before twisted and broken unprotected by decent footwear ankles. Must give Renko an extra treat for the whole shoes business. He’s a good mutt, he is.
Once she has the bag, and Christina has been steadied, and they walk again, she sticks her tongue out at Christina. “If you MUST know, it was the Crane Game vending machine at the Stop n Go on 4th, not crackerjacks.” Because the importance is all in the details, right?
But she’s chuckling, a little, and falls into the story. “I mentioned everyone was rushin to hook my fine ass up, right? Well, one of’em’s Rafi. He’s family, an’ I already tole the Capt’n he was lookin to set me up with his brother. Made the Capt’n go all protective an’ shit an’ ask for his last name so’s he could run him through the shit at the station. I swear, every name I ever mention to him gets processed just in case. Like I can’t break th’Capt’n if I wanted to too. But anyway” and yeah, it amuses her more then annoys her, that’s clear. It’s kinda cute, the way he tries to protect her however he can. S’part of what she loves about him.
Anyway… “The surname’s Durante. For reference. So Rafi, he’s been buggin his brother to come meet me an’ shit, and so when he does, then Rafi was all “call her. call her. call her.” an so Santi – Santiago’s his name – calls an’ we go out for milkshakes just to shut up Rafi. They both good guys. Rafi’s the one what stood by me till I got my memory back’n’shit.”
My but she can ramble on…
“So we go out an’ we start talkin and we’s gettin along, so we decide to pull my first prank as a NoMoon, on Rafi. We call they’s Mama, Mama Isabel, an let her in on it, then find a place to crash for the night where we” no pause, don’t pause, pausing would be bad and a dead giveaway “watched movies all night” Whew. “and then we got these rings, and waited until Rafi noticed them. He went BALLISTIC… screamed in Spanish for like 30 minutes straight an’ I ain’t understand a fuckin word of it, Santi had to translate, but soon he couldn’t even translate that fast, an then when we finally fessed up, an’ Mama tole him it was all a joke, Rafi was just floored and it was by far the most successful prank I coulda pulled….”
Inhale. She doesn’t breathe when she eats, why would someone think she might when she’s tellin a story like this? “So – ya should ask the Capt’n, if he ran the name Durante, cuz ya heard some rumors of my gettin hitched. Just to see how far his protective bones go…” Cue that wicked lopsided grin once more.
[Christina Drake] In some way, Chris can’t help but look at the Gnawer in wonder. It shouldn’t surprise her — she is of the tribe, after all, and they more than make up for their share of eccentrics — but it was neigh on fascinating to just witness such a profoundly adept skill in absolutely verbage. She herself is no slouch in that department, but, christ… she almost finds herself breathing faster just to make up for the Gnawers apparent lack thereof.
…it can’t help but flicker a sheen of laughter in her eyes, but doesn’t distract her enough to give up the grocery bag. She’s stubbourn as all hell when it comes right down to it [given that Hunter is no push over, its a wonder they never killed one another] and she merely shakes her head, mumbling that she will be all the more protective of the precious food, dimissing the matter to better listen to the ensuing ramble-rant-tale.
[the talk of her husbands protectiveness darkens her eyes again – that rip current of guilt, remorse, frustration threatening to drown – not because he felt protective of the garou beside her, but becaue of her understanding as to why it’s so important to him to be protective — too make up for the failure he believes he commited]
Finally, when the woman does actually pause for breathe, Chris waits a moment just to make sure it wasn’t merely a token nod to vital functions before continuing on… when it’s clear Danny is actually waiting for her own input, she makes a low noise of amusement deep in her throat, shaking her head once more… “Good lord, woman…. next time try breathing every now and again, least I hyperventilate trying to do it for you.” It is mildly spoken, teasing… this continued two-step they dance of trying to keep things light and friendly. All in all they are doing well, really. All things considered. “… and, god, I would have loved to have seen an explosion like that – for future notice, if you ever want to learn some choice phrases to throw Rafael’s way, just let me know. I know a fair bit of Spanish.” That is the understatment of the century, but now isn’t the time to go into her extensive list of languages with which she is fluent.
Then, “It’s a damned good prank. Once upon a time I wouldn’t have hesitated to help you out in stretching it, but… I’m not sure pulling Hunter’s strings – as a lark or otherwise – would behoove me right now. Not to mention, to be perfectly frank, I never could lie to the man. Bastard always seemed to know one way or another.” From her tone it is clear she isn’t talking about dark, evil lies like, say, having an affair — she means the little pranks and teasing couples play. “Hide some things occasionally, yes… but try to pull a fabrication and more often than not he’d have me spilling out the truth in a pathetically short time.”
[Danny Jones] She fought against giving up the bag, but with a snort, finally allows it. But – her gaze says – one little speck hits the sidewalk an she’ll throw Christina over her shoulder and cart them BOTH the rest of the way and won’t THAT be embarrassing…
…but she grins, a little, as her ability to talk comes up. “Back home with m’boys, ya had to talk fast to get a word in. I excelled.” And thank gaia that little bit was glossed over jus’ fine without the woman noticing. Score! (…an score she did… two years is a long fuckin time to wait n hope, after all.) “Dude!” Topic shift, slight. “Ya speak it too? The fuck, am I the only one what don’t? Any choice phrases would be awesome. Santi’s gonna teach me some too. First one bein ‘Shut up’ cuz ya think I can talk? Rafi’s deed name is ‘Talks a blue streak’ so there’s that.”
A pause, thoughtful, then a nod. “S’better comin from me, I suppose. If it comes up an’ all, I’ll just tell him I got hitched. We’ll see what happens. He wants to meet Rafi an’ Santi anyway – that’d be a hella introduction, huh?”
A soft chuckle, and a roll of her shoulders into a shrug.
[Christina Drake] The gaze – the warning – is fully noted, and the woman’s own gaze responds in kind: oh, just, try it. But it is an empty threat, really… denoted by the fact that she then snorts slightly – humoured – and clutches the bag all the more securely. Being carted home definitelty wouldn’t be a highlight to her evening… and they don’t need to degenerate into a cat fight; they both know damned well who would win.
Sensitive lips curve into a lopsided grin, brief but honest, as she prattles on about Spanish and Rafi’s deed name… “‘Shut up’ is easy… Callate ” She repeats the word agai, slowly, her enunciation pristine, “ or a simple Silencio – Silence! – would also suffice. Of course, you could always fall to ending each of his own ramblings with a nod an a serene ‘y tu mama, tambien’ but given that his mama was such a good sport, I doubt you want to go dragging her into things. When all else fails, insult his testicles… that always goes well with hispanics.” The curve to her lips is lightly wicked, “Telling him his balls are the general girth of an infants should work wonders.“
They are nearing the building – not so bad as some in the area, but certainly no paraise – in which Hunter makes his home and she moves with a greater ease, despite the overflowing gorcery bag, this area at least well and truly commited to her memory.
“Well, if nothing else, I won’t ruin the surprise. Least you decide to play such a prank on me… what, is there some kind of quota for your moon?” She tosses in with a half-wink. “If so, let me know when you are trying to cram in to reach it… I’ll steer clear.”
[Danny Jones] Callate, she replies, and echos the others – except for the Mama. “No one insults Gnawer Mama’s – not without findin theyselves at the wrong end of my fist.” It’s said easily, and nicely, and with that same lopsided grin. Some things just is. Simple, that.
The testicles gets a giggle, too – because older then her years or not, some words will always make a teenage girl giggle. Testicles is one of them. She tucks her hands back into the pocket of her jeans. If she is wary coming here again, it is not writ on her face, or even in her stance. Easy, steady as she goes, that’s Danny. Leastwise, that’s Danny right now, an’ she aims to keep it that way.
She chuckles at the last comments though, and blinks up innocently. “What, a quota? Me prank ya? Heaven forbid. Sides” and this gets another lopsided grin. “I already ply Renko with treats for chewin up ya shoes. Simple, yet effective.” nods, even if it weren’t never that way, but sure might be from now on.
She shrugs again, and chews on the inside of her cheek a minute. “I ain’t sure, still new to the whole Raggie schtick, even though I been accused of bein one since I was little. Was raised with em, an’ a whole buncha other reasons what made me lean this way an go so far as to declare it official. AIn’t make me very trusted round the bigwigs, but that ain’t no big change. My mouth runs away with the truth too often to make em comfortable.”
She looks up, then, as if she could see the darkened moon above, pulling, tugging at her senses even under the streetlamps, the smog, the things that keep even the fullest moon from view most nights. It’s there, the siren song calling to her soul, the babynew raggabash aching to run naked under the fountain and frolic in the lack of light… It brings a smile, one of wonder, one of delight, a sense of strength before she clears her throat and looks back at Christina before she opens the door to Hunters building, to let the other woman proceed her inside.
She don’t say how hard it is to walk across that threshold, where she shared the one and only kiss – unreturned – with the Capt’n. She don’t say how easy it is for her feet to remember the way upstairs, or how she could walk it in her sleep, how simply touching this building is what brought her memory back. She don’t say anything, when they reach the door upstairs and she pulls her own keys from her pocket to unlock it, and let them in, and puts those keys back into her own pocket once more.
What she does say on arrival is this. “Renko! Commere boy! Mama’s got treats!” about 0.125 seconds before she’s lept on and knocked over by the big overgrown mutt. They’s friends, Renko an’ her, and she certainly don’t say nothin about how sometimes it still feels like home.
Cuz it ain’t. An no matter of wantin will fix that. So she just ain’t say it. She just lets it slide on by.