[Gina McClaren] *The docks off magnificent mile had absorbed very little of that glitzy district’s charm. At day they were bustling and sunny, Sky scrapers mirrored back at themselves in the cold, body laden water of the great lake. Like the lake itself however, everything in Chicago was a coat of fresh paint on old corruption. Docks that long ago had been constructed to the north of the mile were asthetically pleasing as they were structurally unsound. Bright, white veneered wooden fingers jutting into the chill of the murky lakewater, unattended by the bloated yuppies that bobbed aboard their pleasure crafts further down the mile.
No, on a moonless night like tonight, one could find some peace and quiet alone at the end of a ricketty dock. Find some solace in biting wind and freezing water, even if it left a greasy trail on caramel skin.
Gina stands, yellow sundress soaked through and stained, long hair a harpy’s tangle down her back, facing down the night with a bottle of high proof vodka and a grim light to dark eyes. About every 30 seconds she’d pick a stone from the small pile beside bare feet, and hurl it at the water with a hiss of contempt.*
[Marni] No one knows the city like a gutter rat, especially one born under the hidden moon. Marni prowls the streets the gritty underbelly, the very corruption under so many coats of new paint. She knows it all, breathes and fights and loves and lives in it all.
This is her home.
The docks aren’t much different, and nearby where gina is drinking and tossing rocks and showing general discontent, the Gnawer sits with her ass on the dock, her back against a piling, one foot on the dock, the other dangling toward the water. There’s no telling how long she’s been there, how long she’s watched the kin tossing event before she speaks up…
And it’s not about the throwing, the anger, the tangled hair, anything like that. No, it’s about the bottle. “…man I miss alcohol…”
[Gina McClaren] Then fookin ‘ave some.
*Dark eyes skate sideways. No love lost for the streetrat, her voice nearly skin scorching in its general unfocussed rancor. In her drunken haze it occurs to a pikey that she might just know that woman. Vodka is set down with a hollow clunk on weatherbeaten wood. Cap long since lost to wandering, sloshed and aimless. With a frown Gina sets about fathoming where she’d seen the woman from. A rock gripped tight in her palm. Studying Marni’s features with a squint.*
Ah kain ye. Dinnae ah?
[Marni] She snorts, and she lets her knee fall to the side, falling level with the dock. At the same time she tugs her shirt a little, tightening it against the obvious bulge of her belly. “Can’t.”
She won’t do anything to risk the baby.
She snorts, slightly, and nods. “Yeah. s’Marni. I’m a friend of Edwin’s.” A nod toward the bottle. “What’s the occasion?”
[Gina McClaren] Och ye. Yer the preggers wan wha Lukas threatened.
Fookin gem ee’ es. Well.. suppose any friend o Edwin’s es bla bla bla.
*Her movements sloppy, her usually welcoming charm insincere, Gina flops to a seated position with an angry clatter of bangles. Long wet hair slaps the planks as the buxom strider kin looks skyward, trying to make out stars through smog and light pollution. She smells faintly of spices and roads less travelled, but mostly of vodka. Humorless laughter as she singsongs.*
Know where Edwin es taenecht? Could use hes help plannin a fookin murder.
[Marni] Her gaze darkens, and the corner of her lip curls into a snarl… “He fuckin’ touches me or the baby and I’ll yank his testicles through his throat and choke him with ’em.” A gem, indeed.
She shakes her head, and lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Nah, ain’t seen him in a while. Been keepin to myself mostly. Who we killin?”
[Gina McClaren] Ye’d be welcome tae et. Yer nae the ferst preggers lass ee’s threatened. Reckon ee an’ tha glasswalker betch Sinclair ran a wee Coggie kin out the Brotherhood round when she were due tae pop. Scared her near brainless.
Reckon ee ‘as a hate on fer anywan wha can make a babe. On account o – well…. How long him an tha manky twat o a blonde been mated, an’ still nae child?
Bout the time ee’ ran ye out the room, ee tauld me ee’d beat me tae death wi’ a boz o’ rubbers, effen ah were preggies wi’ his theurge’s bairn.
*Poison. Pure and simple. The pikey had one helluva a tongue on her, a voice that made one want to pay attention, made one listen. Tonight, a person was listening to a full years worth of venom. Maybe more. Exotic features pinched darkly, she shakes her head. Maybe talking drunkenly about murdering your warder, who might end up dead if Edwin actually finds out what he’s done, was a bad idea. Even to a vodka soaked brain.*
Nae.. Nae killin. Jes a filthy fook o a Strider has me ire oop. Wouldnae kill em. But ah wouldnae cry effen the wyrm swallowed hem either. Bastard[b][/b].
[Marni] Marni just arches a brow, as Gina launches into the tirade, and then she’s doing the unthinkable. Laughing. “Manky twat. You just became my favorite Strider EVER… Right before finally allowed m’challenge for Ray, I ran into said Manky twat. Asked her jus’ when her big man was gonna get down t’doin his duty. She ran away. Fuckin’ coward.”
She shakes her head at the rest, and then sits up. “Wait, ya was doin his own pack an’ tribe mate, an’ the fucker threatened ME? That honorless fuckin two-faced hypocritical asshole!”
She settles back against the piling again and looks at her curiously. “What’e do?”
[Gina McClaren] Reckon ee’s gotten a folk raped. Once by fomori – or twice, considerin there were tae o em, and now twice by his very own self. Reckon ee jes went about et different.
*Its spoken through a flare of blunt, white teeth. Kin as feral as she’s going to get, talking about her warder, who she’d like dearly to see dead. Disgraced. Or at least kicked the shit out of repeatedly. A shake of her head as she fights off an unpleasant sneer. The pikey snorts and takes up her bottle once more. In need.*
An aye. Were shaggin hes packmate. Nae moore. Reckon ee ‘ad a chat wi’ the felly, an we’re nae moores. Ah’m left wi’ fookin Thoth. Tha Strider.
*Her own tribes name hurled like a curse as she drowns rancor in booze.*
Ye’ve yer Ray now?
[Marni] “he got whoWHAT?” This brings her upright again, that snarl is back again. She don’t take kindly to that sort of stuff – too many of her kind force their attentions on kin, and it just ain’t right. Gnawers ain’t that way. Never were, never will be. Kin is family. Kin is all they have.
“Wassis name.” A quiet demand.
Then, she switches the conversation to Ray, and Marni can’t help the lil smile… “Yeah. E’s mine. Honorably, no matter what the fuck that dickhead says.”
[Gina McClaren] Good. Good ye’ll ave somewan. Ray’s a darlin. Here’s hopin yer babe doesnae ‘ave a speck o breedin tae set her apart.
*As strange as the well wishes were, they were sincere. Better yet. Let the sprite never know its kin. A hard swallow of vodka, offered once more to Marni before Gina remembers the bulge and shrugs in half assed apology. *
Fook. Well… reckon Thoth’n me went entae the woods after ah swore aft Edwin an’ aul me part time darlins. A bondin sort o theng. Hem hopin fer a mate oor some sooch. Ran entae three ghouled oop wyrm fellies. Thoth were beaten down, n’ … well they had their fun wi me.
*Another hard swig of vodka to chase that one down, Indian woman’s eyes shut tight against more than the burn. Her lips press tight and she inhales, before looking to Marni, suddenly weary.*
Well.. after tha ah tauld hem he couldnae take care o me, an ah’d nae be hes mate. Ee said ee’d ‘ave tae commit suicide out o shame. Ah stell said nae. Ee tauld me tae gawn back tae me shadowlord whore mongers, threw a bag o dicks o’ me, an cursed me frem tha tribe. Reckon ee changed hes fookin mind though, on account o he came back sweet as pie, n’ used hes damned.. mating musk.. bullshite on me.
*Somehow the rest of the story has lost some if its verve and venom in the repeating. Shame stealing the momentum from her angry tirade as she singsongs quietly to her lap.*
Should o said Strider be damned from the get go… Striders are bad people darlin. Bad as they come.
[Marni] “Ray ain’t gotta speck a breedin hisself. He be Gnawer as much as I am now, the Bean’ll be the same.” She pats her belly that holds more than a bean sized babe now – maybe she should take to callin it a soccer ball, instead… nah.
Then Gina goes into her story, and Marni’s expression darkens as she listens. Then… “Ain’t right, it ain’t. I kin arrange t’have somethin done, if ya want me too. S’yer choice.”
…though he’ll be finding sleepin a bit rough when she finds him anyway…
[Gina McClaren] *A helpless laugh, palms up, bangles clinking. Altogether a mean, unpleasant sound.*
Ye kain a way tae scrub aft thes fookin… Owl ..mark.. Bullshite? Ah’d be pleased as punch tae never see a Strider again, so long as ah live. Nae certain thes entire Werewolf theng es sooch a fine idea anyhow. Most o em are baddies themselves. Be nice tae leave em tae hell an’ say fook em. Maybe et’d be better.
… Nae offense.
*A rock plunks violently into the water, and the curvy kin winces. Remembering just who she’s speaking to a sentence or two too late to save herself. Damn Ragabashes. Even their rage was sneaky.*
Fooket.
[Marni] She chuckles and waves absently in Gina’s direction. “Ain’t none taken. I ain’t none too fond a’my own kind an awful lot too. Ain’t able t’take ya breedin away though. They find ya no matter where ya is. Problem bein, they’s assholes like that no matter where ya are, ya know? Even if ya tell th’true to take a fuckin’ hike, there’s the mundane’s who kin be just as bad.”
She shrugs, and chuckles sadly again. “Like t’tell them to take a flying leap m’self. Lots of times. Specially lately.”
[Gina McClaren] Ah’d prefer tae push em.
*Spoken again to the slow drying fabric of her dress, stretched between her knees. Gina snerks, but the expression does little to shake the insidious tendrils of shame coiled tight around a battered heart. Teeth clenched, she pushes unsteadily to her feet.*
Yer welcome tae hang yer hat o tha flophouse effen ever ye need. Yer man were tha wan wha bought et afty-aul.
Ah’m gintae find a safe place tae bed doown.
[Marni] She snorts. “Can Lukas an’ his mangy twat be first?” It’s said with a wry grin, and then she studies Gina for a long moment.
Then, decision made. “Come on. You kin stay with me an’ Ray tonight. There’s a chin deep bathtub with all th’bubbles ya want, a soft robe, an’ a softer couch.”
[Gina McClaren] [and fade to couch comandeering]
[Marni] (whoo! Thanks for playin :) )