[John Brendan Cavanagh] There’s a small street full of shops in one of those “transitional” neighborhoods bordering the Lakeview neighborhood, surrounded by three or four story condos rather than the grand towers closest to the lake. Here are single family homes, old apartment rehabs, brownstones turned into tenements turned back into brownstones, close enough to be biking distance to the office parks of downtown, walking distance to the El.
One street, at the heart of a small neighborhood that has made the transition only half-way, is home to café Lulu. A sturdy brick storefront – circa 2002 or 2003 – has added significant frontage to an older single family home. In contrast to the smart, clean break, the big modern windows, the home to which it attaches is an old traditional home, a smaller version of the early 20th century four-squares that dominant certain neighborhoods, with creamy yellow siding and bright blue shutters that date from the same period as the dining room addition on the front of the house.
There’s a metal sculpture on the room of the storefront, a stylized coffee cup with steam rising, left over from the restaurant’s last incarnation as more of a coffee-bar/bakery.
The lights are still on inside, a few people linger at the tables. The floor staff are refilling salt shakers and cleaning up their stations as they wait for closing. The whole bottom story of the house is devoted to the restaurant, and rather commerical looking double-doors are set into the side of the house toward the back.
They are open tonight, propped there by a pair of milk crates. Music drifts out from the kitchen area, some Spanish incarnation of K’Naan’s Waving Flag just now.
There are a handful of picnic tables in the side yard, umbrellas shoved into the center slots, furled now. Someone’s been working on the fence that defines it, too, replacing the rotting planks, repairing those that are salvageable, though the fence is long – the full length of a full-size lot – and the work is less than a quarter done. In the back, on an old parking slab repurposed as a basketball court, the sound of a basketball hitting the concrete.
JB palms the ball with his big hands, not dribbling most, just shooting, relaxing into the remembered stance, going through all the motions of a jump shot, waiting for the familiar swish of the net, then chasing after the ball in a handful of quick steps to repeat it again.
[Kyle] After his meeting with Tsi’la and Marni, Kyle ended up just wandering around again. Now with his hair tied back he looked a little less like he’d been mugged. He was still covered in dusty patches from his days work but it didn’t seem to bother him. The soft jungle from the straps he hadn’t secured on his boots are added to the solid thud of his footsteps. Top to toe in black with the pale skin and slightly sunken eyes, he looked like a typical goth…except for the fact he had a smile on his face and seemed cheerful when passing people.
[John Brendan Cavanagh] The restaurant’s name is scrawled over the front windows, and there’s a sign swinging from an iron-worked arm. Inside, the colors are warm and inviting, a scattering of lights, a casual ambience. The menu posted in the window is reasonably priced, and the disclaimer at the bottom promises that 75% of the plate will be locally sourced during the harvest season, with 55% local sourcing even in the wintertime.
The front door opens, and a casually dressed couple leaves, arm in arm. The woman is carrying a small cardboard box, white, tied with brown string, holding it carefully as they go. John Brendan stops working on his jump shot long enough to respond as the man calls out Brilliant man, thanks. followed by, When are you getting that beer and wine license?
Ignore the open bottle he has set aside on the picnic table, on the seat rather than the eating surface.
He’s not dressed for basketball, JB. His short-sleeved white chef’s jacket has a few suspicious looking spatters on it at this hour, and he has unbuttoned the top handful of buttons to reveal a black t-shirt beneath. Old jeans, worn through the thighs and knees complete the ensemble, ending in a pair of Converse sneakers.
“Soon, man, soon – ” JB replies, with a good-natured grin. He waves to the couple as they leave, and says, “Hey man,” to Kyle in that casual, passing way before picking up the basketball and going for another shot.
[Kyle] Twirls around the couple as he avoids colliding into them. Good thing he was paying attention or there’d have been a few choice words thrown around for sure. A casual bow to the pair and he glances over to John. A casual wave before making his way over to him. Stopping at a distance so he can still do his own thing but close enough so that he can speak without having to try and yell. His voice almost a whisper as he reaches up to pull some hair that had slipped between his neck and the black leather collar he wears.
“Hey there. How’s it going tonight?”
HE seems relaxed and not phased that he doesn’t know John
[Rory] She’d been on patrol, and practicing, and now? Now the fiery redhead is simply walking. She doesn’t do anything to draw attention to herself, but undoubtedly, she gets it anyway – those curls, the freckles, the pale skin…
…and the rage. So much rage bundled up into such a shy, retiring, quite girl…
Her hands are tucked into the pockets of her jeans, which are paired with a simple t-shirt on one end, and flipflops on the other. There’s a pack hitched over one shoulder, that is heavier than it looks. She carries it as if there is only feathers inside, though as she slips to the side to avoid the couple, it clanks against the bricks of the nearby wall – suggesting something heavy inside.
[Alexa Thanos] She had come to Cafe Lulu towards closing time. In truth she thought that it might already be closed by the time she got there, but she was pleasantly surprised to see that the lights were still on. The pack isn’t on her shoulders and she’s not carrying it around like last time, but she’s still in a pair of jeans that have to have been washed a million times over the last year, faded and well worn to fit her frame. Her t.shirt is yellow, of all colours, with a print of a bulldog wearing sunglasses on the front, the black ink of it long faded towards a blue gray, and her boots have been traded for some canvas shoes.
From across the road she’s watching,standing behind a parked car with her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. Her dark mane hair flows down the length of her back in messy tendrils of wide curls, making her face look slender the rest of her more lean.
Kyle is familiar. Rory is not. John, in his chefs shirt, looks different.
[John Brendan Cavanagh] Truthfully, John’s a bit nonplussed when the young goth leaves the sidewalk and crosses the recently mown grass to the makeshft court – the concrete parking pad isn’t big enough to make even a regulation half court, and the hoop and backboard are one of those portable kind, with the adjustable height. The base and pole are rusting, recycled from somewhere else, and the backboard is peeling in places, rust showing through the seams, but the netting is new.
That moment of surprise is as easily read on his features as everything else. The man has one of those open faces; he couldn’t lie, one imagines, to save his life. Still, he recovers quickly, giving Kyle an engaging grin as he reaches to rebound the ball again.
“Just blowing off some steam, man.” The kinsman has closely cropped brown hair, and a native sort of stubble darkened by a full day without shaving. Briefly, he glances at Kyle’s t-shirt. He’s learned to read the alterna-kids by their t-shirts, looking for a band’s name, or a festival. “You from around here?”
He’s not unobservant. Rory on the sidewalk draws his attention, a look behind Kyle. And Alexa, across the street, behind a car gets a slightly longer look, brows drawn as something about her features from a distance in the shadows hits a chord of memory.
Back to Kyle, holding out the basketball now, palming it one-handed. “Wanna shot?”
[Kyle] There’s no signs of any branding of his clothing at all. Most of his clothing is well worn with some patches in various places where the fabric finally wore through and were covered over. But the strangest thing is the way he seems to always have a smile on his face.
“Long night I take it? Have friends in the area, thought I’d pay them a visit but they’re out partying.”
Shrugs as he gives a slight cough. His voice still barely noticable so he makes sure to look at John directly.
“Couldn’t shoot hoops to save myself. Never did make the gym teams in school.”
Grins as he chuckles softly.
[Rory] She flicks a gaze up as John looks her way, and then past her to someone else. She looks down, quickly – then peeks through reddish lashes again as she recognizes him for what he is… it’s faint, not near the slap of [wasted] breeding she holds within her skin, but enough to know.
Yet she hesitates… chewing her lower lip absently, before finally taking a step toward the restaurant, and him. She was looking for some new work anyway, right? Right…
[Alexa Thanos] Skirting around the car, she slides her hands out of her pocket and glances up and down the street before she’s walking across it. Kyle has engaged in conversation with the other man, it seems, and she takes this as some sort of open invitation. Her approach is unhurried, lean, long legs in a comfortable stride, until she’s on the same side of the road as the rest of them, coming to stand at the edge of the grass.
Her glance to Rory is brief, her look at the back of Kyle’s head is longer.
She doesn’t approach like the others, but stands off on the fringes. Anyone looking her way gets a small smile from her and a lift of her hand in a wave at waist height. Just a gesture of fingers really.
[John Brendan Cavanagh] “Yeah?” There’s no rock band on the front of Kyle’s t-shirt. Even goths run in tribes, right. Some gear themselves up in Marilyn Manson tees, others memorialize Rob Zombie. Some go old school, wearing reproduction Sisters of Mercy concert tees, or Slipknot or Rasputina or Dresden Dolls or – or – Kyle’s clothing is just worn through, patched over.
John Brendan is a big guy, 6’2″ or 6’3″, with broad shoulders and a high-school athlete’s physique. He’s not ripped as he might’ve been once, but he’s not yet gone to fat, and there’s a certain clear strength in his forearms as he moves his palm, lifts the ball and shoots. “Never played in high school or college. Had to work, you know – family. But there was always a game of pick-up something going on.” There are tattoos on his ams. A series of chef’s knives on the right forearm, inside, and an intricate tribal pieces crawls up his left arm, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his jacket.
This time, when he reaches to rebound the ball, he tucks it against his flank rather than palming it. Rory’s pausing in front of the restaurant, shy, before she starts over the gras. Alexa pauses at the edge. John Brendan’s gaze touches on Rory, a brief, furrowing of his brow, in thought, then Alexa, lingering at the fringes. He lifts his chin to her in clear invitation, a backward jerk of his head, then turns back to Kyle. “You hungry, man?”
He’s made certain assumptions, there. And he’s not shy about them, nor abou the question. His voice drops just hair, though, in case Kyle does care about those assumptions – that he’s homeless, that he’s a runaway of some sort. That he hasn’t had a decent meal in a month.
[Rory] His gaze touches on her – and she does the unthinkable for someone who burns as she does… she blushes. She tucks her head, hiding behind her curls, and blushes, until she is near enough for her voice to carry. Even then, it’s a single word in greeting for the two of them – the unknown kin, and Kyle, who shes met once or twice.
“Hi.”
Single words are easier.
[Kyle] “Last game I played, they wanted to use me as the ball.”
Gives a soft laugh as he nods absently. Given his slight build and almost skeletal features it wasn’t too hard to imagine people attempting that with him. HE was about to say something when he felt someone looking at him. That slight tinge of rage giving his hunch more grounds for him to turn around. Spotting Alexa he gives a wave and broad smile then notices Rory and gives the same to her before turning back to look at John.
“Never one to say no to food however don’t have any cash to cover but happy to barter.”
If he was bothered by his situation he never lets it show. Yep he was an odd one that’s for sure.
[Alexa Thanos] Johns invitation has her wandering in, stepping across the grass to the pavement. Her gaze drifts, taking in the make shift court yard and the rust of the basketball ring. There’s a small smile just hidden under the surface and a quiet warmth in her cool coloured eyes.
Kyle smiles at her then and waves, and quiet smile is offered in return. “Hello Kyle,” they’ve met a few times now, if he’s still comes by to stay by Gina’s. Alexa sleeps there often enough these days, several times a week. It’s where her pack is tonight, tucked away for safe keeping of her meager possessions. “It’s good to see you.”
She and Kyle are alike, she realizes. Striders were like that. Took nothing for free or granted.
“And you too, John.” Her gaze briefly drifts over him then to the blushing Garou, and back across the courtyard area. “It’s a nice place.”
[John Brendan Cavanagh] “Hello.” JB has warm brown eyes. They linger on Rory as she manages to get out a single word by way of greeting. He meets her shying gaze with a certain level of directness most kinfolk cannot manage, but he cannot read her blood beneath her skin, nor can he place – not exactly – what it is about her that sets him on edge. Not from this distance. There’s a hint of wariness in his tone, though. She’s a stranger, and he has that sense of danger around her that he cannot place. She’s a stranger, potentially dangerous, and this is his home. “Can I help you?”
—
Shooting a glance back to Kyle, he gives the goth a grin with a brief rumble of a laugh for the joke. “NO need to barter, man. We’ve got leftovers. Best they don’t go to waste.”
Then Alexa joins them, skirting the handful of picnic tables. At last, JB gives up his pretense of the game, sets the ball down beside the table, and reaches out, grabbing his beer and taking a swig. Open container laws his sweet ass. “Alexa, right?” There’s a hint of uncertainty, that he’s got her name wrong. It shows on his open features. “Lucy’s gonna be sorry she missed you. She’s got that elephant you gave her on her dresser. Wants samosas every night, now.”
” – you hungry?” He’s not shy about asking.
[Rory] She hears that wariness, and the blush deepens, seeping along her neck, dipping beneath her clothing – it’s not hard to imagine that it covers every bit of her eventually… She shifts her weight slightly, and shoves her hands deeper into her pockets. When she speaks, her words are soft, and unbearably shy…
“Wondering… if you wave hork.. I thix fings. Mechanical things. I’m…”
A glance at Kyle, at Alexa who he seems to know, and then just as softly, more of an introduction…sort of. “related.”
Oddly enough, she doesn’t seem to notice that her words are mixed up, as if she hears what she means, instead of what she says.
[Kyle] “Fair enough. Thanks John.”
Nods to John then looks to Alexa.
“Hey Alexa. Good to see you again as always.”
Yeah he crashed at Gina’s atleast once a week but he usually didn’t hang around long after he’d done some repair work around the place. Hard to tell her was there most of the time cause he was so quiet.
Looks to Rory with a warm smile as he catches the drift of what she’s saying
[Alexa Thanos] “I’ll be sure to come back when it’s an earlier hour,” she tells John after nodding, confirming that her name is, indeed, Alexa. The mention of Lucy had her smiling. She had seen the girl briefly, if only from afar, when she had came out to help that day at the River side. At the time the girl had been busy playing with the other children and the Strider had been picking up trash down by the waters, scooping it out with prongs and dumping it into bags.
“I’m glad she liked it.”
After a glance around and resisting the urge to pick up the ball and have a shot in the ring, she wipes her hands down the back of her jeans and tucks her long fingers into the hip pockets. She wears woven threads around her wrists, some leather cuff on the other, worn and brown, tied in place rather then studded. “I wouldn’t say no, as long as it’s a shared meal.” And later she’ll spring that she can help him with the fence.
Or maybe something else, since Fianna has first dibs.
“She shares your blood, I think,” this is softly from Alexa, who has moved a little closer to John and Kyle, not quite protective but the positioning of her is the same. She’s not sure what to think of Rory, with the breeding, the shy blushing and the large amounts of Rage.
[Rory] .
to Rory
[John Brendan Cavanagh] “If I wave hork?” JB returns, his open features – dark eyes and a blunt nose, the firm, stubble-covered jaw – clearly showing his puzzlement over the words. “If I wave hork?” It’s one thing to rearrange the spoken words when you are expecting the reversal, another thing when that is all you hear. Then Rory’s blushing more, and JB has this complex awareness – of his size , really – his height and broad shoulders, the worn, fitted jeans. The size of his capable hands – which is juxtaposed against that frisson of animal wariness pricked up by Rory’s presence in the yard, in his home.
One floor and dozen yards away from his daughter.
“I don’t– ” it isn’t pleasant, the way he looks at her, the suspicion and confusion at war in his eyes and mouth, at least until Alexa clarifies Rory’s remark about being – related, and then it all makes sense. The last side has clicked home and the Rubick’s cube makes sense now.
Some of the suspicion dissolves, though there’s still a certain tautness in him, an awareness of her rage that is physical, visceral, that lines in his blood, in his marrow.
“Course it’s a shared meal,” he returns to Alexa, then, a glance back at the open door of the kitchen. It’s a more comfortable topic. “She’s welcome to join us,” as if Alexa were Rory’s spokeswoman; maybe he assumes they are packmates. Garou in the same place. At the same time. “I mean,” a glance back to Rory, “ – you’re welcome to eat, with us if you’d like. I’m not sure about a job, though – you’re – ” he glances at Kyle, unsure. Then back. “ – you’ve got a – a strong presence. Might scare away the customers, you know?” JB grins as if he were joking.
He’s not, though. They both know it.
[John Brendan Cavanagh] (Fair warning guys! Bedtime for meeeeeee soon. I can bearound tomorrow and am game for continuing, but I don’t think we need to pause pause. Can assume brings food and thndisappears inside for a while with the next post, and take it up again later with whoever is around tomorrow and wants to RP!)
to Alexa Thanos, Kyle, Rory
[Kyle] (Sounds good to me. Got about 30mins before I’m finished at work anyway :) )
to Alexa Thanos, John Brendan Cavanagh, Rory
[Rory] He repeats what he hears, which to her is not at all what she said – but her disability is something she is very much aware of – and her embarrassment is deep, bone deep, and shows in her face as she murmurs.. “Mords wixed up. Sorry.”
She’s invited, through Alexa and then on her own, and he mentions the job and she shakes her head in a tumble of fire-red curls…. “Jittle lobs. Can repair at night…” a duck of her head, very aware as well of how her blood is fueled with powerful amounts of rage.. “for food. Won’t dant to scare anyone.” Him. Them. Least of all the daughter she doesn’t know about yet.
[Kyle] If Kyle was bothered by the mixture of rage around him it sure didn’t show on his face. Mind with that stupid smile he seemed to always have it was hard to tell.
“Shared meals are always good.”
Gives Rory a reassuring smile to show it was all okay.
“How you been doing Rory?”
[Alexa Thanos] Glad that Kyle seems to know Rory sets her a little more at ease, and she lets them talk, while she glances over to John. “That would be nice.” There’s a pause before she adds, “Can I help you with anything?” Getting food, whatever it might be. But this is for a disguise of something else, maybe to have a small talk on the side. She hadn’t come with the others despite what he may think, an easy mistake to have made. Coming by hadn’t been just a spare of the moment decision, she had thought about it for awhile now, on and off. Garou’s lives are generally busy, but in those quiet moments she had thought about the little girl and the curious, tattooed father.
[John Brendan Cavanagh] “If you’re hungry,” JB tells Rory, perfectly direct in this. “I’ll feed you. You don’t have to work for it.” His voice is quiet; he’s aware of the prickle of her embarrassment, but it reads in this split way. There’s something – incredulous, though, underneath the quiet. She’s blushing and shy, and the her rage beats against his skin the way the ocean eats against the shore. Now that he is aware of it, he can almost feel it pulse, like a heartbeat.
And he cannot quiet believe that a Garou just told him, will work for food.
The thread of compassion underneath isn’t – necessarily flattering for a Garou, who are usually fierce and independent. – and JB tries to swallow it before it shapes his voice. He’s lousy at dissembling, though and that thread of pity is there remains, underneath.
Alexa offers to help, and JB nods. “Sure. I’ve got some tableclothes for these if you don’t mind playing bus boy and setting the table. C’mon.”
With a jerk of is head toward the kitchen, he starts off. Soon enough, he’ll be back, ferrying leftovers for the evening. Baked mac’n’cheese with brie and parmesan and mozzerella. Spaghetti with a lamb bolognese sauce. Odds and ends of bread, and a big bowl of salad, bright greens and fresh veggies, tossed together at the last minute, aong with the remains of a six pack to share about. What the hell.
– enough to stuff them twice over, and leftovers to take home, after.
[Rory] She shakes her head again, curls bouncing as her voice strengthens – but does not get louder. Perfectly in control of the rage that thrums against his skin in time with the thud of her heart…
“Hon’t dave to. [i]Will.[i]”
She feels the pity, and she chews her lower lip, embarrassed, yet unsure how to make it better. She is thin, but not underfed. She’s simply determined to earn what she’s given. Whether he wants her too or not – she knows he does not expect her to, which is enough to make her certain she will anyway.
She offers a shy smile to Kyle, and then takes a seat at the table – and by the time things begin to arrive, she has pulled her latest project from her pack, and is elbow deep in tools and tiny bits of metal. She is well used to proving her worth before being accepted to work, and aims to do just that. When food is offered, she eats one handed, and still works between bites. Within two bites – she is brushing off the top of the little box, giving the innards one last little tweak, and then sets the batted, busted looking little box in the center of the table in front of John. With a little grin – still shy, yet almost confident in her own ability, she turns the little key, and the music box that looks like it should never work, tinkles about a twinkling little star in perfect time.
She glances up at him, and then pulls a full plate in front of her and digs in with the gusto of the starving, appreciatively.
[John Brendan Cavanagh] (That works as a capstone for me! sleepy-time. :) )
[Kyle] (Take it easy. Going to pull a fade myself Thanks all :)
[Alexa Thanos] [will be around tomorrow for any around. thanks for the scene!]
[Rory] (g’night, ya’ll. wusses. gotta make a food run. Thanks!)
[Kyle] Just smiles as he watches Rory for a moment. Then he just wanders off. One minute he’s there the next he’s gone. His feet urging him to go some place he’s not sure of.