[Harvey] In terms of safety, security and smells that are more enticing than likely to invoke a furious upchuck reflex from the uninitiated, there really are few neighborhoods in Chicago that find themselves rivaled by Lakeview. The buses in the North Side run on time and don’t reek of urine; there are rainbow flags hanging proudly from businesses even outside of Boys Town; if a pedestrian happens to pass by an alleyway or a shadowy doorway she doesn’t have to worry that she’s going to happen upon a menacing presence looking to score a fix or mug the next person who walks past.
It isn’t a world that most Garou inhabit. Those who opt to migrate to the metropolitan Caerns and take up the mantle of responsibility in such places tend to make their homes where they’re needed most: as close to downtown, to the epicenter of most of the trouble, as they can possibly get. Those Garou with money, or access to someone else who has money, prefer neighborhoods like this because they’re quiet. They offer the opportunity to get away from honking horns and the relentless press of other people, the stink of corruption and the peering eyes of humans living nearby.
They offer the chance to have a life outside of war.
==========
Without pure blood or drastically uneven tempers the uninitiated find themselves unable to tell that the tall blond woman climbing the steps out of the subway and emerging into the wan daylight of a dreary autumn afternoon is anything other than that: a tall blond woman. She stands well over six feet tall in knee-high black boots; her jeans look as though they’ve been painted on and her blouse is floral and flowy. Sandy-colored hair is curly and loose over her shoulders. She doesn’t wear make-up, but her blunt fingernails are painted a deep blue that hasn’t had time to start chipping yet. She doesn’t carry a purse, isn’t fiddling with a cell phone or consulting a map. Once she’s up on the sidewalk she hooks her thumbs into the unoccupied belt loops at her hips and starts to stroll.
This stretch of road is home to a variety of stores and businesses, lawyers and midwives mixed in with Thai restaurants and bookstores. The air is sharp with the snap of fall, yet none of the natives have broken out their scarves and hats yet. Few of them are even bothering with coats. There’s no need to. They know it’s only going to get worse.
[Marni] One of the best things that have occurred since shacking up with Ray? The food. So many restaurants, so little time – and Ray and Marni have sampled the majority of them, in between times she’s cooked for him, much to his delight. It’s another benefit that she needn’t dig through the garbage anymore for her meals, even during the day. Which leads us to this:
One scrawny looking gnawer sitting on a low stone wall, a box of Thai food in her hand – rice, from the looks of what she’s shoveling into her mouth, complete with spicy chicken and little bits of sweet pineapple – heaven in a cardboard box. She doesn’t seem to notice anyone, intent on her meal instead. Tattered jeans, and an oversized dress shirt that is clearly not her own, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the tails untucked, and even a tie, loosely knotted to hang down the front. It’s blue, and likely belongs to the same man who’s lost his shirt.
She pays attention, sort of, to what’s going on about her, and doesn’t miss the tall woman as she saunters down the street. Marni watches her, idly, as she shovels another bite into her mouth.
[Page from Sylkie] Hi, I’m a new player. Is this an open scene?
[Harvey] Something their lot has learned to be aware of is attracting the attention of others. It’s easier to tell when those with staggeringly high Rage are among the humans who have fear of the supernatural firmly ingrained in their psyches from thousands of years ago. This particular woman doesn’t have such an infirmament, but she does carry with her a starry-eyed expression that tends to play across the features of people who are listening to an interesting conversation or watching an engrossing movie or doing something that otherwise requires a division of attention between the world around them and a world beyond.
There is no such diversion around her. She isn’t listening to an mp3 player or accompanied by another person, and she certainly isn’t parked in a dark movie theater watching a thought-provoking thriller or a heart-wrenching tragedy. All she’s doing is walking down the street.
If a person knows what to look for that in and of itself is a major tell. Either she’s suffering from some sort of profound mental illness, or she is a spirit-talker.
At any rate, the woman doesn’t simply stroll past Marni and continue on her way down the sidewalk. This woman isn’t the world’s most alert individual; on the contrary, we’ve already covered the peculiarity of her mind’s attention. Yet at some point she becomes aware of the fact that someone’s watching her. As she draws closer the woman blinks, as though roused from a day dream, and tips her head as she watches back. At maybe ten feet she shrugs her eyebrows the way most people nod their heads in greeting and indicates the take-out box with a tilt of her chin. When she speaks, her voice reveals itself to have a working-class English accent. She is one of those women who could spend the next thirty years in the United States and never even manage to water down her accent. It’s hard to tell how long she’s been here.
“That smells amazing,” she says, her tone friendly as hell considering this is the first time they’re laying eyes on each other. “What is it?”
[Marni] Marni’s friendly – like a puppy who doesn’t know any better. Or if she does know better, she simply doesn’t care. So she grins, an easy thing, slipping about her lips as if it belongs there, despite the tired look in her eyes that suggests she’s not sleeping, and the shadows deep within that suggest the reasons why involve more than simple insomnia. Regardless, she smiles, and shrugs.
“Some rice thing from over there. Want some?” She holds out the container to share, as easily as she breathes.
Now that Ophelia is closer, it’s clear why she’s wearing a shirt several sizes too big – it stretches against her pregnant belly.
[Harvey] Most normal people wouldn’t think to accept an offer of food from a pregnant woman. Granted, most people don’t know about the tribes of the Nation, period, let alone find themselves attempting to guess a stranger’s lineage at first meeting. The kinky-haired Gnawer offers up her meal as easily as the tall Child of Gaia walks up and starts conversation, and that says quite a bit to the Crescent Moon in front of her. One corner of her mouth lifts in a grateful smile, and she releases her thumbs from the confines of her belt loops to boost herself up onto the low wall next to the stranger.
“That’s very kind of you,” she says as she settles and reaches out to accept the take-out box and whatever tool she’s using to eat.
Her eyes do not make an obnoxious or obvious pass over her body, but neither do they need to in order to take in the swell of her belly, to ascertain that she is wearing a large men’s shirt not because she’s midway through a walk of shame but because she’s with child. The Theurge crosses her ankles one over the other, and maneuvers a conservative bite of food from the container to her mouth. She’s left-handed. A quiet yet appreciative noise leaves her throat. She bobs her head in a nod a few times, then hands the entire affair back to its original owner. With a quick swipe of a thumb to clear sauce from her lower lip, she smiles.
“That’s good. Excellent choice.” Her right hand comes out in a loose offer to shake. “Ophelia. Pleased to meet you.”
[Marni] “Ain’t you fancy..” it’s said with that teasing grin, as Marni slides her hand along those tattered jeans to clean her fingers before offering them to the well spoken stranger.
“Marni. An’ this is The Bean.” the last said with a pat of her belly, and a bemused little chuckle. They’ve called it The Bean since knowing it existed. It’ll be hard to decide on a different name, truth be told.
“Ain’t kind so much as the Bean takes up so much room I ain’t able to eat it all at one settin’ though i’m damn sure gonna try cuz it IS fabulous, ain’t it?” A beat and a grin. “new round here, are ya?”
Neither have a rage so high as to be noticeable by any others – but for those that know the signs.. well, it’s a bit obvious, isn’t it?
[Frost] On the corner, not far from the two woman who are having a bonding moment, another tall scandanavian type stands. She’s dressed in a gray business skirt and white blouse. Her silvery blonde hair hangs straight to her shoulders and blue eyes play over the crowd. She pauses along her route to buy a news paper and looks over the headlines as she slowly walks down the street.
[Harvey] “Hullo, Bean!” she calls, softly, as though the child is going to respond in any way that she’ll be able to perceive. At least she doesn’t wave at Marni’s belly or–worse–touch her as though her pregnancy has relieved her of any right she had to go out in public without being manhandled by baby-crazy strangers.
Once their introductions are made the taller woman rests the heels of her hands on the ledge on either side of her, elbows locked but fingers relaxed. Her lower legs swing back and forth, stopping just shy of knocking her heels against the side of the wall, and she cants her head to the side as she listens to Marni speak. A quiet ghost of a smile lingers on her lips long after the muscles have given up holding the expression, and when Marni pauses to ask a question she reaches up to push a swatch of hair back behind one ear. At one point in time the lobes were pierced. They don’t currently house any jewelry, and the holes are faint. She doesn’t wear any rings or necklaces, either, and there isn’t even a watch strapped to either of her wrists.
“Arrived just after the full,” she says.
That wouldn’t mean a damned thing to anyone who wasn’t enlisted in the cause that has them all fighting so fervently these days. Hell, to some Kinfolk it doesn’t even mean anything. A few of those who manage to establish some distance from their shifter relations stop paying attention to what the moon is doing after a certain amount of time. They don’t have to keep track of which phase that white orb is in on any given night, don’t have to wonder whether their No Moon cousin is going to be even more unpredictable than usual or whether their Half Moon spouse is going to be more of a pedantic tyrant than any other time. They may never stop noticing when it’s a full moon. The whole Nation seems to lose its damn mind around that time of the month, and Gaia help the ones who love the Ahroun.
Her eyes briefly drift when a shockingly blond woman in sharp business attire starts down the street, then stops to pick up the day’s news. It’s curiosity rather than recognition or interest, and decorum keeps her from staring too long. She looks back to Marni, then lifts her eyebrows again, as if she’s just thought of something.
“Sounds as though you’ve been here a while, yeah?”
[Marni] She may not expect an answer, but Marni gives a little grimace as the bean does indeed react to the voice, and give her a nudge that’s almost visible. She takes another bite though, and soothes the belly with a run of her hand over the bulge as she nods, slightly.
Others don’t notice the moon, or it’s phases, but Marni is well aware of the disappearing lighted orb, the call of the darkened moon of her birth. Unpredictable is her middle name.
“Yeah, a year, near bouts.” Enough time to triumph in the highest of highs, and more lately, become mired in the pain of the ultimate lows. Alone, without the comfort of a pack, or anything other than her Mate. At least she has that.
“Gonna stick a while, or just passing through?” This said as she follows Ophilia’s gaze toward the blond woman, then back again.
[Frost] She’s aware of the two fence sitters, one of them striking her as a bit round for that sort of thing. She marks that they’ve both looked her over as she pauses along her route yet again, this time to consider the health risks of a Chicago hot dog. Before she can think better of it the vendor barks at her and a few minutes later she has one in hand, piled with sour kraut. She’ll need to jog an extra mile to pay for those empty calories.
[Harvey] A year. Ophelia’s gaze softens, inexplicably, and she regards the woman as though she’s reading beyond what she’s been told. A year anyplace is bound to try a person’s heart and soul and patience, but she’s still here. Her eyes flick to her left hand, looking for a wedding band or another human indication of marital status. Their kind don’t tend to make legal the bonds that they form with their mates. They don’t live long enough to grow gray and infirm with the people they choose; children oftentimes grow up hearing heroic tales about their Garou parents rather than getting to sit on their knee or play ball in the backyard or look for their faces in a sea of relatives during dance and choir recitals. It’s not fair, and they really don’t have any say in the matter, but that’s their life.
A question from Marni, and Ophelia doesn’t have to consider it for very long. She already knows the answer, had figured it out as soon as she saw a familiar face on the street her first day in the city. The Ragabash with the relatively high Rage isn’t a mind reader, though, and they aren’t bound. They can’t share their thoughts through any medium other than civilized speech.
“I’ll be staying so long as I can,” she says. “I’ve an, em… adopted family here.” Her expression brightens as something comes to her. “My brother, Hunter… have you met him? He’s one of Rat’s.”
[Marni] One of Rat’s. That gets a quirk of a brow, and the tall woman is subject of another long look. Her grin is lopsided, as she shakes her head. “Not yet. Sent a call through the ‘chain, recently though, so I’m sure he’ll be lookin me up at some point.”
A beat, and then a teasing grin. “Brother, huh? Ain’t ya a bit too fancy t’be one of us? Though th’same can be said for my babydaddy – this’s his.” She plucks at the expensive material of the shirt she wears, and smooths the tie over her torso with a grin. No wedding band, but a mate, clear enough. For as long as such things last in their world…
[Frost] Her steps slow as she draws near enough to pick up a word or two of their conversation. Some might call it eavesdropping, she considers it a job skill. Casually, she looks out across the way as she lingers to eat her hot dog. Finally she makes to notice the two woman and when one of them looks her way, she offers a friendly nod.
[Harvey] “I’m afraid the fanciest thing about me is my accent,” she says, watching the Gnawer as she adjusts the fall of her clothing over her belly.
There’s no further discussion as to how it is that her accent makes her ‘fancy,’ or explanation as to how her clothing doesn’t. Further inspection will show that her boots are taken care of even if they’re beginning to get a bit long in the tooth. Her jeans are a dark wash, yet they’re fading and a stitch here and there is straying from formation; her shirt could just have easily come from a high-end store as it could have been extricated from a rack at a Salvation Army. Her hair isn’t tortured with excessive product.
“Course, I’m not from your tribe. I’m more of a hippie than a salt-of-the-earth type, to be quite honest, but…” She cuts the Gnawer a cheeky smile. “…I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”
The woman down the street nods to the two of them, and Ophelia leans out to get a better look at her. She doesn’t simply nod: she waves her hand, offering a smile, then beckons the other woman with a few flicks of her wrist.
[Marni] She laughs easily. “Ah, a hippy then. Good to know. S’a bloke named Roman.. he’s one of yers. Me, ain’t nothin about me fancy atall, despite my sugar daddy.”
She watches as Ophilia beckons the other lady over, curious. Her hands are never still, and she continues to munch on her lunch/dinner/middaysnack as she watches, her feet thudding against the wall lightly as she swings her legs.
“Always good t’know who ain’t scared of gettin dirty. Some of the folks round here are positively up.tight.” amusement dances across the gnawers face… clearly she has someone specific in mind.
[Frost] That certainly looks like an invitation. They seem to be in a fair mood, so she stuffs the last of the dog into her mouth. So good, yet so bad… and lets her feet take her closer to the pair, her low, yet fashionable heels clicking softly on the pavement as she draws closer to the pair. “Good afternoon.”
[Harvey] The Child of Gaia’s eyebrows lift in interest when she mentions that some of the folks around here are uptight, as though she simultaneously wants to know who she has in mind and is too polite to ply for names. Luckily she doesn’t possess the world’s most impressive attention span and the kinswoman decides to finish her hot dog and accept her invitation to come closer. Ophelia takes her hands off the stone ledge and rests them on her knees, the swinging of her feet coming to an end as the stranger greets them.
“Good afternoon!” she says, her tone cheerful without seeming forced. “I don’t reckon we’ve met yet.” She anchors herself with her left hand and leans forward to offer her right to shake. The bones of her hand are thin, as though they belong to a surgeon or a pianist. Unlike the flesh of her heavier-mooned cousins her flesh is not warm as a hearthstone; on the contrary, it’s rather cool to the touch. “I’m Ophelia. This is Marni.”
[Frost] She reaches up and takes the woman’s cool, delicate hand. Her own hands are hard and strong, as though accustomed to labor of some sort. “I reckon not,” she says, smiling a bit over the woman’s accent. I’ve only been in town a few days. I’m Frost. Nice to meet you both.” She’ll offer her hand to Marni next.
[Marni] The other woman joins, and Marni is just as friendly as she’s been all along.
“Heya.” It’s said with a lopsided grin, and those chopsticks don’t quit moving. She’s huuuuuuungry, and continues to work her way through her snack as she watches the other women.
Where Ophelia is tall and elegant, Marni is all down to earth curves and curls and goodnatured glitter in dark dark eyes. Today is a good day, and the Gnawer practically radiates contentment because of it. Her smile is almost impossible to leave unanswered as she shakes the offered hand.
[Matthews] Joey hasn’t checked his bike yet.
So Ophelia might find it rather reckless that he’s out and about on the vehicle. But Hunter’s not about to let a little thing like the chance that trouble could be following him let him slow him down. Not one bit. The sound of his engine cracks like thunder down the street indicating his arrival from their left.
He’s dressed in his acquired new leather jacket. His last one was torn to pieces by a Thunderwyrm, the only evidence of the event that remains is the white scars lining his torso and the ridiculously large jawbone that was taken down from the Broho.
Ripped up blue jeans? Check.
Lace-less work boots? Check.
White t-shirt? Check.
Aviators? Check.
Cool-mode engaged on this highway to the danger zone and his bike skids to a halt on the road in front of the loiterers. It doesn’t turn off though, just sits there chugging away like some sleepy demon.
“Yo Fee!” He shouts out, waving a hand. “Gonna go park somewhere else, be back soon.”
And he roars away from them, disappears around a corner. He might be reckless with his own life by riding this possibly tracked bike but he’s not about to endanger anyone else by parking it up right next to them.
So its a few minutes later that he wanders back into view down the street. When he gets closer his aviators are removed and hung from one of his front jeans pockets.
“Sup’ ladies?” He says. “Whats’a weather sayin fee?”
[Marni] [Fair warning! I’m about to take some nighttime theraflu – so if I get loopy, or suddenly disappear, I totally passed out. *L*]
to Frost, Harvey, Matthews
[Frost] She turns to look at the noise maker as someone gives Ophelia a wave. Her lips quirk as she takes in the grunge-meister.
[Frost] ((no worries *s*))
to Marni
[Harvey] Yo Fee!
It isn’t entirely dog-like, but Ophelia does perk up at the sound of the motorcycle followed by the shortening of her name shouted from the idling monstrosity as it rolls up to the curb. Then she realizes who it is, and she lifts a hand to return the wave, waggling her fingers to the Ahroun. She doesn’t shout back to him. That wouldn’t be ladylike. What she does do is shoot him a thumb’s up and return her attention to the kinswoman in front of her when he roars off around the corner doing his best Maverick impression.
Males.
“Do you work around here, Frost?” she asks, referring to the woman’s put-together appearance.
When Hunter saunters down the sidewalk to join them, the Theurge decides to abandon her perch. With a little hop she returns herself to the sidewalk, her heels clacking against the pavement when she connects. Ophelia towers over the average American even without her heels. The heels just add another unnecessary three inches of height. She doesn’t have a naturally graceful physique, wasn’t trained as a gymnast or an athlete, but she executes the hop with a confidence that manages to conceal any deficits she has.
“We ought to swear name tags,” she says, smiling a lopsided smile. “Hunter, mate, this is Marni and the Bean.” Her belly receives an introduction, apparently. “And this is Frost.”
[Marni] She tips her head, slightly, and watches the motorcyclist head that way to the dangerzone, and arches a brow at Ophilia… “…Fee?” Now that’s a name she can remember.
Then, when he returns, and she (and the Belly of the Bean, that gets a little pat of her hand) is introduced, she nods, knowingly.
Brothers.
“Ah, so YOUR Hunter. Nice t’meetcha.”
[Harvey] [Uh, yeah, how about “wear” instead of “swear”? I CAN TYEP.]
[Frost] Uncertain how to address her employment issues, she decides to just give it a nod for now. “Uptown,” she says, stepping back to give Marni room when she decides to drop off the wall. She holds her breath a moment and counts to herself waiting for her to go into labor. Lets out a breath when it doesn’t happen, then turns to offer her hand to Hunter. “Nice to meet you. Love the goggles,” a hint of amusement coloring her voice.
[Harvey] [Nomey says his family just dropped by to visit and he has to bail. I can’t tell if he actually bailed already or not.]
[Harvey] [Alright, I actually lost track of time *LOL* I need to bail to go do some actual work in about half an hour. You guys want to keep going for another half hour, or call it a night?]
[Frost] ((It’s late here too. How about a couple final posts to wind things up neatly?))
[Harvey] [Sounds good! *types*]
[Marni] Marni doesn’t go into labor – yet. She actually hits her feet lightly, as if she’s adjusted to the changing center of balance easily. She grins first, before sighing dramatically.
“alas, my container is empty, that the Bean is still hungry – it’s time for me to find my babydaddy. Ya’ll be good – and Hunter, you n me, we should talk. Soon. Give me a call.”
She digs for a piece of paper and a tiny stub of a pencil, and jots down her cell phone number for him. She passes it along, and grins before she turns to head down the street. Time to find Ray. And Dinner.
[Frost] “It was nice meeting you Marni.” She turns to the others, and is about to say something when her phone vibrates. “Excuse me,” she says, stepping aside to take the call. “Yes, sir. Not far. Ten minutes. Okay, bye.” She flips it closed and looks back at the others. “Well, I have to get along. It was good meeting all of you. Hope to see you again soon.” And off she goes, striding down the sidewalk.
[Harvey] Before Hunter can say something either having to do with the fact that Marni knows his name already or that Frost clearly finds amusement with his choice of eyewear, a high-pitched beep emits from somewhere on Ophelia’s person. The source of the noise reveals itself when she pulls a small, battered black pager off her waistband. The drape of her shirt had been hiding it all this time. She peers at the number, rolling her jaw from one side to the other as she works to recognize the number. It comes to her eventually.
As she thinks, Marni excuses herself. A number is exchanged and the female Gnawer takes off down the sidewalk. Ophelia waves to her, then hefts up the pager to catch her Alpha’s attention and says, “Looks like Joey’s number. Let’s go find a phone, yeah?”
Then it turns out Frost has to take off, as well. Ophelia gives her a healthy smile. “Very nice meeting you, Frost. Take care!”
With that, the two older members of the Vanguard wander off to find Hunter’s bike. As they walk, the Child of Gaia lazily reaches over to pluck his aviators off of his neckline; the lenses are examined for dust or scratches, and then she unfolds the arms and puts them on.
“They seem like good eggs,” she says as they disappear around a corner.
[Marni] (ThaNKS FOR THE PLAY! :))