[Roman Turner] He was sick of snow and cold. It might snow now and then at home. Might get cold now and then, but it always sprang back within a couple of days. Winter in Chicago was an entirely new experience. Cold air rushed through the door with him as he came in through the back, calling out.
“Best hurry, I don’t think it’s gonna be warm much longer!”
The smell of fried chicken came in with him.
[Linus] Painted glyphs mark the walls, carved into the stone surface and dusted to a quiet, almost hidden presence that one would need to get a close up of, to see. Even then, the translations are nothing obvious. Were one practiced with the language, there would be some promise of possible explanation, but for the most part each is placed in a location around the foundation (where wall meets floor and becomes an ambiguous corner) of the Church’s interior (and exterior, though these are all but unnoticeable).
Several are general. Common. Gaia Fire Home but others seem more interpretations of glyphs. Depictions given an extra half stroke of a curved claw, or the pock marked swerve of chiseled precision. It leaves behind the sigil for Protection, and makes of it a shield meaning Fortified. It turns the delicate curvature and viciousness of Death into Burn and Warning.
He is there still. Busy as he has been for much of the day. The nightfall has come and laid a blanket of soft cold to the air, but he doesn’t notice much for the form he’s in. The Crinos shape is large enough that the pews on one side of the Church are all askew and tilted in odd directions. The snarl of their placement is dislocating upon inspection, so used to viewing them in neat orderly lines, ready for a mass that no longer is. The oddity of the brazers, once holding of candles flame, have been re-lit with small canisters of kerosine lamps, casting everything in shadows. Above, the tarps he’d installed weeks ago remain sturdy against a growing blanket of snow and freezing ice that has yet to slough off. Small droplets of water still leak through, caught with the soft plop of their steady filling.
They only ever needed to be emptied every other day, but a puddle was beginning to grow just outside of the church steps and off to the right, where the flower bed used to be.
And he’s there in the Western corner of the Church, hunched on his haunches, massive and gun metal gray, ears laid back and hands carving delicate strokes in the foundation where wall meets floor and becomes an ambiguous corner, chuffing white breath past peeled back lips.
[Linus] …Roman’s entrance is of brief notice. Brief, in that the Godi’s head lifts with the wolfish perk normally associated with alarm. A snuffle sound erupts across his nostrils and his head remains poised and still for a second, the chipping and carving of stone ceasing momentarily.
….Then, there is a grunt of sound that roughly translates without the slow wag of curved tail to be seen, into:
“[b]In a minute[b]…”
And the continuation of carving stone.
[Roman Turner] He came prepared, two plastic bags rattled and bumped against his thighs as he headed for the kitchen to set out two buckets of chicken. There was a box of bar-b-que wings and all the fixings. Mashed potatoes, gravy, coleslaw and rolls. Honey and butter packets were dumped out of the bag last of all. Then came the rattle of plates as he fished a couple of the chipped mismatched plates out of the cabinet.
“Finger licking good. Ain’t nothing like….”
He sang it, yes he did, trying to do justice to the Zack Brown Band’s, Chicken Fried.
“A little bit of chicken fried, cold beer on a Friday night. Oh wait…it’s Thursday!”
[Linus] It would actually take Linus several minutes to finish his work and find the Ragabash in the Kitchen. A fresh assortment of carvings would be added to the Western foundation, leaving the West, North and South corners covered by the crude and rough etchings and one last corner in need of the required designs. The results would be something worthwhile, both as an invitation and a settling bed for the spirit he had in mind but that would also mean getting in contact with it and convincing it of his intentions.
…But those could wait. There was food to be had.
He walked into the kitchen, the sharp dislocation of joints and bones announcing his shift down from the Crinos size to that of something smaller, yet it isn’t Homid. He limps his way into the kitchen, a patchy Wolf of the same gun metal gray colour, head slung slightly low. Pink flesh and missing fur mark several sections along his flanks and back, the noticeable and familiar presence of Fire Damage for any seasoned cliath to recognize. It doesn’t seem to be entirely brutal and most of it is healed but the raw patches are noticeable and the limp, though minor, is not hidden any.
He approaches the table and lifts both fore paws up to plant on it’s edge, tongue flicking out to loll at the Chicken buckets Roman’s brought by. A sharp bark and flick of tail delivers the required language.
Haven’t eaten all day. Been busy.
And then a rolling rumble and shake of the head, pulling down off the counter edge to pace his way around Roman’s legs to his opposite side.
Cub in den’s umbra recovering. Unicorn heal but still recovering.
[Roman Turner] “What happened? Ya know ya can’t eat chicken like that, right? Bird bones are bad for intestines, they’ll puncture and that’s one painful belly ache that leaks nasty stuff in to your intestines.”
He looked Linus over with a tilt of his head, then said what else was on his mind.
“Ya know I ain’t the best at it, but if ya’d allow it, I could maybe ease some of them wounds of your’s and the Cub if she needs it. Might take me a few days, what with my tiny bit of a Gift, but I’m darn near pretty stubborn when I set my mind to something.”
[Linus] No
Linus ruffles. Hackles flicker and flutter. A Show of refusal, denial, that softens with a flop of one ear. His tongue flicks out to lick over his chops, eyes settling on the Chicken as if to consider Roman’s warning about the bones. He chuffs and seems to shake and roll his way toward Homid. Clothes seem to flutter into existence around a lanky shape and the Godi stretches with a vague wince. A single pink raw patch shows above the collar of the T-shirt he wears beneath the long black half-coat, wrinkled with age and reduced to a Human’s healing properties. He pulls in a deep breath, dark circles touching beneath his eyes before a hand rises to rub at the back of his neck.
“Nothing serious that a day or two in another form can’t take care of. Your reserves are important and should be saved for emergencies and emergencies only. Anything else we can cover with medical knowledge and spiritual assistance, that’s what the Unicorn on the flipside is there for.”
He leans over the counter to snag a drumstick and turn it over infront of him, face a little screwed up at the smell and sniff of the less than plausible fast food chicken.
“Besides, I’m Fenrir. If I can’t take a little sunburn then I ain’t worth much to the tribe.”
He makes his way toward the nearby tables, pulling out a chair and settle in with a grunt and put his feet up on one of the corners.
“Took the cub out to the edge of the city and beyond. Found a Crash site for one of Rorg’s star falls and figured she could use a dose of what sort of War we’re fighting and just why the ugliness of the City is never something you get used to nor should it be. We stayed a little took long and got beat up by the Comet’s touch down…fire and infernos everywhere.” He bites into the chicken piece without remorse or mercy, gobbling a chunk that puffs out his cheeks considerably.
[Roman Turner] He had his own burn scars, scars that would be with him for the rest of his life, though they were chemical burns he kept hidden under his clothing this time of year. Turtle necks under shirts were great for such things. When Linus ruffled and growled his refusal, Roman leaned back, both hands in the air.
“Hey, ya know I have to offer, it’s as much a part of me as your refusal is part of you.”
After the shift, he leaned back in to dig in to the chicken with the appetite of a teen that would eat nearly anything he could get his hands on.
“Speaking of Fenrir, that’s what ya think Gwen is?”
[Linus] “That’s what I think she could be…”
He grunts, his head shaking, brow narrowed at…nothing in particular. A space, six inches in front of his eyes. Nothing and nowhere while he speaks.
“The Kid’s smart but way too used to being stubborn. I supposed that’s part of being a Philodox” Not Forseti. Not yet. “but part of me thinks she’s got this potential that’s going to waste running headlong into brick walls of logic. When we were standing on the hill watching the Comet Fall and I told her to get running she…tried to stay. Stick around. Ain’t brave, just stupid. Point of seeing the comet and the crash was to know that there are things you can’t fix and things you can’t stop and sometimes you shouldn’t stop ’cause that’s how it works. Dumb kid nearly got herself killed insisting on staying at my side thinking I was crazy. Didn’t think or occur to her for a second that I had protection, despite the fact I’d shown her such before.”
He takes another mulling bite out of his drumstick, a lot less sizeable this time so he isn’t left speechless for long.
“Still stood by and waited until the last minute when her fingers were blisters and her knuckles were bone, before running. Got herself burned up pretty bad.” He stares at the gnawed off bone of a drumstick, before dropping it on the table near his feet. “Almost didn’t make it.”
[Roman Turner] “She have to rage back?”
True concern furrowed his brows as he watched Linus. A plastic fork of potatoes was halfway to his mouth, forgotten as he poised the question and added.
“Ya know, she’s the first cub I ever met what wasn’t born knowing full well what family they came from.”
[Izzy Montoya] Some kinfolk are social butterflies. Some crave the attention of the pack that protects them, the tribe that claims them. Izzy is not one of those Kin. She seeks minimal attention from the Fenrir, from the Last Watch. She answers when they call, but largely keeps her life separate, apart from the Trueborn. She has her reasons, and she likely has participated in lengthy discourse about it with several of them. When her face isn’t being introduced to brick walls, that is.
So, the fact that she is pulling into a parking spot across the street from the church for the second time in a month says something. Says that she is reporting as requested, that she intends to do as she had been asked in some manner. Or it says she’s bored out of her mind and wants to play Poke The Fenrir Until He Bites.
Either way, she steps from the unmarked car that does nothing to hide it’s police issue, and locks it behind her. She smooths her leather jacket over her hips, and tucks her keys into her pocket before crossing the street and toward the door of the church.
She doesn’t walk in. She knocks.
[Linus] “No. Looked close for a while there. Thought I was dragging a Corpse back here for at least a couple of minutes, but she’s got a Strong Heart…”
He rolled his neck and head, touching ears to shoulders briefly before pulling his legs down to pick up another chunk of chicken, held almost delicately between thumbs and index fingers.
“I’ve known a couple like her. Extra stupid and hell and hard water getting those human reflexes out of them. One of ’ems a Fostern now, Rotagar out in Texas kicking down Corporate doors. Smoke~Knife or something…Good guy.” A pause to nip at his chicken, lifting his head back slightly to keep it in his mouth while he continues to speak. “Other one…Modi..Didn’t make it. Got all torn and tied up in his anger…killed during his Passage, running down the mouth of some Bane or other. Dumb fuck wasn’t listening when he should have been, either.”
Perhaps it’s a form of concern in Linus, though the way he speaks, doesn’t seem to suggest such. Stupidity was a form of Weakness, as was the Stubborn refusal to learn. Then, Gwen was a Half-moon and the protege of a Lupus Forseti. Time would probably have to tell, even if the Godi’s current thoughts were…less than pleasant.
“She could use some lessons in right or wrong-” His head lifts to listen to the clatter of knocking coming in like echoes. He flicks a glance at Roman, perking a brow as if to say
You getting that or am I?
[Roman Turner] “I’ll get it.”
He was pulled out of his listening with the knock and question from Linus. This was his concession to Linus’ injuries, he’d pamper him by getting the door. Bellowing as he headed through the kitchen then church, wiping chicken grease on his thighs.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!”
A few moments later the door was pulled open and a big ole grin spread across his face.
“Why if it ain’t Miss Detective Montoya. Howdy Ma’am. Come on in before ya freeze your backside off.”
[Izzy Montoya] When the door is pulled open, she turns to face the door. A brow arches when Roman opens it, and she just shakes her head, slightly, as he continues to call her Miss Detective. And Ma’am. Of course, it’s very likely she is old enough to be his mother, but that line of thinking leads only to heartache. So, when bidden, she steps inside.
“My backside is just fine. Fuckin’ fabulous, even. Kora around?”
[Linus] …He’s polished off two pieces of Chicken and is working on a third, feet still up and toes tapping to some unheard beat of some sort.
[Roman Turner] He actually waited till she passed and checked out her ass with her comment.
“Mighty fine, yessiree. Miss Kora is out at the moment, but Linus and I just sat down to a meal. We got plenty of chicken and all the fixins. Why don’tcha come on in and join us?”
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts, amused, as he checks out her ass, and turns to look at him. A glance toward the kitchen, then back. She has a moment’s indecision, runs a hand through her hair. As it falls back into place, she takes a breath, and then nods.
“Sure.” Not like she had anything else to do at the moment – except avoid paperwork.
[Linus] “Izzy, ain’t it?”
Linus’ first reaction upon the entrance of the slim Detective. He flicks a brow up that’s both a question and a scrutiny. The Godi’s features are a touch wane, vague circles haunting beneath his eyes. The pink of raw skin sneaks up the right side of his neck and vanishes down past the collar of his T-shirt beneath black half-coat. The sneakers are up on the table, ankles crossed and he’s licking at his fingers to be rid of the grease. He points at the bucket of chicken on the table and then a nearby chair.
“Take a seat. What brings you by?”
And then a flick of a glance at Roman.
“You bring any of those lemon wet nap things with you?” He’s holding his hands in the air over his clothes, trying to resist the urge to simply wipe them on his shirt.
[Roman Turner] “There’s the spirit. Besides, ya can tell Linus all about that sweet ole boy, Remy. Bless his heart.”
Bless his heart covered a world of things. You could say how ugly someone was and cancel the worse insult with a Bless his heart.
[Izzy Montoya] He uses her name. Point, Linus. “Yes.”
She picks an empty seat, about the time that Roman mentions Remy, and she arches that brow again. “And what makes you think I know anything at all about sweet ole Remy… other than the fact he’s a raging asswipe, which might just be a fuckin’ Fenrir trait, amplified.” Then, her lips curve into a little amused smirk that might just, someday, grow up into an amused smile. “You can bet I’ll be calling him Pretty Boy next time I see him though.”
As for Linus’ question. “Kora asked me to stop by and take her past the alley I killed the mutant maggots in. Last time I tried it was a bit of a madhouse here. Was in the neighborhood, thought to try again.”
[Roman Turner] Her comments on Remy made his smile widen like a pleased cat after having cream and it’s ears scratched.
“I reckon then ya right, ya don’t know anything about him. But do me a favor? If ya get to speaking your mind? Make sure Miss Kora is here cause it seems this bleeding heart, whatever else he called me, Coggie is not enough to matter when it comes to asking for peace in hour home.”
[Linus] “Tha’ fuck kind of name is Remy?”
A flick of a frown at Roman then toward Izzy at her use of the Term Asswipe and Fenrir in the same sentence. If he seems put out by the affair, then it’s probably because he is, though not as much as might be normal in the Tribe. Rather than task Izzy, he simply reaches for another piece of Chicken.
“Mutant Maggots, huh?” Linus isn’t skeptical. He’s annoyed. “Fuckin’ place is like some god damn freak show. Wyrm’s so abundant it’s got a thousand and one forms it can spit out into broad daylight looking for a lil’ bit of fun.” A roll of his head and neck, eyes remaining on Izzy a moment longer. “You want to show us, we can have a look…” A nod at Roman…followed by another frown at mention of ‘Bleeding Heart’ and ‘Peace in the Home’.
“What the Fuck?”
[Izzy Montoya] What kind of name is Remy? “a pretty one.” Sometimes she can’t help herself. Just as she can’t help her opinion of 90% of the Tribe. Or Trueborn in general. But he doesn’t question, or do anything aside from reach for a piece of chicken.
She can show them… “If you like.” She settles back in the chair and crosses her legs, smoothing her slacks over her thigh. “I covered it well enough with work, Imogen took care of the body and cause of death. I’m do still have the bead husks they crawled from in my trunk. If you’d like those, I’d be happy to give them to you.” and get them the hell out of her vehicle, that is.
To Roman, she chuckles, briefly. “I’ll try to remember that. Otherwise I’ll just shoot his ass first, then speak my mind.”
[Roman Turner] “Ya missed it Linus, so did Miss Kora. Ya both left and that’s when that Miss Sofie said to the Remy fella that next time he comes over, he might as well piss on the doormat and mark the place as his, or something like that. Because the guy has the manners of a crack ho. Bless his heart. I bet his momma didn’t breast feed him.”
He reached for a plate, shoving it towards Izzy.
“And so he took offense to Sofie and started going all Fenrir on her and his little friend Miss Drew was all sidled up against his side adding her remarks. And I reminded them this was our home, our packhous, our territory and I’d appreciate them behaving while here. And that Remy fella…that is a suggestive name if ya think about it. Anyway he said something like if he wanted to hear from me he would ask and to shut up before I was picking splinters out of my teeth and a board out of my ass or something like that. I didn’t think he thought it through all the way.”
Then he added.
“Though if ya shoot him first, make it count if ya know what I mean.”
He looked down towards his lap.
“Slows em down for a while.”
[Linus] “No. Burn those.”
The husks Izzy mentions. He takes his feet down off the corner of the table, listening to Roman’s description of events upon his departure the last time they had had a small party of people drop in. The frown turns into a sneer that is all at once displeased and powerful unpleasant on his wane features. He leans forward onto the table, trying unsuccessfully to remove the sneer from his face. It softens but doesn’t vanish all together.
“That right? Well-” And he pauses to flick a glance at Izzy, brow still crushed together; displeased “-We’ll eat some then, since it sounds like you lot cleaned up fine. Wyrm maggots sound like the Eater. Probably Relshabb or some other such. Could use a cleansing. I’ll check on the Spirit activity in the alley and area. Place is thick enough we’ll do a cleansing to make it air tight-” And then ’round on Roman again, eyes narrowing.
“What the fuck’s this jokers name?” Remy, yes he knew that one. That’s not what Linus was asking for.
[Roman Turner] “He never made proper introductions. Just came in and said. Hi, I’m Remy and it seemed like Miss Kora knew him. He was displeased with what he saw as everyone’s whining over Howard’s death, or maybe he just pictures himself in Kora’s position and looks for something to target? Ain’t rightly sure. Just know he thinks mighty highly of himself.”
[Izzy Montoya] If she shoots him, make it count. “I never miss.” Well, so rarely it might as well be never. She reaches out to catch the sliding plate Roman shoves at her, and let it rest in front of her.
“That’s about the jist of it.” She doesn’t flavor the recitation with her personal views. Much. “Only missed his repeated insistence that Sophie, and me too the way he kept eyeballing me – we were HIS kin, not yours, and thus his responsibility to belittle as he sees fit, wherever he sees fit.” A beat, as she grabs a piece of chicken from the bucket. “For that, I’ll shoot him twice.”
Then, addition to Linus. “If you’re cleansing, it’s been a while since I was the subject of one. I did burn the maggots off my leg at the time, which may have been enough.” Yes, ladies and gents, she set her own damn leg on fire. “But if you think it’s necessary, I’ll submit to it.” The wording choice is deliberate. It always is.
[Roman Turner] “Oh yeah, she’s right, he did say that. I was a little too hung up on trying to prevent the event from taking place in here at all. Including the board up my backside and the splinters in my teeth. Cause I gotta say, I think I might take offense to that.”
[Linus] “This dick gives either of you anymore trouble you tell him to go find Kora or Myself before shooting his mouth off. He decides to ignore that I’ll find him my damn self.”
Linus takes a very long look at Izzy, his face a little screwed up collection of broadening displeasure.
“…You got bitten. And-” Hand waving absently and ambiguously in her direction “-maggoty and stuff.” A pause. “You feel any different? Urges or desires that aren’t normal? Sick or diseased? Notice anything different or out of the ordinary? Extra tired or sleeping too long? Hearing voices? Smelling, hearing or tasting things that aren’t there? Especially angry for no apparent reason at completely irrational things?”
[Roman Turner] “I told him more than once to take it up with his Jarl”
He waved it off with a chicken leg as he pushed the bucket of chicken towards Izzy.
“What’s it like having maggots crawling on ya? Ruin your appetite?”
[Izzy Montoya] She makes a correction “I don’t know that I got bitten. I set them on fire – after that it was a bit too messy to know for sure.” Then, she shakes her head no at all but the last. That one, makes her let loose a huff of amusement. “No more than usual.”
She takes a piece of chicken, biting into it as she shakes her head at Roman. “Not in the least. I was too busy at the time trying to figure out how to kill them all before they got to the street to examine the feeling.”
[Linus] “…You’re fine.”
He says it with an air of confidence that is assured and dismissive. He waves off Izzy’s possible corruption and instead mows through the rest of his third piece of Chicken. Remy could wait. He’d surface another time and it’d be dealt with then. For now Linus’ features smooth over some and he dumps the last of the chicken bones off on the table without much ceremony. He’s climbing to his feet, foregoing the wet naps in favour of simply wiping down greasy fingers on his jacket and pants.
“You two finish up your eats. I’ll be out finishing up my work on the Foundations. When you’re ready to go we’ll check out the Alley and see if it needs a cleaning.”
[Roman Turner] “Ya sure ya don’t need no help? I mean, I sure ain’t the best at the spiritual stuff, but I can try if ya show me what to do.”
[Izzy Montoya] She’s fine. She nods, slightly. That’s good enough for her – she doesn’t much like submitting to the rituals and the like anyway. She starts picking at her piece of chicken, ripping the meat from the bone and chewing absently as Linus gets up to go.
[Linus] “First rule of dealing with the Brood of Fenris: Do it yourself. Unless it’s for Hermodr himself, it’s my contract so my offering. Help’ll just diminish the validity.” A flash of a grin tossed back at the Ragabash. “Ain’t nothin’ personal just a pain in the ass that can’t be helped. Kinda like being a CoG and getting mistaken for a Pussy half the time…”
A chuckle is left in his wake, the sudden clatter of popping bones and muscle following soon after as he steps out of sight and into the Warform once again. Carving in stone was easier when you had the strength and tools to do it.
(I gotta go grab some groceries from the store folks. I’ll be back in a bit if you want to continue but this is also a good point to fade to black and say Roman, Izzy and Linus go off to check the alley. S’up to you.)
[Roman Turner] ((I am off to bed soon, unfortunately work early))
[Izzy Montoya] (no worries – we can fade to black if ya must. :) )
[Linus] (Yeah probably for the best in that case. Thanks for the scene guys!)
[Linus] (Fack. Forgot to transcript this…Grrr)
[Roman Turner] He watched Linus go and pushed the potatoes towards Izzy.
“No offense meant, but Fenrir sure are an odd lot.”
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts. “Preaching to the choir, Roman. Preaching to the choir.”
She is, in many ways, a stereotypical Fenrir. In others, well. She does, however, have a healthy irritation for any one born True – her Tribe most of all.
[Roman Turner] “Well.”
He wiped his fingers on the thighs of his jeans before pushing the chair back to rise to his feet.
“You are more than welcome to wait around for Kora. I gotta do a quick patrol and maybe if Linus is back by then, we’ll take a tour of the maggot place?”
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly. “Alright. I’ve I’m not here when you return, I’m on call.”
[Roman Turner] “It’s a date. Either way, you and I have a date for sometime soon.”
He winked at her as he started bundling up for the cold.
“Don’t get too lonely without me.”
One more wink and he was heading for the door, hoping he made it before she shot him.
[Izzy Montoya] “Promises, promises.” It’s said with something dangerously close to a smile, even as she mimes reaching for her gun, just to send him running.