Maija | Moving in. Again. [many]

Tonight he was dressed in roughly the same sort of clothes he’d had on the day before: jeans and a black t-shirt. Boots. Nothing fancy. The wounds left over from last night’s fight (those small ones that Caleb hadn’t managed to heal) were gone now. All that was left was a new, pink scar on the side of his neck, where it met his shoulder. A bite mark. (Gael was beginning to wonder how many new scars a person could get in the span of a week.) It was a strange thing, to die and yet not die. He’d done it before and would likely do it again many times, but it never got any less disconcerting.

Then again, he was getting used to that too. The stairs would creak slightly as he made his way up to the second floor, moving quietly down the hallway towards room +3, his new home away from home.

“Those,” he says, “are clothes. Not shit. When I start shitting on your chair, you can bitch about it. In fact, if I start shitting on your chair, you can start trying to push me out of this room.

“Until then? Stop complaining, sweetpea.” Why did he even bother to ask her name? “I like this building, I like this room, and I don’t want to move in with someone who barks in their sleep,” he must mean the Garou inhabitant of Room 3, “or take up a whole two-bed room by myself.”

And Gabriella gets a pointed glance there, smirking.

“As for unnecessary friction? Sweetpea, you’re the only one getting hot and bothered about it. I think this living arrangement is just fine.” And he closes his eyes, as though he meant to take a nap right then and there. On her sheets. And her comforter. And — well, it’s not her bed anymore, is it?

There was a degree of nostalgia there. Something quiet and pleased that sat in the realm of memories. She wore the expression openly. She pushed it away when the time grew right, when it started to feel too much like being lost. She shook her head, and it was back to reality. Lonna blinked, and then decided to keep answering questions.

Edwin was his packmate; Lonna had not heard much about his pack. Then again, she had met him in New York. Things changed. They always do.

A pause, and then?

“I’m glad to hear you settled everything for him, though.”

If there was more there, she didn’t ask.

Passing the Brotherhood he went down another two units before cutting up the alley and up the back towards the brotherhood. Once there the back door to the kitchen opened and he stuck his head in. Having not been here before he entered slowly and made his way though the kitchen till he spotted the steps and then nodded to himself, heading up.

At the top of the steps he paused again. Seamus didn’t really stand out all that much. You’d pass him in a crowd and never look twice. He didn’t have the bulk of many garou, nor the feral nature. About 5’9 to 5’10” he didn’t tower. Nor was he too short. Palish skin. Brown hair, plain. Looks that didn’t get bricks thrown at him but certainly not the beauty that many of the garou and kin in town possess. Tonight he was dressed in sneakers and dark gray jeans A blue button up but no tie. Over it a theigh length jacket hung. Glasses perched on his face and he reached up to push them up. He looked young but carried himself with the confidence you don’t normally see in high school. He was in that middle area…. not a boy but perhaps not fully a man. Late teens or earily 20s. Where many people find themselves*

Elaborate joke, haha, you just got Punk’d.

Her head rolled back on her shoulders and she sighed, lifting her hands from where they folded to hide the fact that no girl in her right mind wore a bra under their nightie, Gabriella included, and rubbing both hands over her freckled face. Groaning quietly, she then ran her fingers back across her scalp to tighten her ponytail at the nape of her neck and rolled her head back up so she could look at him.

“Do you understand the fit that Caleb and Sam would throw? Not to mention Katherine, when she gets back. Either you get out now, peacefully, or they drag you out in a way no doubt loud, violent, and bloody.”

…Bloody.

Dear Lord, this was the man whose face Hatchet and Aidan collectively smashed in. When this realization hit, she looked at him differently, as she would if he’d just told her that he was a rodeo clown for a living and put on a rubber red nose to prove the fact. “Dear God it’s you, the troublemaker.”

http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=3214

Then she calls him a troublemaker. He opens one eye and looks her way, frowning. “What does that mean?”

*Then it continued on up to push his glasses up. Lowering the arm he looked around the common room and raised his brows to those that were there. Turning he made his way over* What goes on?

*The Scots accent easy on the ear and in the small select nation that these people live in. Probably telling as pure blood running though the veins.*

The cabbie helps her unload the boxes, but won’t go any further then stacking them by the back door. Great. She pays him, and slides her arms into the straps of her backpack – packed fuller then ever before, and takes a deep breath.

This is the last place she wants to be.
Beggers can’t be choosers.

Something in the way he says it hints at more than that lopsided, amusedly wry grin seems to fit…

Then, after a few moments’ idle consideration, he continues.

“Why, thank ya Nessa… Actually, we were a right nasty bunch ta have ‘roun’. But since ya ain’t sore, reckon I’ll try a might harder ta torment ya now I’m back.

Y’know, if’n we plan ta keep talkin’ bout th’past like dis, we oughta get some drinks. Reckon a fresh bottle’a ol’ Doc Daniels’ magic elixir is jes’ th’ticket.”

Shaded eyes move to the man at the door without comment, from the slouched garou on a chair in the common room upstairs.

Scowling at him, she rose from the chair and tucked it under the desk when she did so. Apparently she liked things orderly. Rising, she went to the closet and opened it up, sifting through an extensive, well-organized collection of clothing until she found what she was looking for. A blue silk robe with long sleves, styled broad like a kimono with Japanese designing on it in red and gold, was pulled on and tied closed at the waist. It was precisely the same length as her night gown and fell to touch the middle of her thighs. “And bear in mind, sir, that this is my room, not yours. You simply happen to be taking up space in it at this moment.”

She shuffled around in the closet a little more, doing some rearranging that would take her about thirty seconds before she stepped back away from the closet and shut the door, though now she had a wicker laundry basket in hand, stained a dark brown to match the color scheme of the room. She walked over to the armchair, gingerly gathered up his jeans and socks (she gathered the socks by using the jeans so she didn’t have to touch them directly), and tossed them into the hamper, which she set against the wall at the foot of his bed. The jacket was then moved to hang on a coat rack that was set to the direct right of the doorway.

As she worked, she spoke. “And by ‘troublemaker’, I mean the one who somehow managed to set flint to Taggart’s Rage. You’re the man whose face he beat in, aren’t you? I spent a good five minutes at least mopping up your face while you counted sheep on the floor, then had to call an ambulance for you.”

But then?

Then she looked at Edwin, and a sligth grin seemed to cross her face and she started to stand up. As the relatively unpainted one, Lonna had the joys of getting to go get drinks. Where’s the harm, right?

“Whiskey is the drink of choice for both reminiscing and drowning sorrows… and making chicken, so…”

It was off to go get drinks.

*His smile was infectious and friendly as he nodded to Lonna. Not assholish, but a bit playful.*

The finishing touch. Nessa removes a bottle of something else from her purse; it is not as tiny, the contents pale, opalescent. Creamy. This, she hands to Lonna with grave drama. Ritual movement.
Cream like this is serious stuff.
There’s the faintest glitter to it, as well.
The ladies’ legs are long, bare; Nessa’s left thigh has an old, well-healed bullet scar, but otherwise, are pale and perfect. Lonna’s perfection doesn’t stop there.

The man with the funny accent asks questions, seems friendly enough, though the room holds more secrets than usual, more shadows, maybe too much mystery for the comfort of one not Shadowlord himself.

(Yes, the Cowboy can read.)

He was inside of his room and plunking himself down on his bed by the time he actually bothered to make note of the tones in the voices nearby. The particular rises in pitch and volume that suggested things like stress and irritation. This caused him to glance forward at the wall which joined his room with the next, and gaze at it as if somehow he could see through the drywall. He wasn’t really attempting to eavesdrop so much as just… gauge the tone of the situation.

Alex’s face darkens for a moment. He raises himself on his elbows, the cut lines of his chest and arms tensing. He’s a man that keeps himself in obsessively good physical condition. Gabriella hadn’t seen the fight begin, hadn’t seen the fearless and precise way he’d snatched up his motorcycle helmet to try and bash Hatchet’s head in with, but she saw the end. She can still guess from the way he kept on trying to fight even with his nose smashed to splinters that Alexander’s no slouch in a fistfight, that he knows what he’s doing, that matched against a human, he’d probably win.

Which makes the fact that Hatchet very definitely beat his face in all the more humiliating. And she reminds him of this. And for a while he glowers at her, the smug shit-eating good humor gone, the cocky devil-may-care air gone.

Then, slowly, he relaxes into a smirk. “Yeah well. Actually, I started that fight. He sat down, was a rude little bitch, and flipped me off.” He shrugs. “I had to at least make the effort. Anyway, he just got lucky with a punch.”

This … makes sense in his head. He lowers himself back to the mattress.

“Thanks for calling the ambulance,” he adds. “I had an awesome roommate at the hospital. And you know what? He didn’t bitch that his duplex suddenly had a second guest.”

She thanks the guy, and lets him know she’ll take care of them as soon as she can -grabs the lightest of the boxes and starts hoofing it up the stairs.

Destination? Marcus’ room.

The child of Gaia grinned a little and lingered at the door frame. Ever the gregarious one. Ever the pleasant one. Ever willing to help, it seemed. And while she was going down, she may as well get what was needed.

*Taking a seat with the group he reclined a bit and slid his glasses off and into his jacket* Seamus MacKenzie. Ya can call me Seamus, or Mac. Nice ta meet cha all.

*Scottish charm and friendly nature flow over the kin and garou both. Bright blue eyes flicker over to Nessa’s leg at the bullet hole and he leaned a bit to try and gauge the caliber that so mared such perfect flesh*

“Time will tell, doll.”

Then, the shaded gaze turns to the Scottish-sounding newcomer to the common room. His lopsided grin was amused, but wary…

“Nice t’meetcha…”

Sooner than later, the man relaxed and smirked. He admitted that he started the fight, and her lips parted in the Gabbie equivilant of a jaw dropping open. She stared at him like he was a lunatic while he leaned back to stretch out comfortably on top of the quilt and sheets once again, and only after his smartassed comment about someone else not bitching about a roommate was made did she shake her head and speak up.

“You believe that a Garou with that many scars and that much experience in war just got lucky, and that’s why you were miserably bested? You are as deluded as you are stubborn.”

There’s a few moments of silence on her part, then her face softened into something mildly softer, perhaps even a note pitiful. Her tone of voice was tired, in the sense of strain rather than the sense of ‘I need to sleep’, and she spoke gently, politely to attempt to appeal to him.

“Alexander, please. I’m just not comfortable with any of this.”

Alexander doesn’t just push himself up on his elbows. He sits up entirely, swinging his legs off the bed in a single sharp gesture, his fists planted at the edge of the mattress.

“If he was in his goddamn furry form, yeah,” Alexander snarls, low, all but vibrating with anger. “He could’ve torn my head off, no contest. But in that form? He. Got. Lucky.”

He gets to his feet. For a moment Gabriella might think he was going to come across the room and try to clock her with his helmet, too. Not comfortable probably takes a step toward really, really, totally, not-fucking-comfortable. But he doesn’t. He just flings back the sheets on the spare bed, and then he crawls in under them and turns his back to her, punches the pillow a few times, pulls the blankets up. By then all the activity’s burned off some of his irritation, and Alexander emits a huge, affectedly satisfied yawn.

“Now get over it. Like I said, you don’t like me? You can move. But I’m staying. This room totally rocks.” He closes his eyes resolutely. And then, probably just to be a giant ass, he adds — syrupy sweet, “Goodnight, sweet pea.”

*A flicker off a finger to Nessa* Ukraine? South east? Or am ah just way the fook off? Love the deep tonals of the language though.

She rounds the top of the steps, and without saying anything to those in the common room, she moves straight from there, past the doorway, across the hall, and sets the box on the floor. She digs in the ‘roo pocket for the key, and unlocks the door, slipping inside – all with barely a sound.

She reappears a moment later – the sweatshirt gone, leaving her in a simple tank top over those tattered jeans, the pack likewise tossed on the bed in the room, and she closes the door behind her, locking it again, as she goes back for box number two.

Then he lay back with his feet crossed and hanging off the side of the bed and opened the book to the last page that he’d dog-eared.

He got about halfway down when he heard Alexander’s voice snarling in the next room. That was when he put the book back down, sat up, walked out into the hallway, and calmly knocked on Gabbie’s door.

But he didn’t. He insisted that Hatchet got lucky, and Gabbie decided to just let that one rest. Fine, he could go on believing that, no skin off her back. He told her to ‘get over it’, to move out if she didn’t like him, and then told her frankly that she could move out. Now she just felt like stamping her foot, and might have if she didn’t know she’d get laughed at for doing so and falling into her stereotype. Rather she just curled her hands into fists tucked against her ribcage and fixed a glare on the back of his head when he climbed into the bed, pulled the blankets up over his shoulders, and called a goodnight to her with the nickname that he’d given to her five minutes ago and already felt permanent.

“This room ‘rocks’, as you put it, because I put time, effort, and money into making it this way. So, this ‘rocking’ room is mine. And I’ll have you know–…” She’s cut off by the knocking on her door. Turning to glance over her shoulder at it, she wondered for a moment whether it was one of the previously mentioned men coming to bust Alex’s skull in already. Sighing yet again, she turned around, not even bothering to finish her sentence (because truth be told she wasn’t sure where she was going with that tangent anyways), she walked to the door and opened it up to see yet another complete stranger.

And here she was in her sleep robe. Wonderful.

“Yes?”

“C’mon, russky. Yer brother’s prolly walkin’ ovals in th’rugs fer ya ta git yerself home.

I’ll walk ya.”

*Those blue eyes flickered down when she did that thing with the lotion.

He forgave her.

Eyes flickered over next to the raising Garou and his head tilted* If ya don’t tell me ya name, ah’ll just have ta make one up for ya man. Mmmmmm Maybe a Bert?…… Or a Joey?

It had the rather unfortunate predilection to lurch into gear if she didn’t stroke it precisely the right way with the sort of tenderness you’d more easily associate with a pet than a serviceable car but she adored the Cadillac all the same and no amount of provocation on her new employer’s part had yet made the slim young woman pulling around outside of the Brotherhood desire to part with her inherited car.

Her door creaked as she pushed it open and set a pair of heels on the ground beside her own sneakered feet, rising to switch one for the other before tossing the runners onto the seat of her car and snatching up her bag, slinging it over her shoulders. Shouldering open the door to the restaurant, the petite Fury looked over the interior the way any newcomer to a business might.

There were still people there. She was unaware of the room mate war that was going on in Room Numero Quatro.

She jus tknew she had whiskey. And that was good enough for her.

“Jus’… thought I’d check an’ see if everything was alright.”

Compared to Gabbie’s delicate features, the Uktena was… intimidating. Tall, broad shouldered and muscular, with dark eyes that had something of a piercing quality. He didn’t act intimidating though. Not at the moment, at least. Right now, he was just another nice Texas boy. All the same, when he glanced past Gabbie to look at Alexander’s back, his gaze seemed to harden a little.

Top of the stairs, not a word, through to room one, unlock, inside, deposit the second – heavier – box, exit and lock the room behind her again, back toward the stairs…

Lather, rinse, repeat.

He asked, in one way or another, if everything was alright and glanced back at the lump in the bed on the other side of the room. As he looked toward Alex, she did as well, twisting at the waist and turning her head to peer over her shoulder at him. She frowned as though irritated, but not quite to the point of true, seething anger or actual insult. Then, shaking her head a little, she looked back up to the broad-shouldered Hispanic man.

“Oh I wouldn’t say it’s ‘alright’, but I wouldn’t say that there’s any danger eithere. Merely an annoyance.”

“I was wondering, sometime? If you wanted, I’m looing for a chick flick buddy and…”

She may as well ask. Something small and uncomplicated, but the message was clear- Lonna Larson, with the amazing curves and the long blonde hair and the killer smile, needed female friends. Or, at the very least, friends who would cry over Titanic with her.

Smiling a bit he leaned back and waited. Would the big guy give his name? Would his words be heeded, would the pretty blond pass out the spirits? Such were the questions of life*

He grins that lopsided grin, before waiting for Nessa to start toward the stairs. As he sees Lonna, he stops a moment to speak.

“I’m ‘onna run Nessa home… If’n ya wanna talk ’bout Isaac some more later, reckon I’ll be ‘roun’.”

Hail Kahseeno))

Her suit is unwrinkled, navy blue on a cream blouse and the bag she carries is not so much a purse as a serviceable document carrier. Several strands of dark hair have come loose from a twisted hair clip and frame a face that while appealing is not particularly staggering. Or rather, not made up to be so. Perhaps it could be if the woman wore a little more than blusher and lipstick.

As it was, she seemed too — constricted, to be conventionally pretty.

She certainly did not make a bee-line for a table, but rather followed in a waiter’s stead, sliding papers from a side-pocket of her case. “May I have a moment?” The brunette asks of a young man bustling with a collection of dishes. He looks at her with ill-disguised mistrust, eyes raking her clothes before gesturing her toward the bar.

Mackenzie follows his lead, her expression perfectly schooled to pleasant neutrality.

The Child of Gaia beamed; today was a good day.

“Great! I’ll call you,” and then, for Edwin. “I’ll be around, if you want to talk sometime, I’d really like that.”

“Anything y’need help with?”

The lack of immediate danger had mostly eased his concern, but not entirely. The tone in his voice practically oozed: this fellow bothering you ma’am?

(night all, thanks for scene!)

This trip up the stairs? Slower. More effort. Even a huff, possibly a puff.

She shook her head faintly and smiled up to the man in response.

“Thank you for the offer, but no thank you. I certainly don’t need a fight breaking out in my room, nevermind how difficult blood is to clean from fabrics.”

With that, the man with the shaded eyes and so easily forgotten features disappears into the darkness of the stairwell behind Nessa… Leaving in his wake little trace he had ever been there at all.

((Gotta go; night folks *wave*))

“Wasn’t suggestin’ a fight. Don’t generally make a habit ‘a beatin’ on kinfolk.” He paused, then gave a nod and took a step back. “You need anythin’, I’ll be downstairs.”

And with that, he turned and started to head in that direction, having decided on second thought that he could most definitely use a drink right now.

“I’m Lonna, nice to meet you too.”

*The young man grinned at her and then to the glasses she’d carried and raised a brow He didn’t look very intimidating. He looked rather friendly and playful*

3 down. 2 to go.

Whatever, she would apologize for the misunderstanding later.

With a quiet sigh, she watched him walk away from the door, then closed it gently, letting the latch click into place. Turning about, with her face set into an expression of determination, she unfolded her arms and walked over to the side of Alexander’s bed, where she would stand and watch him for a few seconds, as though plotting her next move. When those seconds passed, though, she grabbed the covers and yanked them down off his body, so that all that was left covered was what existed below his knees.

This done, she straightened up, hands on her hips, and frowned heavily at him.

“I tried being polite and asking. Now I’m telling you: Get out.”

“Just a coke, please.” She instructs, and for a moment a corner of her mouth threatens a smile as she considers how easily she could be mistaken for a teetotaler, the frequency with which she was forced to refuse drinks from those she visited in an official capacity. She could have added that it wasn’t personal, but it there didn’t seem to be much point with someone who was rankled by nature.

“So, what can I do for you?” If I have to help, his tone suggested.

He set a coke before her, and Mackenzie slipped the picture from her file and held the glossy paper. “This woman has been reported missing, I wondered if you’d seen her around here at all?”

The bartender frowned, and leaned in to peer at the photo; his thick brows drew together and he looked at the young woman, staring at him expectantly. “You a cop?” He gave her another once over; and a faint blush rose in her cheeks. “You don’t look like a cop.”

“I’m a lawyer, actually.” She responded pleasantly enough, her voice accented.

*Standing he picked up the glass Lonna had brought for… lets say Nessa and tosses it back with out even a blink* Be rioght back. *A wink was tossed to the coggie and he jogged over to go help Maija*

That was when he noticed Mackenzie.

“Hey there,” he tipped his head in acknowledgment as he came to stand against the bar a few feet away. “You get home alright, las’ night?”

The tone in his voice was gentle. Concerned.

And she manhandles the one in her arms into room one, blocking the door open so Seamus can deliver the other two.

*Grunting again he hefted it and staggered back towards the stairs.*

“What the fuck!” he exclaims, sitting up, grabbing them back from her. A moment — he rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, squints up at her. Then he figures out what she’s bitching about: the same thing she’s been bitching about since he walked in.

“Listen,” infinitely patient, which suggests Alexander was losing patience, “if you want me to get my own sheets, I’ll do that tomorrow. I’ll even get a goddamn laundry hamper, and we’ll split the shelves and the dresser and the desk and all that shit, just like good roommates.

“But the bottom line is, unless you’ve worked out some deal with the proprietors that I’m not aware of where you magically get this entire room to yourself, then you have no right to tell me to get out. None. This isn’t your room, Princess, it’s the Brotherhood’s room. You don’t get to decide who sleeps here, the Coltranes do. And the Coltranes marked this bed,” he thumps it with the flat of his hand, “as empty. So, if you don’t like me as a roommate, you can move out. Okay?”

There’s a beat of pause. Alexander smiles pleasantly.

And then he shouts: “Now FUCK OFF.“

She sees him head up the stairs, and makes sure the door is open, so that he can set it somewhere on the floor.

*Getting up he headed back down to get the last one. Stopping by lonna to pick up… That other guy’s drink and downed it. Nodding with the fortification he headed back down stairs to fetch like a good lil kin.*

Then, quietly, she spoke to him in a tone that was all restrained aggression.

“Fine, Alexander. You win for tonight. But God help me, tomorrow night you will be out on your ass and my life will be back to normal.”

As normal as a Bellamonte kinfolk’s life can get, anyways. She turned away from him then, and returned to the closet. When her eyes left him, she willed herself to ignore his presence entirely. From a shelf she’d set up in the closet she grabbed her clutch from out of her purse and her keyring. A pair of soft white slippers were pulled out from their set place and put on her feet, then the closet door was closed. Carrying her clutch and keys in her hands, she closed the closet and walked out of the room.

Let the asshole have his way for the night, she’d sleep elsewhere, but God as her witness this wouldn’t be the case tomorrow night.

She has no accent to speak of, only a missmash of everywhere, and bad english.

*Dusting his hands off on the ass of his jeans the Scot nodded to the common room* Nice lass out here named Lonna with some drink should ya wanna join us.. ah think ah ruptured my spleen..

*He staggered out and shook his head and flashed Lonna his smile* I’m back. didya miss me? Might have found ‘nother friend! *Motioning to poor Maija*

He offers a drink, and she debates, and then… “yeah, alright.” and follows him out, carefully locking the door behind her.

Arms.*

“She in trouble?”

The Black Fury kinfolk sipped from her cola and cast him a slightly resigned smile. “Usually by the time they reach me, they always are.” The barman had little time to ask her what she meant however, for this was when Gael approached, and her attention was caught. She turned those serious hazel eyes of hers upon the man who had helped rescue her the night before and inclined her head.

“I did, thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to properly thank you for your help last night.”

“Oh, oh.. yeah, sorry.. it’s just.. yeah, it’s been a real day.”

*Picking up the bottle he spun it on his palm and then poured the glasses* Lonna, love this is……. *he looked to Maija* The Libarian….. ?

*A grin crossing his face* And me, myself, ya’ve already met.

As if this were the sort of thing he did every day. Like a firefighter or a policeman. I nearly get killed all the time!

“Just glad you’re okay.” There was a beat as he surveyed the bottles at the back of the bar, and a line of thought appeared between his eyebrows as he contemplated the drink choices. When he beckoned to the bartender, he asked absently…”What kinda tequila you got?”

The response didn’t seem to satisfy him, so with a sigh, he shook his head. “Nevermind. I’ll take a beer. Whatever’s on tap.”

“It’s nice to meet you Maija… just moving in?”

http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=3214

She rolls skinny shoulder into a barely there shrug, and nods – just as slight. Her expressions are micro, barely there then gone, and hard to catch because of it. “Yeah. Again.”

Mackenzie Walsh was unusual when it came to Kinfolk if only because she did not react to Gael’s close proximity with any of the typical symptoms. Her heart-rate did not double in time, her eyes did not widen and her hands, when she picked up her glass did not tremble for his Rage. She seemed, by all accounts, entirely devoid of that common hesitation — or she had done very well to bury it deep within her psyche.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” the Australian begins, leaning her weight on an elbow. “What were you doing in that part of town last night?”

As though her own appearance there was entirely normal.

Wot. Again? *A tilt of the head* Didya live here a’for then, pretty lady? *Yep he ment Maija. Girls like Lonna never noticed Seamus. unless it was to try and get him to mow their yard or fuck their mom or something to give them breathing room*

She said this to her complete stranger companions and, well, took another drink of whiskey. Warmed the inside, warmed the heart. She looked at Seamus, raising her glass to him and beaming contently. Girls like her never noticed him… poor guy.

She doesn’t say it’s mostly not hers. She doesn’t say that there’s so much more she’d like to save, but doesn’t have the time. She simply lets it drop. To Seamus, she adds. “Briefly.”

“Honestly? I was jus’ sorta… walkin’ around. I’m not too familiar with the area yet. Like to get a feel for a place.”

He didn’t say that he’d never been outside of Texas until recently, or that he’d never lived in a city before. He didn’t say that he still wasn’t sure he wanted to. It didn’t matter. He was here now.

*Nodding sagely to Maija. Then brightened* Mmmm does seem a rather high stress envrionment. Ah’d be all woogie and sheet.

New ta town, mah own self. Granddad tol’ me o this place and thought Ah’d drop by. You two long runnin’ inmates ‘ere then?

“I know the feeling,” she responded to his honesty in like, setting her glass back on the bar-top and lifting a fine-boned wrist to flick dark hair from her eyes. “I only recently arrived here myself from Africa.” She laughed, and tilted her head, the warmth of her laughter was inviting; surprising given her relatively quiet nature.

“So, you can imagine it’s all a bit different being in a city like this.”

“Been in town a couple months. Ain’t sure how long I’ll stick.” reasons of her own, there. As for how long she’s been here at the Brotherhood – that’s already been answered.

*Then to Maija* Hurm. Well yeah ah could see it.

First night out and about ah ran inta the most grizzly lookin’ bloody fooker in the park. Face all melted up and burned off. Scared the piss out of me but good.

Then was kidnapped by a coggie that then had coffe with me. Tis interestin’ and tha’s the truth. *A firm nod*

“I s’pose it must be. You from there originally? Your accent sounds… Aussie?” It was a guess, but he felt fairly confident in the assumption.

It seemed that he’d finally decided to take a seat, because he moved over a touch and slid onto the barstool next to Mackenzie and took another long, thoughtful drink of his beer as he waited for her to respond.

Ya said ‘another coggie’. That mean ya are one? Or ya just meet lots of them?

She’s not at ease.
She may never be so.

They talk of Child of Gaia and tribe and she.. says nothing.

A beat. She’s a Child of Gaia, he’s asking her tribe.

“Right. Yes. I’m a Coggie… wo… hey, if that girl needs some help sometime, I’d be more than willing to help out. We have to stick together, you know?”

Ah.. she seemed pretty atop of things. Was a full mooner. *Noodding to any windows that might be around* Ah figure if the Krispy fook, tried anything, she’d have ripped off his arm and fed it to um.

Real pretty lass. Dark hair… all smoldering and stuff?

*A glande to Maija* You ok, hon? You’re all quiet and stuff. Ah donn’t bite.. though Lonna there might.. she do have the look don’t she?

“I was working as an Aid Worker in one of their shelters. It’s a beautiful country, very vibrant, very … raw, somehow.” Another sip. “I was born in Australia though, you’re right. And you,” she sits back and examines him, head to toe and then back again.

“Sound like a southern boy. Am I close?”

Fucked up, Irrational, Neurotic, Emotional.

Fine.

The child of gaia started to pur her things in order, and then she nodde.d

“well, i’d live to stay, but, I have work in the morning.”

And she slips away, and soon is locked behind the Room 1 Door once more.