Sid Chavez
The shop where the Nocker works isn’t far from the house where the three of them have taken up residence. It’s not quite so late that the younglings have to concern themselves with scrambling home for curfew, yet he’s the last one leaving the music store tonight. He lets himself out the back door, coughing that rattling cough he’s had for ages now, and gives the door an experimental shove to ensure that it’s latched before he pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket.
This parking lot is ill lit, and this city itself, in general, is crawling with homeless. They have no particular reason to stay away from him, no supernatural warning that he is up to no good, yet Sid is intimidating if only by virtue of his physical size and the way he dresses. His face is a different story, it being young-looking if exhausted, and as a stooped man approaches him he looks over, sighs, and says, “Beat it, would you? Jesus Christ…”
And out onto the main drag he walks, chains and buttons and zippers jangling.
Jeff Brolin
*On the completely opposite end of the spectrum, the satyr walks. The metal on him are the piercings. No chains, just jeans, and a tee shirt that declares if this tee shirt was found on your floor, then they totally fucked, so to go make him breakfast. He moves with an ease, a natural beat. Nothing really terrifying about him, not yet. He’s pleasantly buzzed, but not really high, the faintest smell of potsmoke about him.*
*He’s heading out from the house, and the same pattern. Locking up, and checking the lock before he goes out. It doesn’t seem he’s been avoiding the Nocker, not at all. He’s just spending some late nights, and then passing out at a friend’s house. Et all.
Sid Chavez
They walk along like some sort of high school math problem, one of them going faster than the other, and the point at which they meet each others’ paths occurs in front of a dingy little bar with darkened windows and the hum of youth and revelry going on inside.
Jeff can likely make out Sid before the opposite occurs, the Nocker being taller than the rest of the populace even when they are unaware of his fae mien, yet his own is hidden tonight; perhaps he expended too much Glamour attempting to convince a project to work properly, or he’d had to use that chalk of his to escape, but his mortal seeming has occluded his spirit tonight. He recognizes the Satyr regardless, and when they come into sight, the writing on his shirt makes Sid scoff.
He greets him by grasping the edges of his shirt, peering down to read what it says before flicking his eyebrows and releasing him.
“Nice,” he says.
Jeff Brolin
*He doesn’t fight it, amazingly enough. He grins.* Stole this shirt offa… hell. I can’t remember. But the point is… *He pauses, and he blinks. A small laugh.* Shit, I blanked out. Where have y’been? I’ve been stoppin’ in with groceries. Guess… I’m too nocturnal?
*He flashes his teeth in a grin.* You been workin’ too hard, mate.
Sid Chavez
“Yeah, well, someone has to.”
Sid doesn’t seem as depressed, as bereft of hope and a reason to continue soldiering on, as he had when he’d blown his Glamour on Beltaine Eve. Perhaps it’s just a temporary setback, something that he’s planning on rectifying just as soon as he gets back to his own workshop, but it’s also something that he has to worry about to a greater extent than the rest of them do. He is so banal as it is, being so old, it’s a wonder he hasn’t forgotten everything.
There is an awful lot for him to forget, it’s no wonder he has stated, at times, that he looks forward to it.
A brief burst of screwing around has the Nocker tweaking at the areola piercing he knows is beneath his shirt with his left hand, and then he sniffs and looks back over Jeff’s shoulder.
“If you find time in your busy schedule,” he goes on, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” A beat, and he looks back at him. He’s not trying to be secretive; it’s evading him. When he grabs it, Sid snaps his fingers and concludes, “That dickbag from the park.”
Jeff Brolin
*Clearly he’s not avoiding Sid, then. If he was, he’d find an excuse to run, to get out of the way. And he’s about to use his words, to defend himself. He brought in money! It was not exactly right, or legal, but he paid some of the bills. He was chipping in, bringing food, when SOME people would like to survive on beer alone.*
*And then the nipple ring. Ohh, DAMN HIM. Of course Sid would know a way to shut Jeff up at least temporarily, to stop him from responding. Something that he rather enjoyed, and something that he definitely wouldn’t ADMIT he enjoyed. Of course the brief silence was all he needed to sneak in that one sentence.*
*Sid was DAMNED sneaky. That dickbag from the park. Sobriety hit him in an instant, as a flash of far too vivid memories hit him. He was not good at faking a lack of emotion. To be fair, he WAS a satyr.* Huh? *A pause.* Ahh. No… no, it’s just… nothin’. I’ve already forgotten about ‘im. *That terrible point-ears.*
Sid Chavez
Though he rarely acts on it, Sid seems to have an expert’s awareness of where all of Jeff’s pressure points are. It doesn’t take much, and he seems to do so mindlessly, but all it takes is a hand in one place or another to get Jeff to stop ranting or to fail to return fire. It’s those damned Nocker fingers, maybe.
“Not that dickbag,” he says, as though he knows instantly to whom it is Jeff is referring. “The one I asked you to punch in the face for me.”
‘Asked.’ As though it hadn’t been bordering on a command, as though he hadn’t made the request knowing that Jeff is near-constantly aching for a reason to blow off the interminable amounts of steam he carries around with him.
Jeff Brolin
Ohh? *The surprise snaps him out of his sudden fear, and confusion dances over his face.* Wait… what? *He wrinkles his nose.* I punched him in the face, an’ he laughed about it. What of it? Kinda weird guy, really, but not so bad. Why?
Sid Chavez
Sid narrows his eyes, the effect all but putting the words Really, Jeffrey? into the air without him having to open his mouth, and he takes several steps to the side, putting his hip against the sill of the bar’s window. He gestures to the Satyr with his left hand, a look of begrudging patience on his face.
Whatever he wants to impart upon him isn’t safe for small ears, it would seem. There are bodies on the street, passing them by, paying them little mind, save to step around them to avoid a collision.
Rory
Things are different here.
When Rory first spread her wings, and decided to fly on her own [read: got kicked out of the sept that so (scoff) lovingly (cough) raised her] she traveled aimlessly, finally landing in Chicago. There, she fought for survival, for every scrap of food, for a place to call her own. She survived, against all odds.
Here, though. Here she arrived with a pack, with packmates with money, who could afford to set her up in an apartment, and feed her, and clothe her in little bits of lace and other naughty stuff that only said packmate will ever see. [Down Sid. Sorry.]
But still, she wants to contribute, wants to work, wants to set up the same sort of network she had in Chicago. She has a piece of paper that describes her skills [Adara assured her that is INDEED what it says] and how she never asks for more than a meal or two, a dollar or two, and she’ll keep things running for nigh forever, even after they are far past their prime. The Missus is a formidible woman, even in writing, and when she strikes on the magic formula of the right person who will believe it? She’ll have begun her network…
Tonight is not that night. Tonight, she comes near flying out of a doorway [just down from a certain dingy bar, because what would this world be without coincidences like that? Boring, that’s what!] with someone yelling in a language she doesn’t understand behind her. Fortunately, she still has that letter, and well, a bit of her dignity.
Oh. and ALL of that Rage…
Jeff Brolin
*He sighs, and he steps back, away from the group, and he leans over to Sid.* Okay, fine, what the fuck did I do?
Sid Chavez
“Jesus Christ,” he says, scowling, a hand going to the back of the shorter man’s neck, “why do you have to be so goddamn–”
Before he can ask why it is Jeff always assume fault to be placed squarely upon his shoulders, why it is he’s about to be reamed out for something, just ‘why,’ there is a ruckus behind the Nocker. He is briefly distracted from the opportunity to lean down and begin whispering conspiracies and uncertainties into his ear, though he does not immediately turn around to see what it is.
His expression flattens, though, as though if he does have to turn around he’s going to be mighty sore about it.
“You didn’t do anything, fuck.”
Whereupon he turns around and sees the redhead from the bar, and the park, standing on the sidewalk enduring a verbal barrage from someone inside.
“¡Por el amor de dios, cállate la puta boca!” he shouts at whoever it is that is yelling at Rory as he starts walking in her direction.
Alexander ((Playtesting))
((I was wondering if it’d be alright to join you guys? >_> Still wondering if it might be too difficult a situation to join.))
Rory
[S’ok by me :) ]
Jeff Brolin
((I am amenable to it!)) *The contact catches him somewhat off guard for a moment, and his head hangs a little bit, but he looks up suddenly, with a frown, as the contact stops. He almost looks a bit annoyed, as he’s ignored for the redhead. His jaw tightens slightly. What? He’s not jealous. He never will be. Of course not.*
*He shoves off of the wall, and he shoves his hands into his pockets in one smooth movement. He’s not following either – they just happen to be going the same way. Of course.*
Rory
Now someone ELSE joins in and the languages are flying and Rory? Well, she stands there. Kind of confused. ok – not kinda at all, but completely confused. She blinks, and peels up through her curls to see Sid heading her way, and despite all odds… she smiles at him. A little shy tiny grin that shows the relief of seeing someone she’s at least met, coming her way..
She shoots the yeller – a large man, just in the shadows – a glance, and then turns to all but run toward Sid and his surly friend. Some strangers seem safer than others. For now.
Rory
(peels up through her curls? really? PEEKS. sigh.)
Sid Chavez
It doesn’t seem to take any provocation whatsoever to have Sid getting himself involved. Dressed all in black but for a bright yellow t-shirt beneath his leather jacket, blue streak in his stringy black hair, the difficulty of thirty years on this planet staining his face in shadows and an unwillingness to smile, few people want to fuck with him.
Fewer people want to fuck with him when they realize he speaks fluent Spanish and is willing to brawl without warning.
He strides right up to the shadowy stairwell and says, gesturing for emphasis, “¡No hay nadie aquí quien quiere escuchárte, pendejo! Shit.”
As far as people to hide behind goes, Sid seems the safe bet. Granted, he has no fucking clue who he’s yelling at, either, so he can’t be too bright.
Alexander ((Playtesting))
Alexander walked through the city, this time with a small little smartphone in his hand. “All the technology in the world and you still can’t seem to find your way around a city, huh? And you call yourself a knight.” He mumbled quietly to himself. Hearing yelling, he lifted himself out of his own world and turned to look at where it was coming from. Not recognizing the fae from a distance, he thinks that they are different fae… after all, big city, he wouldn’t expect to run into the same people all the time… unless of course the dreaming deemed it should be that way?
But it seems they are having some trouble, and he figures, as a knight it is his responsibility to help the fae, even the common folk, and either way it would help him make allies, so he moves to go see what’s going on.
Jeff Brolin
*This doesn’t mean that the shorter man won’t start a fight either. He looks a bit antsy, and more than a little bit irritated. Twitchy, as well, as if he’s going through seventeen emotions in one breath. And it’s very possible he is.*
Rory
She scoots around Sid, and presses up against his back, peeking around his shoulder to the man in the shadows. The man stops yelling and glares at Sid, dark, hard eyes narrowing, as he considers… and then? Gestures absently in the universal “it ain’t worth it, get out of here” sort of way. “Tell the little cunt,” he says, “I ain’t hirin no ignorant fuckin’ mick to do my handy work.” And with that, he turns to stomp inside.
Rory, for her part, just blinks, and keeps behind Sid, her hand on his bicep, as she pulls her head back behind him, resting her forehead between his shoulders briefly, taking a slow breath, before she steps back a little, that blush creeping under her skin as she murmurs in the wake of the slamming door.
“Thanks.” Single words are easier.
She folds the letter carefully, as if it is something precious (and, to her, it is) and slides it into the back pocket of her jeans. She’s got her best pair on for this little ‘hi, hire me under the table even though i scare you shitless?’ excursion, and her tattered tennies have been carefully cleaned up. Her t-shirt is without sayings, a simple green affair that matches her eyes and sets off those red, red curls, and her pack is on her back, containing her most prized possessions – her tools.
She chews on her lower lip a moment, and then peeks up at Jeff too, and waggles her fingers in a little wave before shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Hi.”
Sid Chavez
Alexander may very well fail to recognize the tall, foul-mouthed man from the park the other day, as he no longer resembles a spindly, sinister hobgoblin. Totally tapped for Glamour, he appears human. Even his eyes are normal, as far as human eyes go; they’re hazel, but in this low light it’s impossible to gauge their shade. Jeff could state with minimal certainty that they appear green tonight, had he looked into his face when they were close together on a sidewalk a moment ago.
No one can see the baffled expression that comes across his face when the smaller girl presses against him, clinging, as though she were actually afraid of this numpty hiding in the shadows and shouting about micks.
“The 1800s called!” he yells, as a parting blow. “Nobody hates the fucking Irish anymore! It’s all about Latinos now, you dumb fuck!”
That done, he dusts off his hands, as though he’d actually accomplished something, and turns around to survey the scene behind him. People are staring, and some of them are laughing, though it would appear as though it’s laughter part out of camaraderie and part out of confusion. Somebody in an upstairs apartment whoops; he ignores them.
“Fuck,” he says again, and belatedly says, “You’re welcome,” before rejoining Jeff on the sidewalk. Wholly unawares of the incoming Sidhe, he nevertheless puts his hand on the back of the shorter man’s neck and says, “Now I’m all riled up.”
Jeff Brolin
*He’snotjealoushe’snotjealoushe’snotjealousFUCK. His teeth grit as he watches Rory leap on Sid. No. Of course not, he’s just… he’s smiling. He is. If he does. If he cares. He doesn’t care. What the hell, say something to break the fucking silence, say ANYthing…* Oi. *Yeah, that’ll work. He doesn’t DISLIKE the redhead. In fact, her rack isn’t so bad. Which is good, as he can’t QUITE seem to look up at her face.*
*He cants his head slightly, engrossed in the moment. It HAS been a while since he’s stared, and/or offended anyone. Must be losing his touch. At the very least, it’s distracting from the Sidhe who comes knocking.*
Alexander ((Playtesting))
Alex was still heading in their direction even after he realized that the incident seems to have eased, because he still needed information and he still saw them as a source to get it. Unfortunately, by the time that he would have gotten close enough to recognize at least Jeff, he’s too close to turn back: They can see him coming, and if he doesn’t go all the way it would likely look poorly. Even as he got close enough to feel the rage, even as he knew something was -wrong-, he still moved towards them, but he would stop as soon as Jeff saw him. Maybe before then if Jeff wasn’t paying attention. Then he would wave, as if to say hi and make sure they weren’t ready to attack -him- now that the jerk was gone. before moving any closer.
Rory
Sid dusts off his hands, and its clear Rory thinks he accomplished something, so that’s good enough for her. She doesn’t seem to notice folks laughing at her, at them, at the commotion, because people laugh at her all the time. At most, she scuffs her toe against the cement, self-consciously.
Then she relaizes that Jeff is staring at her boobs, and she seems to find this… fascinating, really. Because she isn’t one to think of herself as a sexual being for any reason, though she’s clearly delicious. She simply tips her head, and watches him watch her breathe.
Sid, though. Sid’s all riled up, and she blinks at peeks up at him again. “..sorry?”
Sid Chavez
“Thought I was going to get to punch that guy in the face,” he says.
He doesn’t joke about the fact that the bastard was probably wearing a crucifix, that that would have kept him at bay against his will; he also doesn’t joke that if that was the bastard’s domicile on top of being his place of business there was no way in hell he was making it over the threshold uninvited.
It takes him a bit longer than it takes Rory for him to realize Jeff is staring at the girl’s chest. His eyes flick from Jeff’s face to Rory’s top and back again, and he snorts.
“Jesus Christ.” He jostles Jeff a bit; it’s light, but clearly meant to snap him out of wherever it is he’s gone to. “Buy me a drink, asshole.”
Jeff Brolin
*He blinks at that, and he looks back to Sid. Straight from Rory’s chest. She will now be known as Rory with the Tits That Aren’t Too Bad.* Mmmh? *He arches his twice pierced eyebrow now.* Well, you coulda fuckin’ punched him. But you asked ME to. I talked to ‘im first. He’s not SO fuckin’ bad, really.
[Per+Alert]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (6, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
Jeff Brolin
((Of course.)) *And his eyes widen, and he almost darts behind Sid.*
Alexander ((Playtesting))
((Apparently the Sidhe Stands out))
Rory
She blinks, watching them, and then? Blinks as now Jeff is hiding behind Sid, and Rory with The Tits That Aren’t Too Bad is confused. But then again, Rory is almost always confused.
But they clearly want to go get a drink, and she offers them that little grin again, before she takes to looking down the street, to see where she might try next, or if she’s going to hoof it home. Decisions, decisions.
Alexander ((Playtesting))
He put his hand to his temple and rubbed it. Damn this terrified child shit was getting annoying. Patience was a necessity with this one it seemed. The young boy raised his head a bit, and closed his eyes, an air of age about him despite his obvious youth, something about the way he walked and moved denoting the nobility and stature that was his birthright.
He was dressed today in a black shirt with some brand logo on it, and blue denim jeans. His hair was combed back, and it seemed he didn’t even care about the fact that his pointed ears were evident, or his eyes had an almost glowing feature about them. Maybe it was just that he’d learned he couldn’t really hide those kinds of things that he learned not to care. After a moment, he let himself speak, one word, “Evening.” His voice calm and level, but drawing and enough to almost… -almost- force the attention.
Sid Chavez
“What the shit are you t–”
Before he can complete his question, maybe specify that he meant he wanted to punch the bar owner in the face right now, tonight, that he wasn’t referring to that Sebastian twat they met in the park several days ago, Jeff looks as though he’s going to pull a Rory and go hide behind the towering black-clad man.
The widening of his eyes has Sid flicking his head to get the hair out of his eyes and looking around. Given that he cannot see the Dreaming with any clarity, he tightens his grip on the back of Jeff’s neck and drops his voice.
“Are you cool? I need you cool. Be cool, dude.”
And then Alexander joins them. There is no recognition in the lumbering man’s gaze, yet his irritation is universal; he scowls, looks from the boy to the punker.
Rory
So, Alexandar rocks up, and Jeff looks like he’s… well. He looks like he’s going to pull a Rory, and well, Rory? She has a protective streak in her. She steps closer to Jeff. Which probably doesn’t help his nerves any, given the amount of heated fury she puts off, but none the less, she doesn’t like it when someone who’s friend has been nice to her is suddenly uneasy….
And she’s openly curious, tilting her head again, curls sliding along her jawline, obscuring the lines of her face, though the piercing green of her eyes always shines through. She watches him through lowered lashes, and chews her lower lip, absently.
It’s kinda funny, really. The thin, scared redhead, willing to protect the uneasy man…
Jeff Brolin
I’m cool. Just… forgot … somethin’ at the house, is all. Catch yeh later? *He speaks softly.*
Alexander ((Playtesting))
Meanwhile, the sixteen ((perhaps fourteen? He looked really young, even for his age…)) year old boy looked less harmful than… well… a fly in his mortal form. He tilted his head, and could guess he wanted to escape the incoming Sidhe. “Jeff, you don’t have to go, I’m just coming up for directions is all. Kind of… lost.”
Alexander ((Playtesting))
((just saw the “speaking softly” part. He might not catch that, so if you want, I can repost?))
Sid Chavez
“Well, Christ, I’ll walk with you.”
Now Sid seems thoroughly out of sorts. He slides an arm around Jeff’s shoulders, awkwardly patting his back as though to say There, there, and tosses a glance to Rory.
“Toots, you need a job, stop by [fuck I need to name this music store], it’s back that way about four blocks. Think they’re looking for someone in the shop.”
And then the boy says Jeff’s name. Sid frowns, now thoroughly confused, and starts walking.
[Fang has to get to bed and I’m trying to write my ass out, I’m getting a headache :( I’ll make it up to both of you, promise.]
Jeff Brolin
((Sorry. :( I work early.)) *He just shakes his head to Alex.* Go back the way y’came. You’ll be fine. *It clearly means two different things to the satyr.*
Rory
Sid lets her know about a job, and she smiles at him – the effect is dazzling, really, as there’s still that innate shyness, but a happy gratefulness too. “Thanks.”
She will certainly check it out, and looks up the block, and as they walk away, she turns in that direction so that she can find the right place the next time she’s in the area, and check it out.
She waves to the boys, shoots Alexander that makes them nervous a look, and then heads off.
[Thanks for the play – I gotta char submit to work on. :)]
Sid Chavez
[Thanks for the play all, I gotta go kill the bar douches downstairs.]
Alexander ((Playtesting))
He watched as they all seemed to scatter as he approached and sniffed himself a moment to make sure he didn’t smell. This was starting to become frustrating.
((Have an nice night guys))