Rosie Cordoba
(posting!)
Rosie Cordoba
There’s a small Mexican restaurant on one particular street corner that knows Rosie’s face almost immediately. She always orders the same thing: a #10 vegetarian platter with beans and not rice, two steak fajita platters and a bag of their speciality: warm, home-made tortilla chips, always takeaway.
Tonight is different; the small framed, dark haired young woman is with a tall and bulky looking man. His presence is unsettling to most, but the small female at his side seems to have no discomfort whatsoever being near him. They ate in, the tables around them clearing out almost as if by magic.
Rosie waits for Hunter to push the door open for her and she sighs, full and sated. She’s wearing a ring sling baby carrier and resting comfortably nestled in the front against her chest is a sleeping dark haired baby. Despite the neighbourhood and the roaming band of thugs that stalk the streets of The Mission, Rosie’s face seems serene – watchful, but serene.
“We should try that Guatemalan place next time.” Her voice carries to the larger man at her side, her hands lifting to brush back the long dark hair from her face.
Kiana Knowles
She is a creature of the streets – and she blends in. It’s not that unusual, after all, as the city is teeming with homeless, street thugs, and general ne’er do wells, and when one wants too, it’s possible to walk the length of the city, and never be noticed – not even once. If the effort is being put in, that is.
Tonight, she’s not making that effort, or she simply doesn’t care. No, tonight? She’s causing A Scene.
There’s a ruckus, see, in the alleyway near a certain Mexican Restaurant [because life is full of coincidences]. There are shouts and cheers and jeers and the unmistakeable sound of fist landing against flesh. A trash can falls over, rattling and thumping and spilling it’s wares, and laughter is heard – turned into a grunt that must follow another impact against something….
It’s the type of sound one hears often in the city – so often that it’s ignored. Street toughs duking it out, or robbing some innocent someone, or worse – but it’s best to not get involved. It’s always best to not get involved.
Hunter
“What the hell is Guatemalan?” He asks, arching an eyebrow at her as he pushes open the door, stepping out onto the street with the lazy gait of a satisfied predator. “Isn’t that like some sort of avocado dip?” It’s not too late yet, there are still plenty of people around, bustling back and forth and the din of the market places is a constant and harassing buzz. What’s likely to catch the eye of someone in this part of town isn’t the movement and the noise, but a lack of it.
Upon certain walls, looking watchful and hawk-like, lean the thugs of the mexican gangs that run this neighbourhood. Hunter could get a pack and claim this territory and it wouldn’t matter, they would still be leaning on these walls eyeballing everyone and making outsiders feel uncomfortable, and the place is all the better for it.
Some of them are looking towards an alley as if they long to be down there checking something in particular out and as Rosie and Hunter are stepping out of the restaurant, a few of these ‘watchers’ bolt off towards the alley-way, seemingly unable to contain themselves. It doesn’t take long for the noise of what exactly is occurring in that side-street to reach Hunter and Rosie and Hunter’s ears perk up almost instantly seeming more alert, eyes brighter, blood flowing quicker.
“Just some street fight,” he tells her after a moment.
Rosie Cordoba
The baby in the sling is small – so small that only the top of his soft dark hair can be scene from a distance. There’s bulk there though, in that carrier. You can easily make out the broad shoulders and diapered bottom of a small body. The sounds narrow Rosie’s eyes to fine catlike slits. She is protective over the bundle swaddled against her chest, despite the fact that the father [a monster in his own right] is right next to her.
While her eyes do not turn upward to peer at the Garou alongside of her, she speaks to him nonetheless. “Go look.” Is what she says, because she knows that he wants too. Or maybe it’s that she knows that he should. She wraps a arm lazily around the baby’s back, eyes still focused on the dark mouth of the alley.
Kiana Knowles
Just some street fight indeed. Suddenly the alleyway expels a figure with enough force that they stumble and hit the ground, head hanging, long hair obscuring her – yes, her – face. She lifts the back of her hand to her mouth, and peers back into the alley way, as she pushes up to sit on her heels.
She gestures, an almost polite gimme gesture, and some thug stomps out, and throws bills at her. She scrambles to catch them all, grunting when he kicks her in the side, and falling over. That was a dirty blow, but she doesn’t chase after him. Instead she just narrows her gaze and watches him disappear into the alley darkness.
She pushes back up to sit on her heels, pulls the hood of her sweatshirt up over her hair, and counts the money in her hand, before shoving it into her pocket. Only then does she make the effort to stand. She does so slowly – clear that she did not make it out unscathed, a hand wrapped tight around the side where she was kicked.
Her shoulders are shaking, as she leans back against the nearest wall, and presses the back of her hand to her mouth again. If she’s aware that the noise has gathered attention – it doesn’t show.
Hunter
“I don’t need.. I mean.. it ain’t nuthin’ .. don’t need’a look or nuthin’.. ”
He blinks and looks at Rosie, turns his head then peers at the alley-way once. “Well maybe just.. just a quick look..” Go look. “Okay.” He strolls from Rosie, reaches the end of the Alley and begins to systematically shove people out of the way so he can get a better look. That’s when he sees the girl, lying on the ground, collecting bills like a stripper after closing.
Thud, she gets kicked in the ribs. Hunter doesn’t even move a muscle, nor does he intervene. Her thug goes wandering off and she goes leaning against a wall, Hunter goes nowhere but keeps on looking all the same.
“Hey Rosie!” He calls out over his shoulder when the crowd starts to disperse. “Rosie C’mere.”
Rosie Cordoba
Her eyes narrow on the Garou and it has a very feline air about it – as if you could just imagine that her expression is akin to a soaking wet, irritated cat. The baby in her arms stirs and she wraps both arms around him now and walks to where Hunter is standing. “Don’t shout.” She says firmly, her eyes trailing after the hooligans and thugs before looking back at Hunter then finally the girl against the wall.
She doesn’t make a sound. There’s no words of concern or gazes filled with pity. Rosie’s countenance is one of steady and firm observation. Despite the tan on the man obviously with her, she is pale. Her hair long and dark and her eyes pale and blue. Neither Hunter nor Rosie are dressed extravagantly: she wears old faded jean shorts and gladiator sandals with a white singlet, her pink bra strap peeking out against one slender shoulder.
Kiana Knowles
She could be a stripper, perhaps – except that she has far too many clothes on. Thugs don’t typically go after a girl and then shove her aside still completely clothed. Her jeans are ripped – but at the knee, not anywhere that would give anyone access. They’re tattered, torn, and simply well worn. Hoodie is rumpled, but not ripped, and there’s evidence of a t-shirt under it, seemingly intact by the edges that show. Her boots are on – hiker boots, shit kicker boots, sturdy and well made and obviously broken in. She doesn’t look like money, for sure, but she is clearly not been used sexually, willingly or no.
At least, not tonight.
When she pulls her hand down from her lips, there’s blood on it, that she wipes absently across her thigh. Her knuckles are red, impact red, as if at least one of those hits heard were from her.
She looks up at Hunter as he calls for Rosie, and keeps his eyes on her. Her own eyes are dark, but glitter with intelligence… and mirth. Her shoulders had been shaking… with laughter.
She says nothing, just arches a brow. It’s almost a delicate gesture, considering that her knuckles are red, her lip is swelling, cracked and bleeding, and she most likely is sporting an injured rib or two.
Hunter
“I wasn’t shoutin’ just it’s noisy as hell out here, maybe im just gettin’ old n’goin’ deaf or somethin’.”
This is his reply when Rosie reaches him and tells him not to shout, the words from out softly from his full lips, almost like a whisper. Once he has finished explaining and ridiculing himself, his head slowly turns back towards Kiana and he offers her a smile.
She would see a man, well built but not overly so. He doesn’t look like he could break through brick walls and he doesn’t look like he could beat up a gang of thugs Bruce Lee style either, deceptive, that’s Hunter Matthews. His jaw looks strong and even if it’s questionable if he could throw a punch with any skill, he certainly looks like he can take one.
Nobody can see what his body is actually like and his clothes are baggy, so all they get is the fall of cloth from extremely wide shoulders; a chin that seems proud and strong; tan skin like most of the people around here and messy but soft looking dark chocolate brown hair which sticks out as unruly as hair generally can be.
One scar is visible and it’s on his face, half shadowed by the undone black zip-up hoodie that lies draped over a plain white singlet. A jagged line beneath his right eye across his cheek bone. It runs horizontally like his whole head was split open there, plain and stark white against his bronze skin.
“What ya’ do for that money?” He asks Kiana.
Rosie Cordoba
At 18, Hunter is older than Rosie by a handful of years. Even still, he isn’t that old and she just lets his words roll off her slender shoulders and continues watching the bleeding woman – who might be very pretty beneath all that blood and ruin. The child swaddled against her chest in the ring sling stirs once more, the bulk inside the carrier shifting and wiggling before falling still beneath the firm and comforting hand of his mother.
Rosie would never make it doing what it is that Kiana does. She’s far too small, too delicate seeming. There probably isn’t a lot of damage she can take and be functional – if any at all. She allows Hunter to speak with the girl while her eyes leave the fighter and drift around them as if warily.
Kiana Knowles
Her gaze slips to the small woman and the baby as she joins, arms wrapped protectively around the carrier. Dark eyes drag over her, then look back to Hunter as he whispers and explains himself. Lips curve into a smirk – and wince. ouch. Then he gets the same once over. There’s nothing sexual in either of the looks, but a sense of judgement, of searching for a weak spot, where to hit first, where to hit hardest.
Then her eyes meet his – and despite the fact that she can feel the rage on him they remain there, steady. She lifts a shoulder into a shrug as she pushes away from the wall to stand with a nod. She faces him, and arches that delicate brow, questioningly.
It’s almost as if she’s asking if he wants a turn…Daring, or stupid.
Or both.
Rosie Cordoba
[he had a phone call, should be back in less than five minutes :)]
Kiana Knowles
.
Kiana Knowles
.
Hunter
He asked her a question and he does not get an answer to speak of, more like a suggestion if that. A shrug of her shoulders and she pushes up from the wall, Hunter doesn’t take a step back or a step forward, emerald eyes peer at her as if he’s confused.
“What’s that supposed ta mean?” He asks her.
“Look I ain’t care much, but seems ya did somethin’ to deserve that money, wonderin’ if it’s the same thing that got ya that kick n’the ribs.”
Rosie Cordoba
She is as she has been : as quiet and watchful as Kiana is herself. She doesn’t interject herself into this conversation, she doesn’t say a word. Instead she turns to look behind and around them, her hand drifting lazily over the dark head of hair peeking out of the carrier.
Kiana Knowles
She tips her head, slightly, and then when he clarifies – as if she misunderstood the first time, and she may have heard him incorrectly, it seems – she nods, slightly. She gives him the classic ‘put up your dukes’ stance, and then shrugs, rubbing her fingers together.
It makes money – taking hits. Then, she gets tired of the gestures game, and reaches into the pocket of her hoodie. A small tattered notebook and pencil, and a few seconds later, she offers it to him.
~I fight for cash. The kick was because I’d beat two of their best boys. Their delicate egos may never recover.~
It would seem she fights WELL, too. Wonder what the other boys look like…
Hunter
He gets handed, of all things, a pencil and notebook. Let it be said that the two instruments look about as alien in Hunter’s big hands as that baby of theirs would look holding a battle axe. The note is read, then showed to Rosie and he shrugs his shoulders at the tiny dark haired woman who holds his child then peers back at Kiana.
“Ya’ don’t talk?” He asks, “like got no tongue or somethin’?”
A beat and then perhaps he realises how stupid that question is because he hands her back the book and the pencil. Big hands, rough and scarred and calloused.
“Why ya’ let’em kick ya’ down like that?”
Rosie Cordoba
[you two go on, I’m in need of food and drink]
Kiana Knowles
He asks if she has no tongue, and lips twist into a bemused expression. She may not speak, but her she gets her point across with simple little twists of her lips, the arch of a brow, the tilt of her head – highly expressive. She also lets him off the hook, and taps her throat. Then slices her hand across it. No vocal cords, or some damage to them or something. But the result is the same. She doesn’t talk.
Refreshing, perhaps.
She looks back over her shoulder, hand going to lightly rub over bruised skin, as she turns back and shrugs slightly. She takes her notebook and pencil back…
~So they think they can get the best of me. They believe I am weak, because I am female. They’ll come and fight again, to further soothe their pride. I’ll kick their ass again, and take their money. Again.~
Hunter
This time he doesn’t take the paper and pencil from her entirely, he just rotates it in her outstretched hand so he can read it briefly before pushing it back towards her. Maybe once upon a time he would have investigated this more, felt it was somehow his responsibility to make sure she knew that getting in fights out in public probably isn’t the best idea. Now, he just shrugs his shoulders and turns away, throwing an arm around the diminutive girl next to him.
“Some job, good luck with that.”
Rosie Cordoba
Rosie looks between Hunter and Kiana and while it would be easy to imagine her slender shoulders crumpling beneath the heavy weight of Hunter’s arm, she doesn’t move at all…just bears the heaviness of both his touch and his Rage as easily as she carries the child’s weight against her stomach and chest.
“You live in the Mission?” She asks the girl, finally speaking. Her voice is a soft thing, never quite elevating beyond something entirely too personal and intimate.
Kiana Knowles
She narrows her gaze slightly.
It’s better than most things. She could be getting groped every night. She could be knocked up or carrying around a kid. She could be stripping or hooking or any number of things. It pays the bills. It keeps the heat on.
She does what she has to do.
She comes to some decision, and shoves the notepad back into her pocket, and turns to stalk back away – which is when Rosie speaks. she turns again, and studies the girl. Then – the notepad returns, and two words appear.
~I live.~
And with that, she shows it – turns again, and stalks back into the shadows of the alleyway.
Simon Zahradnik
Simon’s green eyes seared those who caught his gaze for more than a second. The raw intensity of facing the beast was terrifying on some deeper level. It would be impossible to explain just why most people did not wish to be near him all they knew was something was warning them to get the hell away and stay the hell clear of that man. Fear lived deep within the hearts of most creatures especially when confronted with their natural predator.
Oh not even the Garou like that idea. They’ve gone to great lengths to explain away what even they know to be true. The Garou were created to control humanity’s growth. The Garou were created to be the ultimate predator of the ultimate creature. Simon knew his place, and where he stood, other Garou can argue till they are blue in the face and it won’t change the fact that Gaia created them to serve a purpose. Even humanity recognized that purpose and took steps to avoid contact with their kind.
Simon is not a man, he would never be a man, he wouldn’t wish to be a men. Men are weak, they are selfish, they are easily distracted and corrupted, they are greedy, distracted, and without purpose or direction. Simon was a beast created with a purpose and all he did was in service to that purpose.
Fortunately for them the Impergium was lifted long ago and Simon truly wasn’t interested in the cowardly flight of the average person. Humans were like the larva infesting a rotting carcass at best. It would be pointless to fight them at this point there are simply too many to deal with. More importantly they had graver matters to deal with.
New land, new city, new places to explore and familiarize oneself with. New hunting grounds… With winding roads and alleys. All of whom this Full Moon would have to familiarize himself with. Never walk into a battlefield you know nothing about.
Simon Zahradnik
(Why is there like 40 spaces at the end of my post?)
Hunter
(because you copy pasted it in)
Simon Zahradnik
(I didn’t! I wrote it all right here)
Hunter
( I don’t believe you!)
Rosie Cordoba
Rosie tips her head to the side and keeping that position she looks up at the stalking form of Kiana as she returns to the shadow depths of the alley that birthed her so violently. There’s a twist to the small kin’s mouth, it leaves her seeming thoughtful, even considerate.
In the end she looks up at Hunter and just frowns, she says nothing about whatever thought had brought on that expression however.
“We all do what we must.” She says to the space Kiana vacated and Hunter both.
Simon Zahradnik
(You don’t have to!)
Hunter
“What’s wrong?”
This question is offered to Rosie after Kiana disappears into the shadows of the alley-way along with the grime and filth, the rats and rubbish that keep her alive even if she doesn’t know it.
“C’mon,” he ushers the small woman away from the alley, tugging on her free hand to get her back out into the street light and away from the strange encounter they had just experienced.
“Remind me why we come all the way here for dinner?”
Rosie Cordoba
Rosie shakes her head. If she knows anything, it is how to live. How to survive. Even now, with the responsibility of a child weighing heavy as stones on her shoulders, she could survive. She knows so intimately what the words on that paper mean – maybe more so than even the killing machine who drapes an arm protectively around her shoulders. The fingers of one hand lift and drift through her long hair, pushing it away from her face yet again.
“That’s my favourite restaurant.” She says with a tone that clearly states he should know this.