[Mackenzie Walsh] Some individuals might find their color rose at being so closely appraised by a near-stranger. But not Mackenzie Walsh. Truth be told she is affected by this woman’s close proximity to her but her control is rather enough that not even her hand trembles when she pours out a cup of tea, the fragrance of chamomile rising as the liquid steams out of the teacup.
She does all this with silent accuracy as though it was no skin of her nose to keep the stranger waiting; her expression neither one of deliberate refusal or delighted silence. She sits back, cup in hand, one palm pressing against the side and the other hooked around the handle to regard the stranger thoughtfully.
“Mackenzie,” She answers, and after a moment. “Mackenzie Walsh. And you are…?”
She looks her over with consideration; noticing the sun-kissed skin, the visible strength despite her lean shape.
[Casts] “The others,” she says, as though speaking of a group that needn’t be named with mixed company about, “call me Casts The First Stone. That’s the name my first pack gave me.”
There are Biblical connotations to that name that are difficult to translate outside of an area where the Holy Book is a part of the schooling curriculum; she has tried to explain to many a lupus wolf that there is a story about the son of a monotheistic deity who came to earth and saved a sinner from death by stoning by bidding any who had never sinned before to be the first to throw a rock at her, thus clearing the room and drawing judgment from the Pharisees upon himself in the process. It doesn’t make sense to a lot of people, and the implications of that name are boggling if one stops to think on it too long.
It was not a name she chose for herself, and she could very well have made up a name during her travels. But damning though it may be, righteous though it may be, it is hers, and that is the first name she gives Mackenzie Walsh.
“The name my parents gave me is Irene Ferraro, but hardly anybody calls me that.”
[Mackenzie Walsh] It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking of this introduction because she is quite practiced at schooling her face to reveal next to nothing. It’s a self taught trick as well as one long honed for use in a courtroom. The defense often sought to overwhelm their opposing side by using emotion, by targeting the youth and naivety of many of Ms Walsh’s clients.
She could sit through tears and frank discussion of sexual abuse because it was required of her, and she was uncannily gifted at somehow appearing, despite her lack of outright expression, sympathetic and attentive. She directs this toward Casts the First Stone throughout her words and takes a sip of her tea, after blowing gently at the hot liquid. Swallowing, she shifts her weight a little against the back of the booth.
“Casts the First Stone, I like that.” She echoes her deed name slowly, testing it out-loud before setting her teacup back on the saucer. “The others frequent here a lot so you’re bound to see many. It’s a sort of residence for some of them.”
[Casts] Casts nods at this, and reaches for her glass of cola with her right hand. The fingernails of both of her appendages are kept very short, clipped right down to the pink quick of her nail beds, and there is no place for dirt to congregate. There is no discernible odor about her, not soap or perfume or anything that might identify her from a distance. Of course another Garou or some other sort of perceptive predator would be able to scent her in the right form, but a human like Mackenzie can make out nothing.
A long sip as if to flush dust out of her throat, and she sets the glass back down.
“I’m staying in the third room upstairs,” she says. “Just got in yesterday. I don’t know how long I’m going to be in town but if you ever need anything you can come find me.”
[Maija] She doesn’t normally come in the front, but it’s were she was dropped off, and so today she makes an exception. The door opens just barely enough to let her slide through, the bell barely making a sound before it’s closed again. Her sweatshirt is tied around her waist, her pack slung over a shoulder – pulling her tank top slightly askew, her jeans… all but falling apart, falling off, they’re often patched, and still threadbare. They won’t last much longer.
Her feet make barely a sound, and she pulls the ball cap down farther over her eyes as she moves, keeping her face in shadow as she shoves her free hand in her pocket, the other wound in the strap of her backpack, white knuckle tight.
It apparently wasn’t an enjoyable ride ‘home’.
[Mackenzie Walsh] Mackenzie is not quite as lean as Casts the First Stone. While she is no taller than 5’3 in height, her limbs are covered in a fair layer of skin and muscle and while in no way would she be labeled plump, there is a distinctly feminine curve to her build. Her face is heart-shaped and her wrists, when she picks up her cup again are delicate and fine-boned.
She nods slowly at mention of her room and warms her palms around her teacup. “I’m reasonably new to the city, myself. I hope you decide to stay on, you might just be the first friend I make here.” There’s a warmth in the dark eyes, and they hold firm for a long moment.
The bell faintly rings over the restaurant door, heralding another late-comer, and while she cannot yet see her, it is the very person Mackenzie had hoped might show her face here tonight.
[Casts] The front door hasn’t opened since Mackenzie let herself in several minutes ago, and it is only a cursory glance that Casts cuts off to the side. She has to crane her neck slightly and the effort awards her with only a fleeting glimpse of the skinny blonde who had snuck her way through the common room upstairs earlier today. Casts had not wound up going back upstairs after filling her cup but had gone out the kitchen door and down the alleyway in her bare feet, taking herself and the cup for a walk. She had not received the young girl’s name, and although she had not been able to scent any breeding on her she had to assume that she was Kin if she was staying upstairs.
Assumptions never got her anywhere, though.
Mackenzie explains that she is new herself, that she might be the first friend she makes, and Casts smiles. It softens her features and shaves a few years off of her face. If she is Garou she cannot be terribly old, yet she looks far older than she actually is. It’s the way she carries herself, the way she speaks, the lines around her eyes, the weariness in them.
“That would be nice,” she says.
[Maija] She glances up, if only to make sure she knows where everyone is. Thankfully, it’s late, and it’s not quite as much of a chore as it could be. There’s a reason she works the mornings – she’s not exactly fond of crowds, or being in the open. She winds her way through the tables, though, moving toward the bar.
Danny will let her have a beer.
She desperately needs one.
She slides her hand from the pocket of her jeans, money in hand, though it’s like as not to be turned away. He does, in fact, try to push the money back once she leans on the bar and speaks quietly to him, and she refuses to take it. [She’ll find it in the envelope with her pay tomorrow, but that is then, and now she makes a stand.] She takes the beer, and lifts the bottle to her lips and drains a good portion of it in the first swallow.
It’s been a long day.
[Mackenzie Walsh] This is the quieter point of the evening for the Brotherhood. There is nearly always a lull between the mortal customers headed to bed and their nocturnal customers returning and/or awakening to the twilight hours. Food is being stowed away in the kitchen and there is the quiet clatter of pans being cleaned and the soft groan of pipes as water is turned on and off.
Where they are seated, Mackenzie and Casts are offered a decent enough view of the restaurant proper and the entrance, though it takes the lawyer several more minutes before she raises her eyes from Casts smile and catches sight of familiar blond hair tucked beneath a baseball cap.
“Would you excuse me, I’ve just seen who I was hoping might show.”
She reaches for her briefcase, and unstraps a pocket to remove an envelope with a name written in Mackenzie’s bold hand. Maija, it reads as she slides herself free of the booth and toes her heels back onto her stocking-clad feet.
[Maija] Mackenzie stands up, and she turns to look – recognizing her, as well as the girl she’s with, though the later was seen only in passing. Mackenzie puts her heels back on, and looks to be heading her way, and after a brief moment, and longer look at Casts, a decision is made. Maija pushes away from the bar, and heads that direction, likely meeting the lawyer before she moves too far from the table before she is interrupted too much.
“Hey.” she says, as though she’s not nervous as shit concerning what’s in that envelope.
[Mackenzie Walsh] “Hey, yourself,” she rejoins with, and holds out the envelope without so much as a by-your-leave. There’s nothing particularly frightening within it, just the ID that Maija had passed to her at the bus stop, as well as a stapled collection of pages, folded twice over to fit inside the envelope. The first was a copy of the letter Mackenzie had written on the girl’s behalf to the Seattle PD and the second was an application for a duplicate of her birth certificate with a red arrow signifying the need for her signature.
Mackenzie waited while she either read the contents or pocket it, before explaining quietly. “I had you stricken off the missing person’s list so you won’t have to worry so much about being spotted. If you sign that document, I can get things in motion to have a new ID made up for you under your new name.”
A pause, and those dark eyes that saw entirely too much scrutinized the girl’s face.
“I took it upon myself to be your legal representative for anything that your family might want to know. They can’t reach you without going through me first.” She smiled slightly, almost a touch regretfully. “I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds too much.”
[Maija] She takes a breath, and takes the envelope, pulling out the contents. She tucks the ID into her back pocket, and then reads through the letter to the Seattle PD, brow furrowing slightly, even as she listens to the rest of it – waiting for the explanations.
She blinks, and her dark eyes jump up to meet Mackenzie’s, studying her face as if there may be something that she’s not saying, even with the offer of the representation already in place. She lifts her hand and rubs along her jaw, and then digs in the pocket of her backpack to pluck out a pen. She carefully signs her name – her real name – where indicated on the second form, and hands it back.
“I.. I ain’t sure what to say. Thanks. For that. Ya know I can’t pay much, but I’ll.. ya know, i’ll figure it out somehows.” A beat… “They… he ain’t gonna be able to find my new name, is he? I mean, it ain’t gonna be connected on record or nuthin, is it?” It’s clear she figures that Mackenzie has found out exactly why she’s on the run.
[Mackenzie Walsh] The Fury Kin shakes her dark head.
“No, really, Maija. Payment isn’t required for this. I was happy to do it.” She tucks her hands into the pockets of her slacks and watches the other girl scribble her initials across the paper. Withdrawing her hands and taking it, Mackenzie folds it over with care and holds in one small hand, her head slightly cocked to one side as Maija speaks about her father.
He, she calls him with such hesitancy and unspoken fear and there is a pause as Mackenzie studies her expression with one full of sympathy, and unspoken empathy. She is well accustomed to seeing girls far younger than this in worse states, clutching at her, asking her if they’ll be found, if it was safe now to close their eyes and dream. “No,” she says carefully, considering her words.
“I’ve made sure that if he tries to contact you, I am notified about it first. He’s not in a position to try to, with his record.”
[Maija] There are ways. There are always ways – through the Nation, if not through mortal means. And the fear lingers there, naked in her eyes for a few moments longer, before she shoves it away, and nods, accepting Mackenzie’s word for that. Maija swallows hard, and then carefully schools her expression, so well used to hiding her emotions is she – this is her only defense.
“Ok.” another slight nod. “Yeah, alright.”
Se lifts her hand to push her hair back over her shoulder, then tugs the ball cap back into place out of habit. “Thanks. Ya’ll let me know when that gets here? So’s we kin take the next step n shit…?”
[Mackenzie Walsh] Mackenzie nods, as if she understood without a word being spoken about that naked fear lingering in the girl’s eye. When you’ve lived afraid of shadows for that long, it becomes easier to trust in them than to trust in people who claim to want to eradicate them from your day to day life.
Of course she gets it, but she doesn’t say anything more than a polite: “Of course, and if you ever need anything, you know,” she shrugs lightly, and smiles with a brief crooked expression. “Well, I’m sure you do know.”
She glances down at the paper in her hands and smooths the crease with her fingertips, turning with a final nod at Maija, and returning to her case files and her cooling tea.
[Maija] She nods, once more, just a little jerk of her head, as if even that would be too much expression for such an open place. It makes one wonder if she ever relaxes, if she ever actually smiles. (…Will would know. If he were still here…)
She slings her pack over her shoulder again, and takes up the envelope and copies of the paperwork. “Thanks, Ms. Walsh.”
She glances around for the other woman, before she turns and takes up her beer, and heads back through the restaurant to the kitchen, before hitting the stairs, and her the relative safety of her room.
[Maija] (*thanks!)
[Maija] ((Dashes off to kill shit))