[John Thornton] ((care to set the scene, or would you prefer I start?))
[Imogen] (if you could start, I would love you forever and ever, or at least for the next five minutes? but if it’ll make you think bitter thoughts about me, I can start.)
[John Thornton] ((*chuckle* I can start. *typity typity*))
[Imogen] (love starts now!
… god that sounds creepy.)
[John Thornton] Rain drizzled down like black tears from space, leaving rivers and streams of run off and causing the whole of the city to glisten. In places, the shimmering reflections of lights could almost make you forget the dirt and grime of the city… Could almost make you forget the malignant cancer that seemed to be eating it away from the inside out.
Cabrini was the poster child of urban decay, a place where drugs thrived as its citizenry sought to escape a world they no longer wanted.
To a point perhaps… John could understand that. Still…
Without the Law, society could not exist.
He sat in a quiet hole in the wall diner, a little mom and pop joint, despite the fact that mom had long since left town. The proprietor, a man named Bill Smithson, stood before an open range stove cooking scrambled eggs.
The place had technically closed an hour or more ago, but like clockwork, a late night visitor always appeared after hours.
The detective, John Thornton, of the Chicago P.D. leaned over the counter quietly, his head resting on tired forearms crossed over the bar top before him. He almost seemed to be sleeping…
[Imogen] There is a knock at the door of the closed diner, Imogen shaking her umbrella as she stands in the alcove of the diner, glancing through at the window at Bill, her features briefly lit by a passing car, pale skin, dark eyes.
Bill makes a gesture, a sort of ‘c’mon in’ gesture and she pushes the door open, the sound of the bell startlingly loud in the silent, empty diner.
Imogen crosses the empty floor with its empty tables, chairs put up on them. Her sedate shoes click softly across the linoleum.
“Bill.”
“Doc.”
John is not the only one with connections in this part of town.
“Just a coffee, please.” Imogen speaks again, her concise British accent marking herself as she sets her umbrella down to lean it against the bar, coming to sit down beside the cop, who may still have his forearms on the counter, and may still be leaning his head down.
The smell of cooking eggs fills the diner, mixing unpleasantly with the scent of old grease.
“You goin’ t’need a ride home?” the question is almost careless-casual. An offer of formality rather than out of compassion.
[John Thornton] John picks his head up, hazel eyes turning to Imogen. For once they aren’t bloodshot; maybe he hasn’t been drinking recently. Still, given the darkness of the circles surrounding them, not drinking hasn’t been without cost…
It’s clear he did not sleep last night, and prospects weren’t good for this evening either.
“I’ll manage… I always do…”
A curious brow raises as John’s gaze turns to Bill, who just offers him a simple smile and a shrug, as if to suggest John never asked. Then, Bill turns his attentions back to the eggs, leaving John and Imogen in relative peace and quiet.
“Rather late to be out in this neighborhood, isn’t it?”
[Imogen] Imogen has not, truth be told, been keeping up with the trials and tribulations of John Thornton. She is too disconnected from the community (despite her ever present duty) to be much aware of gossip or rumour. She knows a little, though, which perhaps speaks to the incessant rumination, or perhaps, simply, that one time, she was in the right place, at the right time. In either case: She is somewhat familiar with the drinking.
I’ll manage, he says, and her mouth twists slightly, the faintest suggestion of a smirk. “Of course you will,” she says.
Her coffee is handed over to her, along with a few creamers. She sets a foot back on the floor and half gets up from the stool, reaching over to catch a sugar dispenser with her finger tips, drawing it over.
“I was out ‘ere on business,” she says, a certain inflection to the sentence indicating the business to be of a more inhuman nature than not. She tears open the creamers and dresses her coffee with it and a liberal splash of sugar.
“I could say th’same thing about you.”
[John Thornton] “That you could.”
John nods, as Bill replaces a now cold cup of coffee in a mug before the detective’s arms with a fresh one, steaming hot, black as the night sky beyond the large front window. John doesn’t wait to drink it, in spite of the obvious heat; it was as though the heat didn’t matter…
Maybe he’d scalded his gums too many times to count.
Regardless, he smiles that wan not-a-smile before speaking again.
“If you’re out on business, I have to assume you’ve a fresh one. Newly tagged and on ice, awaiting a moment of your time…?”
[Imogen] She shakes her head slightly, picking up her coffee cup and taking a deep swallow of coffee, before setting it down with a defined click of ceramic on plastic countertop.
“False alarm,” she says. “Dead dog. Someone panicked.” Her mouth twists a little as she lifts a pale hand, pushing her hair back from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “It happens from time t’time.”
[John Thornton] “I find the opposite happens more often than not, in this neighborhood…”
John takes another swig of coffee, before starting on the now cold scrambled eggs before him. He seemed weary… Frightfully so, without the excuse of liquor to dull his response… But perhaps that was to be expected…
Or perhaps, he just couldn’t sleep.
“So, how long have you known Bill?”
[Lonna Larson] Charlie, she had told him, as though this was the most important thing that she had ever told him. Lonna was had looked him int he face, like it was a life-or-death amtter, like this was some huge, important, all-encompassing fact that would make every bit of her life make sense to him. I have to take you somewhere.
Here.
Some diner in Cabrini Green, one that wasn’t too far from her place, where she had told him that she wanted to take him.
Which had nothing to do with the place that she was taking him right now, which was, the one that was so important that she needed to take him right. fucking. now. Lonna looked at the diner with her hands in her pockets, standing comfortably with dialated pupils and a mellow smile on her face. It was a diner. Any diner, really.
“This place… is so fucking amazing, Charlie,” as though she had just told him the secret to life. Filled with wonder and awe and hunger for fried okra and french toast.
Attire wasn’t important. Jeans. Necklace, and her hair in a half-assed low ponytail. She even wore a jacket today, but it didn’t particularly care. Whatever light rain was falling from the sky got caught in her hair. From a strictly artistic standpoint, it was beautiful. She wasn’t wearing makeup today. It didn’t really matter.
[John Thornton] “I’ve found the opposite tends to occur more often in this neighborhood…”
John takes another swig of piping hot coffee, before starting on long since cold scrambled eggs. He drowned them in a sea of black pepper before mixing them up and eating them.
“So, how long have you known Bill?”
[Imogen] She shakes her head slightly, “More dogs die than they do, out ‘ere. Though, admittedly, I don’t usually get called out fer them.”
Another swallow of coffee. The kin is dressed down, at least for her traditional attire. Jeans, belted at slender hips, a pale blue t-shirt beneath a brown corduroy jacket.
“A little o’er a year,” she answers. “He knows some blokes I know.”
[Charlie] The world takes on an impressive degree of profundity when one’s senses are in an altered state of being.
She had come over to The Brotherhood with no real purpose in mind tonight, yet the two of them had wound up sharing a bowl of potently awakened marijuana and at some point during the evening the possibility of wandering out into the word had become more than a possibility and had morphed into the realm of reality when Lonna had told him about some culinary promised land in the heart of the Near North Side.
Given that the moon overhead is waxing away from that which had seen his birth, he is feeling somewhat adventuresome tonight, and so rather than deciding to stick around the dormitories reading or meditating or lazing a bout in a state of inebriation, when Lonna had said that she had to take him somewhere, he had put on a shirt and his hiking boots and struck out into the city with her, both of them fuzzy and viewing the world through a skewed lens.
So here they are, a statuesque blonde and a shaggy-haired Greek kid, wandering down the street towards the promised land. Charlie is high, as tends to be his standard state of being these days, but he is not the sort of high that Lonna is. This is not Mecca for him.
“So, like,” he asks, “what’s so amazing about this place?”
[Lonna Larson] “They serve chicken,” she told him, “and waffles. At the same time.“
This was not the first place that served chicken and waffles that Lonna had been to. As a matter of fact, it was the fourth, but this seemed to be the best. It was the one that was closest to her home. It was the one that had a recipe that was better than KCF battered in ecstasy and cocaine snowflakes. Lonna inhaled and even caught the door for him.
“It tastes like home,” she tells him. “And there’s onion rings and you can get pecan pie in June.”
there were things that Lonna had not told Charlie. As a matter of fact, there were things that she had not told a lot of people. One, of course, had a lot to do with her eating habits, and how, once upon a time, she was not a statuesque, tall, blonde goddess. No, once upon a time, Lonna Larson was well-versed in the art of finding and consuming comfort foods. It doesn’t matter what substance you abuse, if it feels good it helps.
[John Thornton] John nods at Imogen’s words, and doesn’t turn as Charlie and Lonna enter behind him. Funny thing though… He just happens to have his nose pointed at the stock ticker going on the lone television screen mounted to the side of the bar. His eyes were watching the reflections in the heavily polished metal hanging over the range stove…
When he hears a familiar voice, only then does he turn…
His hand idly releasing whatever it had hold of near his left ribcage.
“You woke up…”
This to Charlie, the wan not-a-smile playing about his lips… His nostrils flaring at the all too familiar scent as it floats over to him.
“And started all over again, it seems…”
John’s eyes, devoid their bloodshot nature, are penetratingly sharp. Hazel, almost blue green in the light, eyes that seem to stare without blinking for way too long…
Eyes that seem to lay bare the secrets of those upon whom their gaze falls.
[Imogen] It is unrelated to John, or Charlie and Lonna’s entrance, but abruptly, Imogen is done. She’s drained her coffee and set it down, reaching into her purse to drop down a few dollar bills to cover her food. “I need t’head out,” she says, getting to her feet.
“Get some sleep, Detective Thornton,” even toned comment, a sideways glance as she turns away. “Goodnight, Bill,” over her shoulder as she crosses the dining area.
She passes the Garou and Kinfolk on the way to the door. “Charlie.” Lonna she does not know – the unfamiliar Kinfolk garners merely a dark eyed glance of greeting or farewell as she pushes the door open, stepping out. She flicks open her umbrella with a practised hand and lifts it over her head, before heading out into the rainy night.
[Charlie] “That’s cool,” Charlie tells Lonna, as though the thought of having pecan pie anytime other than June truly is a revolutionary idea that he can stand behind, and in the first episode of human understanding that he has exhibited in days, Charlie holds the door open to the promised land so that Lonna can enter before him.
She can’t feel his eyes on her backside.
As they wander into the well-lit diner, a tired voice comes his way. He woke up. The Theurge huffs out a touch of laughter, his gaze dropping towards the tiled floor only to be swiftly jerked up by another sentence. They started all over again.
He squints at the Fenrir kinsman, as if he doesn’t comprehend what it is that he’s hinting at, but he’s distracted a moment later by Imogen passing them by.
“Hey,” he says, raising a hand to motionlessly wave at Imogen, and then allows his gaze to wander around the inside of the diner for the first time since they’ve entered. He doesn’t seem quite as enthused to be here as Lonna is, but he certainly isn’t going to complain. It smells marvelous here.
[Lonna Larson] And, indeed, it was a good plce to look. She had legs that seemed to go on forever, and curves that were more than happy to make her look more like a pinup model than a mannequin. She came into the restaurant, and slipped her hands into her pockets. There’s a dopey sort of contentment on her face, she takes her hands out of her pockets long enough to wiggle her fingers at Imogen in a makeshift hello/goodbye greeting.
She has no clue who Imogen is. They’ve never met.
It’s a shame, really.
She also looks at John, and ives him a rather content smile and a little bit of a wave, too. With that, she’s starting to head to a well lit portion of the diner so that she can stare at the menu with dubious intentions.
[John Thornton] John takes another drink of the coffee, and finishes the last of the scrambled eggs on the plate. He looked like death warmed over, given his pale complexion, the even darker than usual circles between his eyes, and the disheveled mop of brown hair that frames the whole of the mess.
But for once, he didn’t smell like liquor. He just looked like an insomniac… One with no control or compunction to control his problem.
As Lonna waves, he nods…
“Hello Ms. Larson.”
[Imogen] (thanks for the scene, guys!)
[Charlie] Lonna and Charlie wander in the general direction of the booth that John and Imogen had been occupying, and while Lonna might have been planning on setting herself down at an entirely different section of the restaurant, the Fury decides that he’s going to park himself where Imogen had been sitting, across from John.
It’s worth mentioning that this is the first time that Charlie has been in the kinsman’s presence and not seen a bottle of scotch within reach, but Charlie does not say anything about it as he slides his gangly body into the bench across from the Fenrir. He drops himself down across from the detective without asking if it’s alright if they join him, and his nostrils flare briefly as he takes a deep breath through his sinuses.
He doesn’t smell alcohol. John can almost certainly smell marijuana on the Theurge as he plants himself, though.
“Hey,” he says. “John, right?”
[Lonna Larson] “Hey,” she tells John. Her smile is easy; it’s always been an easy sort of thing. It came, lit up her face and made mellow features seem more alive and functional.
Charlie sits down where Imogen is. Lonna looks at him for what feels like an eternity to her; the child of Gaia decides to plant herself next to Charlie instead. She seems more than comfortable at that moment. More than content to sit and take up space. She reaches behind her to steal a menu off the nearest table.
“It’s good to see you,” she tells John.
[John Thornton] John nods, watching Charlie for a few moments before speaking.
“You have me at a disadvantage…?”
He lets the statement trail off, right at the point where most would insert a name, turning it into a question.
Then, the deadpan facade turns to Lonna with another nod.
“And you… It’s been awhile.”
Which isn’t to say he’d had or hadn’t had the opportunity. When you drink like John had for a prolonged period of time, memory tended to suffer. At least, insofar as who you’ve met at a given place or a given time is concerned.
John takes another swig of the coffee, the hazel eyes returning to Charlie with a curious brow raised…
[Charlie] Charlie has John at a disadvantage, according to the kinsman, and the metis frowns quietly but does not ask him what the hell he means. He just settles into the booth, crossing one bony ankle over the other, and rests his head against the portion of wall between windows. He does not seem as though he’s about to pass out like he did the other night, when Joey had had to bodily haul the metis downstairs, but there is a dreamy sort of expression on his face that has to be connected to the odor that is clear to the vice detective’s senses.
The two Kinfolk greet each other, and it isn’t until John quirks an eyebrow at Charlie that the Theurge sits up straight, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head without speaking. The kid needs a haircut. He also needs to learn how to read between the lines, to properly digest human speech. The unspoken implication of John’s question has gone completely over his head, and he does nothing to try and catch it.
[Maija] Outside the diner, conveniently enough, there is suddenly a disturbance. A screech of tires, and the door flings open, and a slam of a car door just bare moments after one skinny as dishwater blond is flung from the passenger seat to fall and skid across the sidewalk. There’s cussing and yelling that follows – not exactly understandable from within the car,though her words are clear enough when she looks up, and flips off the retreating taillights.
“FUCK YOU TOO DICKWADS! I TOLD YOU I AIN’T LIKE THAT!”
There’s a flash of brakelights, and she scrambles back – crabwalk like – to get the wall of the diner against her back, and push to a stand with a groan. “Shit. fuckin dickhead neandertal gangsta wannabe ASSHOLES.”
Her palms are bleeding – not badly, but the skin was tore off in places as she halted her skid. She can feel the bruise forming on her knee already, and there’s another tear across the ass of her jeans. She just leans her head back against the diner window with a thud. Next time Bruno demands she go out, that a night out with him and his friends would do her good, she’s stab him in the fucking neck.
[Lonna Larson] “It has,” she tells him. And she is pulling for names, and she’s trying to pull things. She knows him, or at least she’s pretty sure she does. Names and places and faces are escaping her. The texture of the menu has her attention, and the Child of Gaia is more than content to fixate on that for awhile. “How are you?”
It has been said that she’s normally a fairly cuddly human being. Well, she is when she’s not-so-sober. The Child of Gaia scooted over a little closer to Charlie, and instead took the opportunity to lean against him. She rests her head against his shoulder and the blonde is more than content to be rather comfortable there. There are things that Lonna notices, and there are things that she remembers. Like why amaretto tastes like nostalgia and New York-
“You’re really comfortable,” she tells Charlie.
-and that Charlie Smith, Black Fury theurge, is comfortable.
[John Thornton] John seems to consider that question for some time… Oblivious of the time it takes to answer. Of course, given the influence under which Lonna and Charlie appear to be, it might not have been noticed at all.
“I am…”
Then his attention turns to the commotion in the street beyond, a curious brow raised.
Back to Lonna then…
“How are you? And who’s he, if I may…?”
The hazel gaze turns to the window again, as he tries to get a better view of the person against it… The form looked familiar but dim, hard to discern in the rain clouded night…
[Charlie] This isn’t the first time that there has been any physical contact between the Gaian kinswoman and the Fury Theurge. This is just the first time that it has happened in public. This is the first time that Lonna has leaned her head in and rested it on his shoulder while they were in full view of other people, and though he momentarily tenses under the weight applied to his body, he does not shrug her off or push her aside. He relaxes under the newfound pressure on his shoulder–which, it bears mentioning, is not quite as bony as it was the last time they cuddled on his bed–and he is able to catch the question that the kinsman poses to him.
That’s about the time that he hears yelling outside, something about a girl not being ‘like that,’ and he glances out the window to no avail. There’s a question to be answered.
“His name’s Charlie,” he says, with about as much muster as a patch of sentient dirt would have been able to muster up upon having been trampled upon.
[Maija] She pushes away from the wall, and shoves her hands into her pockets, checking something. A swing downwards and she snatches up her hoodie from the ground where it fell, and than ties it around her waist. There’s a hiss as she doesn’t quite cup her hands well enough, and the material touches abraded palms.
There’s a quick glance around, and she moves to the door, and lets herself into the diner. To the first waitress/worker she sees, she murmurs softly. “Can I jus’ clean up?” and than she starts toward the bathroom, moving in such a way to not attract any (more) attention, though it’s pretty obvious she’s the one who just jumped/was shoved out of a car.
[Lonna Larson] (wassat? -1 (higher than a kite))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP] Re-rolls: 1
[Lonna Larson] She heard something.
The Child of Gaia looked up, and her attention flickered for a moment She almost forgot that she was hungry, and she almost forgot that there was something going on at her table. She starts to scoot away from Charlie, and instead she heads to the bathroom.
“I gotta go do somethin’,” she says.
[John Thornton] Bill, the proprietor, is the only person clad in anything resembling a uniform. White tee shirt, white apron, blue jeans, and a silver haired crew cut. He looks up with surprise as Maija walks in, then shrugs and points toward the bathrooms.
As Charlie introduces himself, John nods and takes another swig of coffee to finish off the cup.
“Looks like Joey found you some place to crash the other night…”
Then, as he recognizes Maija, John’s brows raise in surprise.
“Maija?”
[Charlie] Looks like Joey found him some place to crash the other night.
The Theurge, now identified with a proper name, gives a tight, fleeting smile that isn’t quite what it’s trying to be, and he doesn’t give a verbal response. When he had awakened the other night, he had been in his bed, and he had been by himself, and he had had to go prowling the premises to find his matches and his pipe. Joey had been back in her room by the time he had come back to cognizance. He doesn’t truly remember having seen John that night.
Then again, Charlie’s memory isn’t all that great. It’s never been particularly potent.
His alertness, though, his connection to the world around him, is stronger than his memory, and when Maija comes into the restaurant, his gaze is pulled away from the table for a brief moment. Before he can muster the ability to get up and go to her, though, Lonna is getting herself up from the booth, and John is calling after her.
So Charlie holds his tongue, and sits on his hands.
[Maija] Her name is called by a male voice, and she jerks to a stop, almost as if slapped – or expecting one to come. A quick glance to the side, and when she sees it’s John, the detective that never asks her questions, that accepts that she’s been on the run, without pressing anymore, and helping out to boot… she takes a slow breath.
[he wouldn’t call for Maija anyway. No, it’d be a different name all together, wouldn’t it?]
She lifts a hand to push her hair back behind her ear – she’s come a long way since that first night she wouldn’t even show John her face – and glances at Lonna headed her way, Charlie’s look, and than back to the (relative safety) of John’s question. “Yeah. Hey.”
She hisses as her hand hits her palm, and looks at the skin, and picks another small rock or piece of dirt from her hand.
[Lonna Larson] John seems to have this under control.
Lonna looks a little confused for a minute, and she is torn between to very powerful desires, one of which inevitably wins out. Such is the way of things; her stomach growls and the Child of Gaia looks back at her companion. They had just sat down.
Literally, they just sat down. They both got comfortable, and she had just laid her head on his shoulder. She hadn’t quite noticed his muscles tensing, nor did she know whether or not he would push her away. It didn’t matter, though, because what was or was not said had nothing to do with what she was going to say to him at that moment.
“Hey, Charlie?” she asks, and she sounds a little off-centered. Then again, she was tasting the sky and the air right now. Her senses were not at their sharpest. “Do you wanna come home with me? I live down the block, and I wanna show you stuff.”
Oh so specific.
[John Thornton] Hazel eyes move to Maija’s hand as she picks glass from her palm. His mouth widens into that not-a-smile so frequently gracing his facade these days.
“Mugged again, huh…”
John says it as though it were his assumption, even though he allowed for myriad other reasons. He approaches the bar counter and looks at Bill.
“First aid kit?”
“Bathroom, under the sink.”
Then, John’s hazel gaze, a mixture of blue and green in this light, turns back to Maija.
“This way…”
John wasn’t a doctor, true… But being a cop does have a few advantages. One being a rudimentary knowledge of trauma care. He starts toward the bathroom as though he knew exactly where he was going…
[Charlie] Hey, Charlie.
Charlie pulls his attention away from the diner’s entryway, his eyebrows raised as he regards the blond kinswoman, and though she sounds as though she doesn’t exactly have her bearings straight, she has the Theurge’s attention. His eyebrows remain raised until she begins the next leg of her question, and then his gaunt face relaxes, his brow lowering and the muscles tensing his lips returning to an unconcerned state of being.
It seems as though the detective is going to see to the Gnawer kinswoman. It’s just as well. Charlie is in not much of a state to do more than walk himself in a straight enough line back to The Brotherhood and park himself on the couch to watch that terrible Bravo-turned-Lifetime show about would-be fashion designers. That show is teaching him to sew, but it’s not doing much else for him.
That’s neither here nor there. The question is whether he wants to go home with Lonna. There isn’t much that would give him the idea that there is anything behind that question, other than the promise of food and rest, and so Charlie gives a sharp nod of acceptance, and gives a jerk of his head to indicate that they ought to roll out.
“I wanna see stuff,” he says, starting to scoot forward.
[Maija] “Not exactly.” There’s the faintest of smirks that ghosts across her lips, but is gone again so quickly that it might have been his imagination. She glances at Charlie and Lonna, and then back to the detective as he asks for first aid, and than takes command and directs her toward the bathroom, where he wants to play doctor.
And not THAT kinda doctor.
“Yeah, alright.” Simple answer to a simple question, and she follows him to the back.
[Lonna Larson] She nodded, and offered him a hand up.
Whether he took it or not, eventually, they were both headed for the door. Lonna slipped her hands into her front pockets; the posture is awkward. She kind of bends in on herself slightly so that her breasts don’t look half as large as they actually are.
Whatever it is, though, it doesn’t matter, because eventually they are headed out the door.
She doesn’t say much, but she is content to curve inward and minimize her assets.
[Charlie] [Thanks for the RP, y’all! I’m gonna go pass out now!]
[John Thornton] It was probably for the best anyway. Bill didn’t need to know anymore than he already did, and the more time kinfolk and garou spent in his diner, the more likely it was he would learn more. Bill was sharp enough not to miss that.
John walked in silence toward the emergency exit, turning right at a small hallway that led beside the kitchen. Then, opening an unmarked door to the left, halfway down the hall, he flicked on the light and proceeded inside. The bathroom was a single room unit with one commode and a urinal on the wall. They looked pretty clean, all things being equal; Bill was careful enough about who he told that the place had a bathroom that it didn’t get much use.
“Have a seat…” He sighs wearily, and sets the first aid kit on the sink. While he hadn’t been drinking today, the lack of any sleep at all the night before was beginning to catch up with him.
Opening the box, he begins removing what he needs to bandage her wounds. Gauze, medical tape, band aids, rubbing alcohol, q-tips…
“I’d ask how you’ve been, but I suspect I already know…”
[Maija] She pushes up to sit on the counter next to sink, and watches as he removes what he needs. she rests her hands on her thighs, palms up. Other than the abrasions there, there’s a tear in the knee of her jeans, and blood around the edges there too, from where she’d landed. All in all, it’s not bad, and she’s most certainly had worse.
There’s that ghost of a smirk once again, and she leans back against the wall behind her. “Ain’t been so bad. Or good. Just been. Believe it or not, tonight’s the first night I done gone out in months. My fuckin ride got fresh, than pissed when I said I’d jump out when they ain’t listen that I ain’t inta’im. They slowed down so I bailed out th’car. Better this than th’alternative, I guess.”
Course, that’s just tonight’s tale. There’s also the other stuff. “Got m’own place now though. Bronzeville.” Just down from the corner marked that exploded, but that’s one of those ‘other’ things.
[John Thornton] “Rough section of town… What’s it got for security?”
John removes the trenchcoat and hangs it on the back of the door. Beneath, he was clad as was always his way. Shirt, tie, dress pants, badge, gun…
Rolling his sleeves to the elbows, he starts by rinsing his hands and getting them very soapy. Then, he begins rubbing the soap onto her hands, cleaning out the grit, carefully checking for glass or other debris caught in the wounds.
His hands are warm, his touch gentle… Though his eyes leave something to be desired in his bedside manner. They look at her hands like a scientist considered foreign biology, not like one person considering another. Still, given the way his gaze tended to be overly intense as a rule to begin with, perhaps it wasn’t so strange.
“Do you still have the business card I gave you, the one with my number on it?”
He then rinses of his hands, and nods for her to do the same while he gathers paper towels from the dispenser.
[Maija] She smirks, slightly. “Security in the ‘ville? please.” Then her breath is a quick indrawn hiss as he works on her hands. When she can breathe again, she continues. He’s always been nice to her, after all.
“S’over an old storefront. Streetside door has an electronic lock, buzz/intercom to come up, another door, 4 locks. It’s owned by the dude I work for, he has the building next door. Family BBQ – know of it? He and his family live above the restaurant. I work jus’ bout every day. He pays under the table, an’ takes rent out of the pay before I see it. Ain’t much, but it’s better then nothin.”
To the last question, she nods. “Yeah. S’in my wallet.”
[John Thornton] John nods, drying his hands and tossing the towels. Then, a few more are grabbed to dab her hands dry very gently. The last is rinsed under the faucet, some soap rubbed into it, and then is gently rubbed against her knee. He takes a moment or two to consider it, before slipping out a small penlight and flashing it over her knee…
It seemed odd. At least, until he sees the glimmer of a small piece of glass, and carefully removes it.
“It sounds nicer than most I’ve seen down there.”
Tossing the glass in the garbage, he then gets the rubbing alcohol ready.
“This will sting.”
There was no warning beyond that, no counting or prep… Knowing it would suck no matter how it happened, he seemed resigned to get it over with quickly and gently for her sake. Her knee gets like treatment after the hands are done.
Then, as he’s going through the bandages and selecting the best sizes for the wounds, he continues.
“Good. No more of this getting torn up business…
If you need a ride, call me. I’ll be up…”
I’m always up… his eyes seemed to say. Once the alcohol is dry and she stops wincing from pain, he puts the bandages on and wraps her hands in gauze. The knee got a double bandage and some tape. He smiles that wan not-a-smile as he finishes.
“And I won’t even shove glass in your hands…”
[Maija] It’s gonna sting – and it does. She doesnt’ make a whimper, just bites her lip and hisses again, finally tipping her head back to rest against the wall and stare at the ceiling until the sting goes away. She was mugged and hospitalized – this is really not much in comparison. But he wants to take care of it – of her – and she lets him.
He was nice to her. One of the few that are.
“My boss put in the extra locks when I moved in. Ain’t wanna lose his best waitress.”
She meets his gaze, for a moment when he says that, and then nods. “yeah, alright. That count for tonight too? It’s a long walk back to th’ville. Missed th’ last bus by a couple hours.”
When he’s done doctoring her up, she thanks him with another of her little barely there smirks that might some day grow up and be a smile. “Thanks. Ya ever in the area, too, I kin get ya a killer deal on ‘ribs.”
When he’s closed up the kit, she hops down, and follows him out once more, before letting him drive her home. Can’t be a bad thing to let the detective know where she lives, right? at least, she hopes not.
((..and fade…))