[John Thornton] ((Would you prefer I start?))
[Maija] (absolutely. I never start if I can help it! )
[John Thornton] Clouds danced across the face of a nearly full moon like gossamer boats on the river of night, pushed along by the currents of air in the Windy City. The inhabitants of Bronzeville, those who either did not seek or have shelter this time of night seemed to huddle against the scathing chill of the wind, as it knifed through person and clothing alike in its frenetic attempt to reach its destination.
Oblivious to the chill in the wind, a dark shape moves amidst the detritus and grime of the run-down section of Chicago, light dancing across the freshly polished black paint, a low and throaty rumble growling steadily as the souped up engine churned. Headlights seemed to glare at passing street walkers, thugs, and the downtrodden… As though daring their interference with the sleek metallic form.
The car pulls to a slow stop before a run down two-story… And after several moments, a man emerges. His hair is a mop of chestnut brown, whipped and tugged by the steady wind that also grabbed the edges of the black trench coat that surrounded the somewhat stocky form. A tie dangled loosely as well, as dress shoes tapped steadily upon the pavement.
A man with haunted eyes resting in dark circled sockets rings the bell twice in relatively short succession.
[Maija] It’s late, but Maija is a confirmed night owl by the soft glow of the lights visible in the second story windows. That’s not to suggest she’s expecting company, because she isn’t, and is startled when the buzzer sounds. She steps back from the sink where she’s washing dishes, and grabs a dishtowel to dry her hands. She is so slight, so thin that the floorboards don’t creak under her weight, and stockinged feet make no sound across hardwood floor.
The intercom buzzes to life a few seconds after the second bell. “Yeah?”
The voice is soft, and the question is clear – who would come to her at this time of the night?
[John Thornton] “It’s John. Can I come in?”
His voice sounded… weary. Alert, aware, but weary…
As though it had indeed been a long day at the office.
The man with the disheveled mop turned after speaking, as hazel eyes made gray in the darkness make a slow circuit of the street, as if to verify he hadn’t been followed by thug with ill intention or something altogether more sinister.
When you fought the drug trade, sometimes your disappearance wasn’t accidental.
[Maija] She arches a brow, slightly, and glances back down the hall into her apartment, before she hits the buzzer again. “Yeah, alright.”
A second later, the door buzzer sounds, holding long enough for him to open it and come inside. While she waits for him to climb the stairs, she unlocks her door – all four locks – one by one, and nudges the door open with a hip to watch him climb.
When he’s closed the distance, she lifts a hand and pushes the hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Hey. Common in.”
[John Thornton] “Thanks.”
John follows her up the stairs to her apartment and enters as bidden after the four locks are opened. Without asking, he turns the corner and approaches the room with the television, his hazel eyes never seeming to stop.
As he reaches the light, his suit is revealed as a charcoal gray color, with a solid tie of maroon and a white dress shirt. As always, the dress shirt collar is open… The tie long since loosened.
Vestiges of formality that were unnecessary when one went off-duty.
After reaching the room with the television, he steps out of the way to allow Maija to pass and turns to her with that wan not-a-smile.
“Nice place…”
The dark circles around his eyes seemed darker than they had been mere days before, but his pallor was less pale… His eyes surprisingly clear, devoid of the angry pulse of capillaries resulting from rampant alcoholism.
It almost seemed like he hadn’t touched a drink in days… Or at least, hadn’t been boozing quite as heavily.
[Maija] She closes the door once he enters, but only thumbs a single lock, before she follows him into the living room. Where he’s dressed for work, it’s clear she’s been off work for a while. And this is likely the most of her he’s actually seen, as she’s dressed in a pair of men’s boxers, rolled at the waist in attempt to keep them on thin hips, and a tank top. It’s all to easy to see exactly how thin she really is, tonight. It’s also easy to see the scar on her thigh, surgically closed, and others here and there on her skin.
The worst of her scars though – those can’t be seen.
“Thanks. Ain’t much, but it’ll do.” In fact, the most important thing, the most expensive thing she owns is the collection of books on the shelves that cover one entire wall. There’s a little bit of everything there – even books in different languages, old books, new books, things that she definately can’t afford. And they’re in perfect condition.
On the back of the couch is a different book, laying open – on Socrates. Interesting choice for a street rat.
“Have a seat. Want somethin’ to drink? I got lemonade, water or beer.”
[John Thornton] As she says beer John’s eyes take on an almost hungry look, as though there were nothing he wanted more than to get drunk right now. However, the look is but fleeting, as one more akin to conviction or perhaps resolution replaces it…
“No… No thanks. I don’t plan to keep you long.”
The hazel eyes seem to notice the scar… seem to notice her lean build… Seem to notice everything with their steady wanderings, as though they could not bear to rest even a moment.
They stop only after they appear to have devoured the room… Only after they have seen all there is to see.
“I was in town and decided to check up on you.”
[Maija] She watches him, and sees the hungry look. She’s had one herself a time or two, for various things. She doesn’t say anything about it though, instead stepping onto the couch, sinking to sit crisscrossapplesauce and pull the blanket it there over her thighs.
She gestures toward the couch, the chair, and offers. “Have a seat if yeh want.” Slender fingers lift to rub at the side of her nose idly, before she pushes her hair back from her face again. “All in one piece.” a pause, and then..
“Got some good news t’day even.” A little curl at the corner of her lips, there than gone before it can take full hold, as she turns to pick up a document sized envelope. “M’name change is official. I kin finally get an ID with Maija on it.”
[John Thornton] “That is good news…”
John smiles that wan not-a-smile, and slides his trench from his shoulders. Draping it over the arm of a chair, he takes the seat she’d offered as eyes drift to the document sized envelope in her hands. The unspoken question hangs in the air for a moment; it was clear that John was curious, yet his curiosity remained unvoiced…
As though it wasn’t something he felt was his to inquire after…
Instead, he asks something else.
“So… Does that mean a driver’s license is in your future as well?”
[Maija] He sits, and she relaxes just that much more. She runs her fingers over the envelope, and then looks up in time to catch that curious look in his eye, the way he he carefully doesn’t ask it.
He asks something else – and she answers it first. “State ID anyway. Ain’t much need t’drive really. Got a bunch a busses n shit, so. Maybe. We’ll see.”
A beat, and then… “G’on. Ask. I owe ya that, at least.”
She’s come a long way since that first night, when she wouldn’t let him see her face, when he paid for a motel room so that she could get clean, and get a good nights sleep. He’s never asked questions, and in doing so, he’s garnered enough trust with her that she’s not the mess ye saw months ago, but a woman slowly coming into her own.
[John Thornton] “You don’t owe me anything…”
John shakes his head, and then shrugs.
“I won’t deny I’m curious; it’s part of the job. But I never stipulated you needed to tell me anything you would prefer not to tell.
If you want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen. If you tell me about your past, I’ll do what I can to see it doesn’t trouble you in the future. But I won’t pressure you for a past you’d prefer remains buried.”
His expression is again that untelling deadpan… Though there is the ring of sincerity in his words, of honesty…
When he continues, his words take a new tack, speaking to her transportation situation.
“A driver’s license would be safer, especially in this neighborhood. H1N1 is still on the loose; they say it’ll get worse this winter.
A car’s a safer bet… And I’d be happy to help you brush up before the test if you’d like.”
[Maija] Again, she answers backwards – tackling driving first. He offers to help her brush up, and she nods slightly, that odd little brief smile curling her lips again. “Thanks. Last time I drove it was t’run over some asshole who then tried t’shoot me through th’floorboard.”
Life in Chicago, always an adventure.
She takes a breath then, her fingers still smoothing over the envelope in her hand, as if it holds something precious. And to her, it does. “I owe ya, because ya ain’t expect it from me, when everyone else did. Maybe owe ain’t th’right word, but I ain’t mind tellin ya. At least parta it.”
Her brow furrows slightly, as she reaches for the glass of lemonade she has on the floor next to her seat on the couch, and she takes a long swallow of it and sets it down again. “Ya asked me th’first night if I was on th’run – an ain’t never pushed t’see what from. I’m from Seattle, an’ been on th’road for two years when I came here, followin the only Garou what ever befriended me, insteada hurt me. My father.. he..” She pauses and her forehead creases deeply as she tries to find words that won’t trip her up, that won’t dredge up the emotion, the fear…
“He thought he could beat a change inta me. He’d gotten this fortune what said he was gonna have a Trueborn – an I ain’t breed true. He started when I hit puberty. I kin list the bones I ain’t had broken easier than I kin list the ones I have. When I was 13, he started fuckin a Shadowlord Theurge. She told’im he was on th’right path, an’ took it on herself t’show him how t’hurt me where it ain’t show. When he’d go too far, she’d heal me an’ bring me back, so’s he could do it again.”
With those last few words, it explains a lot, including the way he’d seen her react when she was in the bedroom with Mrena – indeed when she’s surrounded by any sort of rage, but especially feminine rage. She takes a breath, holds it, and lets it go slow. “He swore I’d never be free. Th’last time th’neighbor, Mama J, she called th’cops an’ they put me in the hospital. Soon as I could walk, I ran. Been gone ever since.”
Fingers tap the envelope. This part is easier. “Mackinzie Walsh, she helped get my papers, so’s I could change my name, and cut th’last ties with him. He ain’t know my real name, it weren’t ever released t’him. He might could still find me, but it ain’t gonna be as easy.”
[John Thornton] John blinks, his surprise apparent… When he speaks, it’s hesitant… Though there’s an almost discernible edge just under the surface. It was like brushing a baseball player’s duffel bag, and feeling the ball bat beneath the fabric…
“They… They really do that?”
She might sense anger from him, not directed at her, but… A sternness, the part of him that is Get, angered at a situation that seemed so wholly incomprehensible. So wholly… wrong.
And perhaps… It stirs something else within him, an idea that has only begun to reveal itself, like a flower whose petals have shifted the first marginal bit open to catch the rays of a rising sun.
“Jesus…”
He shakes his head, and runs a hand through his mop of hair, and lets out a deep sigh…
Still, when his gaze returns to her, his expression is again calmed. Sympathetic, to the degree that an untelling deadpan can be, anyway. A few moments pass, his hands steeple in thought, before considering.
“Do you have any police records? Picked up and sent to juvee, or jail?”
[Maija] She shrugs, slightly. “I ain’t around th’ragers enough t’give em a chance anymore. Some I trust instinctively. Ryan… th’one I found here? He ain’t never made a move against me, an he let me ride in his rig between Oregon an’ Florida. He died shortly after I found’im again here.” He died with Mrena. They both share the same wound, though they express it in different ways.
He asks his question, and she shakes her head. “No. I ain’t never been caught at th’things I had t’do t’get along, an ain’t been on th’wrng side a th’law since I got here. Only report they got is when I was mugged here in Chicago.” Her hand slides to the scar on her thigh, the one reminder of a night that was horrific to the extreme. If she hadn’t have survived all that the bitch and her father did to her, she wouldn’t have survived the attack at all. Studry stuff, this kin. “An’ we ain’t give ’em a name. Kept it under Jane Doe.”
[John Thornton] As she mentions Ryan, and him dying… The haunted look seems to tighten about John’s eyes, almost as though he were caught in the embrace of a ghost. Then, the deadpan returns, as she speaks to his question.
John nods, considering.
“I’ll see that it disappears.”
As simple as that; it was as though doing so bothered him not at all. Once upon a time… It was something he wouldn’t have suggested.
The rules change.
His next question is delivered with that wan not-a-smile, as though he only half felt the humor inherent therein.
“I understand it’s not for a gentleman to know a woman’s age, but I know more to what degree I can help you if I ask. How old are you?”
[Maija] She lifts her hand, and tucks her hair behind her ear, before she looks at him. He’ll make it disappear, and there’s an obvious flicker of relief through her gaze. It was the link she was worried about. Any other connection to Seattle is through the attorneys, and Ms. Walsh. And she knows and trusts Ms. Walsh would never give away her whereabouts, no matter who asked, or how.
“Thanks.” And then she chuckles, softly, briefly. It’s a surprise when she relaxes enough to allow such a thing to happen, to linger, and the brief laughter lights up her face, softens the lines, and makes her almost… pretty. Almost. “I jus’ turned 18 a few months ago. S’how we was able t’get my birth records n shit so we could do th’name change without any additional red tape. We ran inta quite enough as it was. He weren’t none too happy when they removed me off th’amber alert list.””
[John Thornton] “I would expect not… And you’re welcome.”
John smiles that wan not-a-smile, his fingers still steepling in thought. Then, he continues.
“Have you ever fired a gun?”
His tone is introspective, as though he were deciding how far to take that line of thought.
[Maija] She shakes her head, slightly. “No. Ain’t never had th’opportunity – though I ain’t unarmed either.” She tucks her hand under the edge of the cushion she sits on, and with a click, comes back up with a switchblade. Opened. “One of a group a 4. Carry two with me at all times, and.. oh!” A beat. “Dr. Slaughter, she suggested I carry mace too. But I ain’t know where t’pick any up.”
The good Doctor is also where Maija picked up the copy of the teachings of Socrates on the back of the couch, though it’s hard to imagine two women so completely opposite having anything in common. “Wouldn’t be adverse ta learnin how t’shoot though.”
[John Thornton] John nods, considering… Then, after a few moments, he reaches into his trench coat pocket, and pulls out a small black cylinder with a red trigger-like button at the top. He holds it out so that she can see what he’s doing…
His voice explaining each action even as he demonstrates with the cylinder.
“To activate the trigger, turn this lever clockwise. Then, point this part at the face of your attacker. The pepper spray fires when you press the red button.”
He stops short of firing the pepper spray, and de-activates the trigger. Then, John holds out the pepper spray canister so she can reach it.
“Don’t flash that in front of other cops who aren’t kin. That’s police grade pepper spray. You could be in trouble for having it.
But it’s better than the over the counter stuff.”
Once she takes the pepper spray from him, John leans back in the chair.
“I can help with shooting lessons as well… Though I need to review the laws on ccw cut off age in Chicago.
It’s more paperwork, but it’s better than a criminal record paper trail.”
[Maija] He demonstrates, and she clicks her blade back home and slips it under her cushion again, before she unfolds her legs and leans forward, watching as he shows her how to activate and arm the pepperspray. She nods her understanding, and then takes it from him, her fingers cold – ice cold – in that brief touch. No surprise, really, considering she has zero padding on her too-thin frame. She repeats the steps as he’d done them, activating, then deactivating the trigger to show her understanding.
“Thanks. I ain’t in the habit of flashin cops nothin.” It’s said with that little lopsided grin that appears when she’s relaxed, when she’s not waiting for someone to hurt her, when she trusts the person in the room with her. She is on her turf, in her apartment, and he has proven himself over and over to have her best interests in mind. That grin softens her features, gives her a warmth that she usually hides.
“I’d like that. The blades, this stuff, its good for close quarters. If I kin get someone before they get that close, all th’better. You know that explosion on th’corner? Was a coverup of some o’the Trueborn.”
[John Thornton] As she talks about flashing cops, John just smiles that wan not-a-smile, and shakes his head. Then, he nods, before speaking…
“I’m beginning to find more and more that the world I thought I lived in before I knew of garou is nothing like the world that really is…”
Then, he stands slowly and knuckles his back wearily.
“Just don’t use it inside; it’s strong enough to incapacitate your attacker and you as well indoors. Your maximum range is about 15 to 20 feet… But ten is a better distance.”
Then, he begins patting pockets, as though to reassure himself of having not lost anything from his pockets in the chair. After but a moment, he withdraws a beaten up, over filled, black leather wallet. Scraps of paper, myriad notes and phone numbers jut out in odd places… A menagerie of data that held no meaning save to the one who had stuffed it.
The bill fold opens effortlessly to the cash inside, as John begins wordlessly counting bills.
[Maija] He stands, and she peels the blanket off her legs so that she can as well, nodding as she tucks away the information on the pepperspray, which she sets on the table next to the couch.
But when he starts counting bills, she stands, closes the distance and places her hand over his. “Ya ain’t gotta do that. Th’BBQ place next store? I gotta job, an’ I’m doin’ ok. I appreciate it, both th’thought, an’ what ya done for me already.”
Her fingers are really cold. Makes one wonder if they’re ever warm… or if the rest of her is chilled too. “Save it, an’ I’ll let ya take me out t’dinner after we go shootin or drivin. Or both.”
[John Thornton] John considers, and then nods…
Bills he’d already removed are crushed in his palm absently, the bill fold is replaced in his back pocket.
“Okay. But if you run short, you call me. Don’t go without just to be stubborn.”
He goes to pick up the trench coat, his hand opening as he does so… several wadded bills fall to a section of the seat cushion that she hopefully wouldn’t see through the stocky form.
John puts on the trench, and then pauses just a moment to consider her with a thoughtful expression.
“Give me a call if you need anything. Even if it isn’t a police matter necessarily…”
And with that, he starts toward the door…
[Maija] She pulls away, and picks up his coat. If she sees the bills fall to the chair, she doesn’t say anything, because… well. Because. He’s trying to be gallant, and take care of her still, and some part of her doesn’t really mind.
He invites her to call for anything, and she nods, before following him to the door. She thumbs the lock, and opens it for him before she answers. “I will. I kin be pretty stubborn, but I’ll call.” It’s said with that curious little grin again, as she touches his arm as he passes by. “Thanks, John. Come visit anytime.”
Oddly enough, she means it, too. A beat, and she teases.. “Even if it ain’t a police matter, necessarily. I kin cook a mean pot a stew – an’ it’s gettin colder an’shit.” Invitation offered, she lets him go and watches as he walks down the stairs. As he opens the lower door, her’s closes, and he can hear each of the locks click home before he steps through and to the street.