[Rory O’Bryne] She sits out of the way, under a tree, alone, her back pressed against the trunk, securely settled between the roots. Her pack is on the ground between denim-clad thighs, as fingers work along the inner springs, pieces and parts of the object in her hand. Her head bowed to her work, the dark hood of her jacket is not enough to contain the mass of fiery red curls, that she pushes back absently, irritatedly, on occasion.
She is oblivious to anything around her, it seems, intent on what she’s doing.
[Rory O’Bryne] She sets it aside briefly, to dig into her pack. From the depths, a box of small tools – tiny even – that she flips open and digs through. Finally she picks the small screwdriver she wants, rubs it on her jeans to make sure it’s clean, then goes back to work. She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, chewing absently as she works, pausing only to glance around on occasion.
[Marrick Fisher] (hey! Mind if I join?)
to Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] .
to Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] (Please do!)
to Marrick Fisher
[Marrick Fisher] She was out at the park. The moon was nearly full, or it was completely full. Whatever it was, the Fury didn’t mind. She hit the road, and she was running. It was a training of her senses, an emphasis and a push to do what was nearly cathartic for her. Marrick ran because it felt good. She ran because people left her alone.
It was running for the sake of running. Because it felt right.
So, there she was, blonde hair, blue eyes, and more Fury than anything else. She moved on.
[Rory O’Bryne] The moon is almost full, which guarantees that she is left alone, the full force of her rage a cushion of solitude that she’s come to expect, and enjoy. It allows her to focus on her project, even while keeping track of what’s going on about her with little glances.
One of those glances finds Marrick coming into view. She watches a moment, and then turns back to the object in her hands. The screwdriver slips, and a muttered curse is heard as she studies her finger, briefly, and sucks the blood off the tip before wiping her hands on her jeans again.
[Marrick Fisher] Something tinges her senses, and it isn’t quite the moon or the rage that catches her attention, but rather, the Fianna breeding that dares to hit her in the face and cling to her senses. There is no scent to accompany it, though, so with borrowed curiosity, the blonde Fury makes her way over. She should be cold; she’s wearing shorts. She’s not cold, though, but that’s neither here nor there.
[Rory O’Bryne] (Mechanical tinkering – dex+crafts (tinkering) -2 diff.)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1
[Rory O’Bryne] She’s not surprised to catch the attention of the Fury. It happens. She doesn’t look up at first though, determined to make one last adjustment to her little project. Just something to keep her hands busy, really. She tips her head, glances up at Marrick as she comes over, then down to what she can now see is a musical carousel – the kind little girls often have on their dressers, that plays some song, with unicorns and majestic stallions traveling a circle as some song plays…
Another adjustment, and then Rory leans forward and sets the carousel on the ground and winds it up. A pause, a grind of a gear as it settles back into place, and then the tinkling music begins, soft and wistful. Rory allows a slight expression of satisfaction to appear across her face, as she looks up at Marrick, and lifts a hand in a little wave.
[Marrick Fisher] “Whatcha workin’ on?” she asks.
The Fury was a curious sort, and blue eyes widened and she looked at the carousel with her head cocked to the side. There was always the need to move. A constant buzz and jitter and uneasy ease of movement. She had too much energy for a five and a half foot tall frame. A gaze that was too harsh for such a pretty face.
[Rory O’Bryne] Thin shoulders lift in a shrug, as she gestures to the music box. “Found it in a stumpster by a dore. I fix things.”
Simple enough, the reply, though her phrasing is certainly odd. And backwards. Rory doesn’t seem to notice it though, as she leans back and pushes a lock of curls back under her hood absently. She meets the harsh gaze easily enough, though with respect to drop her eyes to somewhere around her nose and mouth instead.
[Marrick Fisher] She nodded, and then?
“I’m Marrick,” she tells her. It’s abrupt, but oddly friendly.
[Rory O’Bryne] “Rory.” Just as friendly, just as easy, and something she doesn’t stumble over. She tips her head, slightly, pale green eyes studying Marrick a moment.
Take a chance, Rory.
“Tew in nown. Not sure where to go to check in. You wheen here a bile?” Again, she doesn’t seem to think anything is wrong at all with the way she speaks. In her head, it’s making perfect sense as she reaches for the little music box again, and starts to screw the bottom back on.
[Marrick Fisher] “Walk with me, talk with me, Rory,” she tells her. In a second the Fury is back on her feet. she offers a hand down and looks at the Fianna, who is so obviously a Fianna that it sticks to her skin and her senses and makes her obviously intrigued.
“I’ve been here long enough, we’ve gotta have some words, though. We gotta get introductions proper.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She tips her head, and then nods, a slight smile that might be relief across thin lips as she shoves the just fixed music box and the tools back into her pack. She slides her hand into Marrick’s, her grip firm but not dominating as she takes the offered hand and gets to her feet. She slides her arms through the straps of her pack, settling it on her back, and then makes a slight gesture.
“Lead on.” Some phrases come easy.
[Marrick Fisher] She helps pull her up. The rage is obvious. Clear across her lovely features just like her freckles or her Fury breeding. The Fury continues down the path, and when they walk she’s quiet. The Fury speaks softly; people stay away from them. They’re intense, they’re terrifying in their own rights. People part. People flee. This is okay.
“I’m Marrick Fisher. Bones to Dust, Black Fury ahroun, Cliath. Elder ahroun for the sept of Maelstrom,” she tells her. Good enough. Though, admittedly, the title might seem odd to one unfamiliar with this city.
[Rory O’Bryne] She has an easy stride, one who’s used to walking. People part and flee, and she seems to expect it. It’s natural. It’s right. Rory shoves her hands into the pocket of her jacket, and nods once, curls escaping the confines of her hood when she does so.
“Rory O’Bryne. Tongue-Twister. Clianna Fiath Ahroun.” A pause, then. “You’re ahroun elder?”
It’s not that she doesn’t believe her capable. She has nothing to judge ability on – it’s simply something new, and slightly odd. She’s not afraid to ask questions though. Even if she’s hardly understood if they’re more than a couple words long.
[Marrick Fisher] “Yeah,” she said, “’round here they’ve got this kinda auspice council thing and, well, I won.”
She said with a shrug. SHe doesn’t sound surprised but… well, okay, she does. She sounds surprised that, not only did she win? But she does seem surprised that no one’s challenged her for this at the time being. The Fury was comfortable in her own skin, and she is more than happy to oblige.
“You ain’t been to th’caern yet, right?”
[Rory O’Bryne] She glances at Marrick, and studies her a moment, before she just nods. Different places, different things. That’s part of what she set out to experience, after all.
She nods. “Right. Only heen bere day or so.” Hasn’t been anywhere but the alley she discovered the treasure trove of mechanical garbage in and the park.
[Marrick Fisher] “C’mon, then,” she tells her.
Marrick stops, and then regards her with a sort of serious aire. The Fury doesn’t falter, nor does she make much fanfare about what she is saying. Words come, and they are smooth and memorable.
“Maelstrom is a caern of sacrifice, if you want to stay here, y’gotta give chiminage. And Maelstrom wants something that would hurt to loose.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She stops when Marrick does, and meets that regard without flinching, submitting to it as one who’s used to lectures, and instruction. She pushes her escaping curls back under her hood, and nods.
“Understood. I can sind fomething appropriate.”
[Marrick Fisher] She pauses… and then?
One has to understand that Marrick Fisher is an eighteen year old girl. She is a warrior whose glory is questionable, whose wisdom is doubted, but she is an eighteen year old girl. They are not wise, nor are they equipped with the knowledge necessary to tell when they should not ask things.
“Hey… uh… Rory?… why’re you… doin’… that thing yer doin’.”
[Rory O’Bryne] They are not so far apart in age, though it could be argued that the stress of one’s upbringing is writ all over Rory’s face, aging her a bit – that is to say, she looks a bit older than she is. And when one considers she’s merely a cliath, it’s surprising to discover she is in her early twenties. Or maybe not, given the way she does what she does, and what she is.
“Doin…?” She’ been asked before, but it takes a moment to register what Marrick means. Green eyes look at the Fury for a long moment, and she can almost see the thoughts click until she arrives at a realization. “Oh.”
Her forehead furrows in concentration, as she goes every what little she’s head, but cannot come up with an instance that might have confused Marrick. In her mind, it’s all in line, she’s said exactly what she intended too, voicing it perfectly, just as she meant too.
She chews her lip absently, and then sighs. “Say thaid its a dental meformity.”
[Marrick Fisher] “Oh,” she replies. And, for a second, she isn’t sure if she should feel bad for asking or not. The Fury continues on walking. They aren’t that different. They’re both young, they’re both intense, and they’re both very much graced by their own breeding. “M’kay, I just thought… yeah, I thought I was hearin’ wrong or somethin’.”
She tries to cover that up. Mental deformity. Hmmn.
Somethign she almost brings up again, but she continues on.
“You stayin’ anywhere right now?”
[Rory O’Bryne] “No.” She didn’t hear wrong. Or something. If anything, Rory does, as it sounds natural to her.
She glances at Marrick, and sees the question almost asked, and figured she may as well get to it. “Ask.” It all comes out in the wash, anyway, right?
She shrugs, rolling her shoulders under the straps of her pack. “In an alley stumpster behind a door.”
[Marrick Fisher] She was going to ask something, but then?
In an alley stumpster behind a door-
Marrick didn’t really care what it translated out to, she just knew one thing. “Aw Hell no, you ain’t sleepin’ in no damned dumpster, Rory, I’m takin’ you to the brotherhood.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She blinks, and then nods. She doesn’t know what the brotherhood is, but she’s trusted the elder thus far, and will continue to do so. But she does ask. “Hotherbrood?”
It’s a wonder people don’t laugh in her face a lot more often than they do. Of course, considering she’d bite their face off if they did it too often – maybe it’s not so odd. Rage has that effect on folks. Unless they’ve a healthy dose of it themselves, such as Marrick.
[Marrick Fisher] “Yeah, it’s like… well, it’s kinda like a… I guess hostel for the true. Buncha folks live there, it’s close to the caern. Not supposed to be a permanent place to live, but they’ll feed ya if you need it, and they’ll keep a roof over yer head til you find one of your own. Help out when and how youcan and you’re set.”
A pause.
“What we need right now is folks who c’n help maintain wards an’ stuff on the other side of the place.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She nods, slightly, whispy curls escaping from her hood again with the motion. Even without the breeding in her blood, it would be impossible to doubt her heritage. Somewhere in there, there’s a whole bunch of Irish, despite the fact her speech is unaccented. Just weird.
“Maintain how? Hill welp all I can.”
[Marrick Fisher] “Thanks, Rory,” she tells her, “I dunno yet.”
She pauses, and the Fury keeps on walking, there is a sort of nervous energy about her. Something that needs to run and move and spin and twirl and do something. She has needs, and they both did. The kind of thins that could not, nor would they be ignored.
The Fury shifts her weight from one side to the other. Half a skip and she’s leading off with her right foot instead of her left.
“Y’also might wanna go talk t’your tribal elder. Fostern Philodox, his name’s Buried Hatchet… he lives at the brotherhood, too, so it’s kinda fortunate that we’re, y’know, goin’.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She watches Marrick, her steps matching the Fury’s as they continue on. Theyhave needs – and Marrick needs to do something but settles for taking the new one to a new place to stay and show her around.
She looks nervous, briefly. She hasn’t had time to fix something to offer her elder’s yet. And there’s more than one, apparently. Tribe and auspice. She hunches her shoulders, slightly, then nods. “Ok.”
[Marrick Fisher] ( I gotta get off work, I’ll be back in thirty if you wanna continue, if not? We can say that Marrick dragged her to the brotherhood.)
to Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] (Sure, I can wait, unless you’ve other plans and want me to just go on my own.)
to Marrick Fisher
[Marrick Fisher] (I’ll be back ASAP!)
to Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] (fabulous!)
to Marrick Fisher
[Rory O’Bryne] (timecheck)
to Rory O’Bryne
[Marrick Fisher] (sorry about that taking so long!)
to Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] .
to Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] (That’s alright. Glad you made it back!)
to Marrick Fisher
[Marrick Fisher] “What brought you to Chicago?” she asks. It’s not abrupt. It’s fairly calm and put together.A well-thought out question from a girl that was brimming with rage who needed to do something sop badly that it almost ached. She is getting her bearing with the Fianna right now.,
[Rory O’Bryne] She glances at Marrick, and then to the area around them as they walk. The fury wasn’t the only one getting her bearings, though Rory’s consisted just as much of where they’re going, as what she can expect from the Elder, and those in Chicago.
“It was where the first gus was boing. Good a place as any.”
[Marrick Fisher] Don’t fidget. Don’t look nervous. Don’t look anything.
She continued on, and it took her a second to translate what Rory was saying from what-she-said to what she heard. It was a difficult task to say the least. She continues on, and her pace isn’t quite fast. Not quite slow. Just… there.
“So, you came alone? Where were you before?”
[Rory O’Bryne] She watches where they’re headed, the way the people give the two of them such a wide birth. It’s not so shocking, given the heaviness of the moon ahead – despite the clouds, it’s weight can be felt bearing on them. One struggles to not look anything, especially nervous. The other is clearly nervous, and talks crazy talk while thinking it’s normal.
What a pair they make.
A nod. She came alone. “Arizona. Born and bred.” She pauses, and then. “Stagnant. No mace for plee there anymore.”
[Marrick Fisher] She looks at Rory and grins.
“Ain’t you a little fair t’be from Arizona. True or no, you must sunburn like a sonofabitch.”
An attempt at humor.
[Rory O’Bryne] She blinks, and then grins back, even if she ducks her head right afterwards, as if embarrassed to have been caught doing so, so freely.
“I do – and fet more greckles than you’d think possible. Big san of funscreen.”
[Marrick Fisher] Which made Marrick laugh. And not just laugh, but laugh something full-bodied and appreciative. It made her light up, made her seem her age instead of the years and years older that she felt.
“Ah, my freckled sistah, yer among yer own here,” she says, “I tan, but I freckle like crazy.”
[Rory O’Bryne] Marrick laughs, and for a split second Rory tenses, until she realizes she’s not laughing AT her, but with her instead. She smiles more readily then, and pushes some of those curls back under her hat – then pushes the hood back so that the curls spring free, smooths the mass as best she can before re-situating the hood once again.
“Least your cair isn’t hurly. Called me Wendy. Rike the lestaurant. ”
[Marrick Fisher] How rare. A moment where someone wasn’t laughing at something that she said for sakeof malice, but rather, because it was funny. Either she didn’t know you were supposed to dislike metis on principle, or she simply didn’t care.
“You rock that, man. If you have something, own it. ‘sides, I think yer hair’s pretty.”
[Rory O’Bryne] It is very rare. It’s part of why she left – you cannot make a name for yourself when everyone has known you from birth, and has never considered you worthy of anything – including life. She ducks her head at the compliment. Those are rarer still.
“Thanks.”
Single words are easier, for obvious reasons.
[Marrick Fisher] She nodded again, and the Fury was, instead, content to walk in silence yet again. She said nothing, only looking over occasionally to see how her few found auspice mate was doing. They had things to do, places to go, and for the time being Marrick didn’t have much to say. The teenager was such an expert conversationalist.
[Rory O’Bryne] They walk in silence for a while. One can imagine it’s nice to travel without talk being expected when suffering an affliction you can’t control, or even recognize when it happens. She tucks her hands into the pockets of her coat, and walks easily, comfortably.
“This hotherbrood, how many stay there?” curiosity finally gets the best of her.
[Marrick Fisher] “About ten, I think. Eight for sure. There’s a couple Fianna there- both are fosterns. There’s Charlie, and and I share a tribe, and then there’s a few others. I dunno, those are the ones you’ll probably meet first.”
She nods with that, and there is a quiet pride in talking about her tribemate.
“But there’s room for more. There’s nine rooms. Some singles, some are triples. There’s space for ya, if that’s what yer askin’. Me an’ Boy stayed there for awhile.”
[Rory O’Bryne] “All torn brue?”
Curiosity, and yes, the hidden question was answered well enough. It’s a lot of people, a very public place. The more there, the more chance for her to be ridiculed, the worse it can be. It makes her nervous. She’s trying to control it.
And then… “Boy?”
[Marrick Fisher] “Not all of ’em. There’s a couple kin who live there, but they room together,” she said. “But, yeah, most of ’em are true.”
As though this was a good enough explanation. Marrick Fisher was many things, and clueless was one of them. To a degree, she didn’t know why Rory might be nervous. She knew that people would have a hard time accepting her, but they accepted Charlie. Why wouldn’t they accept her… right?
“Yeah, Boy,” she said, “he’s my alpha. Brother. Packmate. We came from the same place, same rite of passage, same sept-”
A pause.
“we got a lotta stuff in common.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She nods, slightly. There’s a bit of a smile as she looks over at Marrick and the way she talks about Boy. There’s a spark of something else too, maybe. Envy. A desire to belong somewhere. Anywhere, to be a part of a whole that’s a part of the bigger whole.
To be accepted, despite the sin of her birth.
“Why Chicago?” A repeat of the question asked of herself, earlier.
[Marrick Fisher] Something flickers, and aches quietly. She doesn’t quite wince, but she does answer the question. It is one of honesty; afterall, Rory answered her questions. Quid pro quo and all that.
“We needed to be somewhere that wasn’t home. Caern got attacked, we lived, an’ there wasn’t anything left for us there. So, we left.”
[Rory O’Bryne] “Oh.” She nods. They all know loss, but some things ache so much deeper than others. There’s an understanding there, deep to the core. They give their all, they fight with everything they have in a war that never ends, and seems to consistently take everything that is important, and force them to start over again.
“Good stace to plart over, then?”
[Marrick Fisher] “This was as far as the truck would go,” she tells her, “Kinda like how you got off the bus wherever it stopped… guess it is a good place to start over.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She nods again, and falls quiet for a while, lost in her own thoughts for a bit. Then,
“Anything I need to know before we thet gere?”
The longer they way, the more nervous she gets. She’s doing well to keep it under wraps. For now.
[Marrick Fisher] “Try and snag a single room if you can. If you like your privacy, it’s for the best. There’s a lotta folks there and, for the most part, it’s a trip. you’re tough, though. Made it here, so you should do fine.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She nods, and her grin tips lopsided, as she glances over. “I get quiet. Nardly hotice I’m there.”
Her belly audibly rumbles too, though she ignores it. “They need fuff stixed? Like to pay my way, somehow.”
[Marrick Fisher] “They always need someone to fix things,” she tells Rory. There’s a smile on her face. “Just talk to the folks that run it. Y’really lucked out, we got a lotta Fianna in this city and yer kin run the place. I don’t think they’d turn down free help to keep it up and running.”
[Rory O’Bryne] “Good.”
She doesn’t feel right taking without offering something back, she doesn’t feel good unless she’s working on something. While Merrick feels the need to move, Rory’s hands feel the need to tinker, to figure out what’s wrong with any number of things and put them back together again. It’s almost as much of who she is as her peculiar way of speech.
[Marrick Fisher] (shall we fade it?0
[Rory O’Bryne] (Sure. Mind if I say Marrick took her to the brotherhood so I can drop her in there? Seems to be where the party is…)
to Marrick Fisher
[Marrick Fisher] (sounds fab! thank you so much for playing, I had fun!)
to Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] Me too! thanks!
to Marrick Fisher