[Maija] It’s cold, and Sunday, and the game is still on and running late, so the Family BBQ has been slow all day, which suits Maija just fine, being as yesterday she was nearly dead on her feet by the time they’d closed down and cleaned up. Add a late night visitor to the tally, and the Gnawer is just… beat. When Big Bob tells her to take the rest of the day off? She can’t get out of there quite fast enough. And the problem with living right next door to your boss/landlord, is that if she’s home, he can sucker her into more hours.
So she’s not at home. Instead, she’s a few blocks over, at a coffee shop, sitting at a table in the corner near the front window. She’s got a steaming cup set before her, and off to the side a little is a plate with half a sandwich left on it. She’s not paying any real attention to either, as she’s more interested in the people in the coffee shop, and the artists journal in front of her. Her pen moves easily and quickly over the paper, capturing images and likenesses is with an ease that people often overlook. She’s just a scrawny gnawer, after all. It’s not like she has any marketable talent.
[Imogen] The door to the coffee shop opens, and Imogen enters – dressed in jeans, a blouse beneath a black leather jacket. She adjusts its folds around her shoulders scanning the coffee shop, before coming across Maija, sitting in her corner table.
The kinwoman’s strides are concise and direct as she walks over, a small plastic bag swinging at her side.
“Your boss told me I might find yeh here,” she says, setting the bag down on the table across from the girl. “‘Teach Yerself Latin’ and ‘Level 1 Latin fer School Children’.”
[Kemp] He followed in right on the heels of Imogen. Infact, he caught the door over her head before it could smack him in the face when Imogen let go of it. How rude.
“Iba owkba atinaye.”
[Maija] She doesn’t look up as the door opens, intent on putting the finishing touches on the current drawing. The couple a few tables away from her is getting ready to leave, and the pen scratches quickly across the paper to capture the last little details that make it complete. As such, she doesn’t even notice Imogen, until she speaks…
..and startles her. Some would reflexively cover the paper they’re working on, no matter how innocent the content, but Maija is not that person. And should Imogen look – the drawing is good. Really good, actually. Maija is untrained, her style raw, but it’s recognizable, and she captures more than just the people – but the emotions involved in every penstroke.
She arches a brow, slightly. “He did, huh?” Figures Bob would know where she was. Good thing she doesn’t have a cell phone – he still can’t call her back to work. Dark eyes shift to Kemp as he speaks pig latin, and then back to Imogen with a little grin as she takes the bag to peek at the books inside. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” The girl will learn latin JUST to find out what a book contains.
She looks back up at Kemp, then Imogen. There’s a tension along her shoulders, her spine, but none-the-less she offers. “Have a seat if ya want. Coffee’s pretty good, here.”
[Imogen] She turns her head to look at Kemp over her shoulder – still somewhat disconcerted by his sudden appearance, but no longer surprised at who it is.
“I beg your pardon?” Apparently no one has taught the good doctor pig latin, if that is what it is.
A glance at Maija and her offer, her eyes resting briefly upon the girl, noting the tension in her spine, the set to her shoulders. After a moment, she looks away, back over her shoulder at Kemp who towers there. “Yeh want a hot chocolate?”
[Kemp] “Yup, with extra whipped cream on top.”
He gave Imogen his best smile, which he knew wouldn’t get him anywhere with her. Still he did it and plopped down across from Maija.
“Ya look like ya really don’t want to make the offer to sit but are afraid to tell me to go the fuck away. And I don’t even recall ya, so it can’t be my sparkling reputation that has ya all……”
He made a face, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth while choking himself.
“…sick looking.”
The face was gone in a moment, replaced with a crooked smile.
“I’ll let ya in on a secret. I don’t eat women.”
[Maija] She takes the bag with the books, and peeks inside, before setting them down to lean against her chair on the floor. In the small movement, it’s easy to see how thin she is under the t-shirt – the line of her spine, the jut of her collarbones, all visible as her oversized hoodie she normally drowns herself in is draped along the back of her chair.
Kemp plops down, and there’s a glance at Imogen then back again. It’s clear that she trusts Imogen’s ease with Kemp more so than Kemps assurance. She takes a breath, holds it, then lets it go again. “I jus’ ain’t do so well with strangers that that got.. ya know.” she gestures. “Ain’t nuthin personal.” Yet.
She glances up to meet his gaze, then back down to the journal where she flips it to a new page, and smooths the middle crease so that it stays open. He don’t eat women. “What about men?”
[Kemp] “Don’t do well with strangers that got…what? Bad breath?”
A hand cupped over his mouth and nose as he breathed into it.
“A big nose?”
Nose touched next.
“New jeans?”
He gestured towards the jeans.
“What about men? That’s just sick. You nasty.”
[Imogen] Imogen gets Kemp’s best smile. Imogen smirks slightly and turns away, leaving Maija with the beast while she goes to get her coffee, his hot chocolate. There is a revealing comfort in that, maybe. The way Imogen simply offers him hot chocolate, the way Kemp allows her to pay for it without making a fuss, asking about it. Like they’ve done it a dozen times before. And they have.
She stands in the line, waiting to make her order. The conversation in the corner is only barely heard.
[Maija] She’s clinging to the comfort found in their obvious connection, because of all the people she’s met that she’d trust, Imogen is one of very few females on that list. But Kemp’s firing questions, and she blinks, and glances up at him. “Rage.” simple, that. A beat, then she continues. “Th’Nation an’ I are barely on speakin terms, at best. Th’individuals in it? Depends on who it is.”
Her pen begins to move again, and it’s clear that the little glances she’s making up to meet his eyes, are being translated into ink on paper with quick, sure strokes. “Name’s Maija, by the way.” Mi-yah.
[Kemp] He covered his mouth with both hands and mumbled around it.
“emph”
Scooting his chair back further to give Maija room. He could be nice if he worked at it, despite what some thought. At least, he could attempt nice.
[Imogen] Imogen returns holding a ridiculously sweet looking cup of hot chocolate (complete with chocolate sprinkles) in one hand, a more sedate cup of coffee in the other. The former, she sets in front of Kemp, the latter she keeps to herself, taking a seat and reaching for the bowl of creamers to dress it.
“His name is Kemp,” the red-head says to Maija, giving the aforementioned a narrow look. “Why are you coverin’ yer mouth?”
[Kemp] He moved his hand slightly to mutter out the side of his mouth to Imogen.
“She don’t talk to my kind. So this keeps me from breathing myself in her direction. Though it will pose a problem when I want to stick my face in my drink. By the way, thank you.”
[Maija] She blinks. Looks over to the line where Imogen waits, then back. He mutters around his hands, scoots back, and Maija looks… well, she looks a little lost for a moment. Then there’s a brief expression that passes over her face, breaks through the mask to let a hint of amusement filter through before it’s gone, and controlled again. Control means survival. Even in the little things.
Imogen arrives says his name is Kemp, and asks the obvious question, and then the answer comes, and she blinks, and looks between them. “…I ain’t said that. Exactly.”
Her voice is not necessarily accented, just a conglomeration of bad grammar and having been all over the country – there’s nothing that gives away where she’s actually from, which is exactly how she likes it. Then she reviews what she said – and well, if taken LITERALLY, that’s exactly what she said. And it makes her smirk, just a little.
“I might make an exception for ya, then, on account a ya bein’ with Imogen. So’s ya kin enjoy ya cocoa, an’all.”
[Kemp] For a moment amusement danced in the depths of murky green eyes before he lowered his hands to stick a finger in the whipped cream on the chocolate. That well coated finger went straight into his mouth as he rolled his eyes in pure bliss.
“Damn that’s gonna give me a fat ass.”
[Imogen] “Really?” Imogen lifts an eyebrow glancing between Kemp and Maija, and clearly more sceptical of Kemp than Maija. “She was talkin’ t’yeh just fine seconds ago.”
A sideways glance at Kemp as he dips a finger in his whipped cream and tastes it in bliss.
“Somehow I doubt that,” she says, taking a deep swallow of her cream-accented coffee.
[Kemp] He leaned slightly up on one cheek with his ass facing Imogen.
“Ya sure?”
[Maija] Her pen doesn’t stop moving, except when she reaches forward to grab her own coffee, and take a sip. And almost chokes on it as Kemp shows Imogen his ass.
She looks over at Imogen, to Kemp, then back again. “He always like this?” And then, a beat. “I hear if ya blow lightly on it, all th’calories disappear.
[Imogen] Kemp shows Imogen his ass – and at least it’s clothed. “Actually,” she says, sparing a briefest glance downward then lifting again, arching an eyebrow. “S’blowing up like a balloon.”
A glance at Maija, and her answer is fairly simple:
“Yes.”
[Kemp] “She said blow.”
He informed Imogen while twisting to look at his ass himself.
“Maybe it’s the jeans? Let’s see.”
With that he was reaching for the closure.
[Maija] Her pen stops, and she leans back in her chair, and just… stares. She’s been forced face to face with a LOT of Garou during her childhood, and not very many of them, or kinfolk, made a good impression – but she remembers them all.
And not a one of them has ever, ever come close to preparing her for the likes of Kemp. He’s shocked her to the point of… banter… “Ain’t no one wants t’see that.”
And her pen starts moving again, the sketch of Kemp slowly coming to life. Bit by bit the tension is bleeding away. Imogen is calm. Kemp is wild. Neither of them want to beat her down (…currently…).
[Imogen] “Keep yer trousers on. I mean it.”
[Kemp] “Spoil sports.”
He shrugged and went back to the chocolate. Now trying to lick all the sprinkles off the top without taking all the whipped cream.
[Imogen] “I bought yeh hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles,” a wry glance Kemp’s way. “Yeh don’t get to call me a spoil sport.”
She takes a deep swallow of her coffee.
“Don’t mind him,” said to Maija, “I’d offer th’excuse tha’ he was raised by wolves, but it would be entirely too ironic.”
[Maija] Imogen lays down the law, and another smirk chases across her lips, briefly finding a home before it disappears again.
She glances between them, and Imogen is added to the quick sketch line by quick little line. “Ya know each other a long time?” because it seems like it. They are too comfortable in their pattern, their speech, the way they are around each other to be newly aquainted.
[Kemp] “Twins.”
He swallowed, pausing long enough in licking sprinkles to answer.
“From another mother. Separated at birth.”
[Imogen] She doesn’t sigh as Kemp keeps up his act, but she does draw in a fairly slow breath. Lets it out.
“Which is t’say tha’ yes, we have.”
[Maija] Twins, he says. “Issat so. Yeh got th’rage an’ Imogen th’looks, then…” She dares look up, and there’s a hint of amusement deep in dark eyes as she meets his gaze, before she shakes her head, slightly.
“He reminds me a’one o’ Mama J’s kids.”
[Kemp] “Right, I got the brains and she got the looks and she was born first. Though they had to disconnect us at birth, which made things a little awkward.”
He nodded, going back to whipped cream that he was now slowly licking off the top of the cup.
[Kemp] ((Sorry, screaming nephew))
to Imogen, Maija
[Imogen] Imogen makes a vague gesture with her hands, an eyebrow lifting. “Where d’yeh come up with this?”
[Imogen] (My turn to apologize – was cleaning my kitchen post disaster)
[Kemp] “Fact is weirder than fiction.”
He stretched up a bit to look at what Maija was doing.
“Where did ya learn to draw like that?”
[Maija] She watches their interaction, and reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. The more they interact, the calmer she is. Sure, Kemp could rip her face off and eat it and not even blink twice, but she might have the chance to hide behind Imogen first.
Kemp asks about her drawing, and she pauses, and slides the book over so he can easily see it. “No where, really. Taught m’self. Ain’t much else t’do when ya on th’road as much as I was for a few years. Ya kin look at th’rest if ya want.”
If he does, he’ll find character sketches of random people in Chicago – some he might know, others strangers. There’s various members of the sept, some drawn from memory, others’ from a distance, occasional ones that have more detail, more time, clearly ones she knows personally – some alive still, other’s dead already. Ryan, Mrena. Hatchet, Will, Marcus, Decker, Imogen, Andrew – in lupus, Wahya… others.
[Kemp] He slid the book closer and looked through it. Snorting with one or two pictures. Then he pushed it back towards her.
“Not bad.”
His cup was lifted now that the whipped cream was gone from the top and a sip was taken before he pushed back and stood.
“I gotta run. Interesting to meet ya Maija.”
Imogen got a.
“See ya sis.”
And he was heading for the door.
[Kemp] ((Ok, out of gas here))
to Imogen, Maija
[Imogen] Imogen leans back as Kemp studies the sketch book, allowing him to peruse it without her looking over his shoulder. She swallows another draught of coffee.
Kemp makes his departure, and she turns her head to look at him as he gets to his feet. That he calls her sis garners no reaction.
(At least he didn’t kiss her.)
“Goodnight,” she says.
[Maija] “Thanks.” She takes the book back, gets back to the one she was working on, and continues adding to it. He takes his leave, and she looks up at him – way up, as the kid is damn tall – and nods. “A pleasure.”
And she almost means it.
She watches him go, and then glances at Imogen. “I ain’t never seen th’likes a’that one before.” She’s not quite sure what to think.
[Imogen] Her breath exhales slightly, half-hiding her smirk behind her coffee cup. “Neither have I.”
[Maija] She pushes her hair back, and shakes her head. “What is’e?”
With his worry about his ass growing, and the relationship with his “sibling” she never thought to ask what tribe he was. Course, he didn’t ask her, either.
[Imogen] “Ragabash.” The answer is concise and simple, a smirk curling her mouth.
“Couldn’t yeh tell?”
[Maija] Ragabash. Figures.
“I thought maybe, but ain’t like t’assume. Some get a might bit touchy if yeh guess wrong.” A brief chuckle, that’s almost more of a snort, a smirk. It doesn’t last long. Few of her expressions do.
[Imogen] “I suppose it’d be like askin’ a footballer if they’re a dancer,” she says, a little wryly. Another deep swallow of coffee. “Bit rough on the ego.”
[Maija] She nods, and chuckles softly. “Exactly. An’ since I ain’t one t’question them much on a good day… it’s usually safer not t’guess.”
She finishes up the sketch of Kemp, and looks at it critically a moment, before she lifts her coffee to take a sip. “I called Mary Alice. She’s gonna find a slot for me. Said should be an openin’ in a couple weeks.”
[Imogen] A pause.
“What are yeh goin’ t’do once yeh get yer equivalency?”
[Maija] It’s a good question, and honestly not one she’s thought about just yet. She thinks about it now, while looking at the sketches, and even the bag of books that will help her learn Latin, just so she can read some of the books that she couldn’t before.
“I ain’t know, quite yet. I dropped out in Jr. High, so there’s a whole bunch I gotta catch up on t’pass, I know. Thought I might go t’school after, though… maybe study art, literature. Hell, they gots a course for Librarians, right? Can’t think a much better’n havin all them books at m’fingertips all day long…”
[Imogen] Her mouth quirks slightly. “I believe yeh can take a college course t’become a librarian, yes. I imagine Hill House can assist yeh wi’ career development, as well.”
A pause, then a firmer smirk, more present one. “Though, I imagine as a librarian, you would be expected t’sort books. Not read them.”
[Maija] She does the unthinkable. She laughs. It’s soft, and short, but it’s there. “Ya mean they might expect me t’work for a livin? Of all th’nerve…”
She lifts a hand to rub absently at the line of her jaw, before she shrugs slightly. “I jus… I like books.” She pauses, then.. “My uncle, he used t’have a huge library at his place. An’ he wouldn’t let us touch any o’it. I’d sneak in an’ get beat for it later, because t”me it was worth it. There was escape there… places where I ain’t had t’deal with th’reality o’my situation.” A thin shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “S’why when Will disappeared, I left everythin’ but took all his books wit’ me. There ain’t nuthin ya can’t find in some book somewheres, if ya take th’time t’look.”
[Imogen] She studies the younger woman for several seconds.
“Truthfully,” she says, “I can live wi’out books.” She sets her coffee cup down. “They’re a distraction fer me, not a passion. And if they are not available, I can always find another distraction.”
A hand lifts to her hair, pushing strands back from her eyes. She is a little out of place here, her clothing a little too fine, her skin a little too pale. She gets too much rest, or at least wears expensive enough makeup to hide her sleepless nights.
“I imagine yeh’ll figure it out as yeh go along. Most do.”
[Maija] SHe nods, and peels a bit of the crust off the half of her sandwich that remains, and plops it into her mouth. “I imagine it has a bit t’do with how we growed up too. Ya had em at ya disposal, available. It was somethin’ I had t’fight for. We all got stuff like that, I figure.”
She smiles briefly. “Yeah. First step, th’ GED. Then th’rest’ll fall inta line, one way or th’other once I decide. Ain’t no hurry in it.” Which is good, since life has a tendency to get in the way.
[Imogen] Imogen smirks faintly at Maija’s conjecture but neither confirms or denies.
A pause.
“I’m not much o’ a teacher,” she says, and one imagines this admission is not surprising, “But should yeh need assistance wi’ the science and math portion o’ yer exam, I imagine I can help yeh muddle through.”
There is no kindness in her voice. If anything, the offer is made with some reluctance. Some careful consideration before the decision is made.
[Maija] She looks up at Imogen, and meets her gaze briefly, then nods. “Thanks. I done good in math back then, but we ain’t gotten to th’hard stuff yet, I don’t think. It’s kinda scary t’get it all t’gether, but I’m excited too. Ain’t never thought I’d be in a position t’finally finish school.”
She shrugs a shoulder, and smirks slightly. “Sounds kinda silly when said it out loud, huh?”
[Imogen] gah! no AIM!
to Maija
[Maija] (ACK! *L*)
to Maija
[Imogen] Imogen’s breath exhales, it’s almost amusement.
She looks away, toward the window, her gaze flicking over the darkened street. After several seconds, she turns back: “I ha’ a medical degree,” she says. “Bein’ excited fer schoolin’ is hardly alien t’me.”
[Maija] It’s almost amusement, the sound that Imogen makes, and almost a smile that it pulls from the Gnawer kin. They really are worlds apart, the two kinfolk, but there’s something almost easy about the way Maija can sit here, and talk to her, in ways she hasn’t managed to do with more than a few people in the entire city.
It’s respect. She might even admire her, on some level. It’s a lot of things – including the fact that when she expects more of herself, Imogen simply expects that she’ll do it. She doesn’t say anything, she may not even care one way or the other – but even so, it makes the Gnawer want to try harder, make something of herself. To prove them all, all of them at home, wrong.
“True.” a beat. “Does it still excite ya? Doin what ya do?”
[Imogen] Imogen smirks faintly. “I could do anything else as well as this. S’just what I do. It never truly excited me in th’first place. Intrigued me. But did not excite me.”
[Maija] She nods, slightly. “And what does? Excite ya, I mean?” a beat. “an ya can tell me it ain’t none of my business an’ stop askin questions if ya want.”
[Imogen] Her mouth moves slightly, a suggestion of a smirk. “It’s not any o’ yer business.”
[Maija] She chuckles softly. “Yes’um.”
And just like that, the subject is dropped. As one who doesn’t necessarily like questions about her own life and background, and offers insights reluctantly, and rarely, she understands the desire to simply… not say. No matter the reasons behind it.
[Imogen] Silence falls, then. Perhaps Maija returns to her drawing. Imogen returns to her coffee, finishing it within minutes. The silence is not uncomfortable – Imogen does not seem offended by the earlier transpiration. It hardly seems to faze her at all.
When her coffee is done, she sets it on its saucer, before picking both up and getting to her feet. “Let me know how the Latin books work out,” she says, lifting her chin to them before turning away. She heads to the counter to drop off her dishes – then the door to leave. Apparently her earlier words were farewell.
[Maija] She does, indeed, return to her drawing. It keeps her hands busy, and her eye sharp – and it keeps her content. Imogen finishes off her coffee, and stands, pulling Maija’s gaze upwards with her. She nods, slightly, with a bit of a smile.
“I will. Thanks.”
She watches her drop off the dishes and take her leave, and then the pen is dropped, the bag lifted, and the first of the books pulled free. For the next couple of hours, all that’s seen of the skinny kinfolk at the corner table is her bent head, furrowed brow, and intense concentration as she works her way through the beginning steps to learning Latin.